The DESIGN of the FRONTISPIECE.  

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

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


THE MIRROR which Flatters not.  
O that they were Wise, that they understood This, that they would Consider their latter End!  Deut: 32.29. 
— MORS sola fatotur Quantula sint hominum, corpuscula.  juvenal:   

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT. Dedicated to their MAJESTIES of GREAT BRITAIN, By Le Sieur de la SERRE, Historiographer of FRANCE. Enriched with fair Figures.  
Transcribed ENGLISH from the FRENCH, by T. C. And devoted to the well-disposed READERS.  HORAT. 
OMNEM crede DIEM tibi diluxisse SUPREMUM.  
LONDON, Printed by E. P. for R. Thrale, and are to be sold at his shop at the Sign of the Crosskeys, at Paul's Gate. 1639.   

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

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

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

To the AUTHOR, upon the same subject.  
STANCES.  

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

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

Also since blind Ignorance  
Makes no more abode in FRANCAE,  
Seldom can we meet with such,  
As the works of thy sweet t'uch:  
Such immortal strains of spirit,  
As do thousand Laurels merit.   

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

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

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

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

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

SERRES, this thy workmanship  
Doth my spirit over-strip,  
With such judgement, and such grace,  
Thou dost show in little space  
Three strange Wonders, without error,  
Two bright Suns in one clear MIRROR.   

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

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

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

APPROBATIO LUTETIAE PARISIORUM.  
QVi moribundam vitam, qui edacem vitae mortem in hoc Speculo Liber exprimit; te Lector tibi objicit tam felici veri specie, tam clara sublimis styli Luce, ut temet fugere nequeas. Frequens contuere, ne tetra haec tua species aeternûm tua sit. Ita apprecor.  
MART. LUENKENS, Sanctae Theol. Lic. & Prof. Ordin. Apost. & Regius, L. C.   

The APPROBATION, when Printed at PARIS.  
THis Book, which expresseth to thee in a Mirror a dying life, and life-devouring Death, lays thee open to thyself, Reader, in such a happy shape of truth, and so clear a light of a sublime style, that thou canst not scape thyself. Gaze hereon often, that this ill presence of thine, as now it is, may not be so thine eternally. Thus I wish.  
MART. LUENKENS, Licentiate of sacred Theolog. and Prof. Ordin. Apostolic and Regal, L. C.   

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

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

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

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

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

iv  
DIOGENES, in Cynic guise,  
Puts ALEXANDER to surmise,  
I'th' miscellany of the Dead,  
Which is a King's, or Common's Head.   

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

A PROLUSION upon the EMBLEM of the first Chapter, or Tract.  

RISE, for a serene Morn brings on the Day,  
The Sun is mounted onward of his way,  
The Anthymne's high among the feathered Quires,  
A lively breath the agile Air inspires.  
Draw-ope the Curtains, do not close the Eye  
From the fresh beauties of the Azure-Skie.  
Mark what a smart Bon-jour his Page did bring  
Each Morn to PHILIP, Macedonia's King,  
REMEMBER (Royal Sir) You ARE A MAN,  
The hours are winged, the length of life's a span.  
This powerful hint stirred up the King to rise,  
Whose name Heroick deeds immortalize.  
Grosse-vapoured, heavy-headed sleepers wake,  
In the bright Morn no more soft slumbers take:  
For Action Man was made Our Life's a Race  
He that would win the Prize, must run apace.  
Be not enchanted with the lulling Down.  
That charms the senses in Lethargic swowne;  
Leave the enclosure of Bed-Canopie,  
And give the view more spacious liberty:  
Forsake the grave-type Couch, where Deaeth doth keep  
His nightly Sessions, imaged by Sleep.  
He that's a Dormouse for the time is dead,  
And is entomb d already in his Bed.  
Who knows how soon that sheet, whereon he lies,  
May single serve to enwrap him, when he dies?  
How soon these lazy feather-bedded bones  
May Coverletted be with Marble-stones?  
Where no joynt-suppling-warmth shall give refresh  
To high-fed veins, or ease-improved flesh;  
Where those puff● grossures, which o'ercurious cost  
Hath surfet-swolne are putrified, and lost.  
Who would be Epicurian, since 'tis thus,  
We that eat all things else, worms will eat Us?  
Or who would be o're-haughtie, since to Earth  
He must return, as thence he had his Birth?  
Mean while, 'though life's quicksand doth hourly pass,  
A sluggard sleeps our more than half his Glass.  
Be Active while you may, for Time's post-haste  
Spurs on each forward Minute to the last.  
Such Thoughts as these best fit the Morning's prime,  
To Rouse Men's Spirits to Redeem the Time.   

Let such our Matins be, ere Death's sad Knell  
Summon our wandering Souls to Heaven or Hell,    


Sir Remember that you are a Man  
PHILIP King of MACEDON commanded one of his Pages to Awake him every Morning, & Call aloud to him SIR Remember that You are a MAN.    

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.  
CHAP. I.  

Homo ab humo.  MAN, remember thou art Man, never forget thy name, if thou wilt not forget thy safety: Thou art called Earth, thou art made but of Earth, 
Man is a thing of nothing, only in appearance son. what.  but the Earth subsists, and thou vanishest; but the earth remains firm, and thy dust flies away. Study thy miseries, meditate thy disasters: thou art nothing in effect, but if thou be any thing imaginable, I dare not so much as compare thee unto a dream, because the frailty of thy nature hath something both more feeble, and less constant▪ an Apparition hath above thee the simplicity of the Elements whereof it is composed, a shadow implies yet the advantage of the Nobleness of its beginning, since the light produceth it. Nay lastly, a very straw, o● an Atom, dispute against thee also with reason, for the purity of substance, since they are corruptible, without infection but thy heap of filth gives horror to thy own thoughts; 
One cannot give he description of Man, but by misery, nor of misery but by Man.  insomuch that I an● constrained to match thee to thyself for to suggest thee the truth of thy slightness?  
What a goodly School is the world and our condition a fair book: and all the sad accidents, to which Nature subjects it, as so many gracious Lessons?  
May not a man justly say that the earth is a College, wherein the diversity o● Times and Ages, sign out the diversit of Classes, in which we may equal make the course both of our studies an● days, under the sway of those miseries which accompany us without cease: 
Mishaps and pains, are the fruits of the garden of our life.  the poorness of our way of birth, may stead us as a rudiment in the first Class: the cries and tears of the cradle, are our Grammar, the creeping weakness, and pitiful infirmities of Boy-age like so much Rhetoric, and now can there be a more subtle Philosophy, then that of ●he consideration of the calamities which are destined to youth? Is it not ●asie to become a great Naturalist by virtue of meditating the fruitfulness of our nature in the production both of ills, and pains which continually afflict us? and what better Metaphysics, 
He which goes out Doctor in the knowledge of himself, is ignorant of nothing.  than contemplations of our Being, ever rolling to ●ts ruin? Let us draw then the conclusion of this Argument, and join with as much reason as interest to these two Volumes so renowned, the Bible, and the ●ace of Heaven, where all sorts of Sciences are in their source. 
Death and immortality are only separated, bu● with the length of an instant.  This also of our ●ortall and decaying nature, since it intructs us the Art to pry ourselves in our Corruptions, that we may recover our ●elves in immortality.  
When I consider that the Earth was ●eated of nothing, 
Man of nothing.  and Man made of this nothing, and the greatnesses which environs him, are nothing at all, and all the pleasures which he idolatrizeth are also of the same stuff: 
The world subsists not, but upon the foundation of its continual revolution.  I remains all confused with astonishment, nor e●ver able to conceive the subject of his vanity, nor the reason of his arrogance poor corrupted Vapour with advancing itself, 
A vapour. Man elevating himself too high measures the depth of the Abysses of his Precipice.  is soon transformed into a Cloud, to conceal its noisomeness but yet by way of this elevation, i● resolved into Lightnings and Thunder and afterward retumbles into the ditche● from whence first it had its beginning. A Puff of wind which tumbles in its owns violence, 
A B last.  angry perhaps that it cannot subsist, but in flying, and that the action of its continual flight, is the beginning of its ruin. 
Smoke.  A smoke, which with 〈◊〉 vain assault will needs scale the Heavens, and yet hardly can one well distinguish the interval between its firs● being and extinction: 
Worm. We are all already, but rottenness, since already worms begin to devour us. A stream●.  a poor glistering Worm which dazzles none but purblind spirits, and giveth light to those worms which devour it in private, a stream always murmuring, always trilling away And now why shall all these goodly nullity and all these pleasant Chimaeras insinuate to us the vanity which they are of? shall these cozening appearances bestablished here below with Sovereignty? be it then only in desire, or in dream, 
Every thing corrupts, the very eye which now reads these truths shall not be exempt.  for with what gilded rind so ere they be out-sided, Corruption is their Form, and Dust their Matter.  
I am astonished that Man should be capable to mistake himself, even to the point of forgetting what he was, then, when he yet was not: what he is now, whilst he enjoys the beauty of the day, and what he must one day be at the Sunset of his life: Assuredly yes, I am astonished at it, 
Nature exhibites us so many Mirrors of Jnconstancy, as she hath produced objects.  since all created things may serve him for a Mirror to contemplate therein, apparently the verity of his miseries.  
The Heavens, though whirling about with a Motion, always equal in the same spaces of their career, 
Since that Nature itself is mortal, this second cause ceasing, the ruin of these effects is infallible.  do not cease to wax old, & even their age represents to us naturally our decay. Though the Stars shine with a sparkling juster, as clear as at the first Day of their creation, yet as they are attached within those circles of Ages, whose continual motion is limited, they approach by little and little to their last West, where their light must be extinct, and the pace of their course shows us the way of our life, since time conducts us all together, though diversely to our end. The Fire so greedy, that it devours itself, when finding no more fuel to nourish it, is it not a Mirror of the Lamp of our life, whose kindled week goes out, when the Oil of the Radical moisture fails it? The Air, which corrupts continually, is it not an Image of our corruption? and without doubt the Waters transparent body, represents us the fragility of ours, and its liquid crystalline, always rolling away makes us see in its gliding, 
Every thing flees away from us, and in running after them we run to Death  our flitting nature. The earth could not have figured us better than she doth, since we are to day of the same matter, and to morrow of the like form. What fairer Mirror then that of Flowers, where we may see in one day the whole course of our life, for at Sun-rise the buds resemble our Infancy, at noon the same now full blown, our youth, 
The world is a Nosegay of flowers, which by little and little whither all together.  and at Dayes-end, themselves now quite withered, our last age. I will not speak of all the other Species of creatures animate, how every one in its self, though living, is an Image of death. It sufficeth me to cherish this remembrance, and leave to you thereof the meditation.  
What shall I tell ye of Fortune, of honours, riches, 
Fortune hath nothing more her own, than her Inconstancy.  and all these glorious qualities of valour, Beauty and a thousand other besides, which vanish away with us? This blind Goddess hath a Mirror under her feet, whose round figure shows us at once, both her instability, and our inconstancy, as for greatness and riches, the ashes of those which have possessed them, are as so many fresh crystals of a Mirror, which flatters not, wherein we may see the vanity both of their enjoyment, and of their possessors. Those other qualities of fair and valiant, are of the same nature, as those sensitive and vegetable souls, 
There is nothing immortal in ma● but virtue.  which die together with the subject which they animate, without leaving ordinarily so much as one small memorial, for mark that they have had a being otherwise: and in sequel to these truths, can you find a truer Mirror, 
Man is the Mirror of Man, so that by due contemplation of one part, he may save the whole.  than this of ourselves, since every part, (nay what say I?) every action, and every sigh is an animate portrait of Death; Insomuch that we draw the breath of so many continuate Gasps, without ability of dispose of one only instant, to give internal to this exercise.  
How is it then possible that Man should mis-know himself, having such faithful Mirrors before his eyes, where at all times he may see apparently the Truth of his Nature kneaded in Corruption, form by it, and destroyed also by the same; Strange thing! he can see nothing in the World, 
All the objects of the world bid us Adten, while we but regard 'em since they are always fleeing away.  but Images of inconstancy, and yet will not apprehend his own change: whatsoever shall smite upon his ear, will resound nothing but the bruit of his flight, and yet he will not think upon his retreat.  
Lastly his other Senses, and his fancy, shall have no other object but this of the continual vicissitude of all things, and yet he will remain firm and stable in his vanity, 
To muse always of Death, i● the way of Immortality.  till death ruin its foundation. Thus in the deceitful opinion, wherein he is, of possessing all things, he looseth the possession of himself, and having too much dreamt on his pleasures, his Life is passed as a Dream without return. I must tell you one of my meditations.  
I shall never be able to comprehend the meaning of those, who moan themselves against Fortune, 
A man may well complain against Fortune, these vain regreets, exempt him not from the pain.  the World and all the pleasures of this life. One forsooth will upbraid to this foolish Deity, her deceits, without considering that he deceived himself in giving Trust to a Goddess, that ne'er had any. He yet will accuse her to have conducted him still through craggy ways, and overspread with thorns, as if in following one that is blind, a man should not hazard to run this danger.  
Another will make yet fresh complaints against the World's detesting its Sweets, 
The world may well be the instrument of our destruction, not the cause.  cursing its charms and calling it a Thousand times deceitful. but why? one would say to hear these plaints, that the world began but now to receive its birth, I mean were but now newly created, that no man knows it yet, and that its first couzenages began, but now to be discovered? What folly! is not this to cheat one's self, to have commerce with a cheater? the world never yet bore any other name or title, why then aim we to nourish ourselves with its delights, whose after-bitternesse empoisons sensibly our souls? But if its charms be powerful enough to tempt reason, 
The number of those whom the world hath deceived, is so great, that they that still trust it, are now no more excusable.  they are yet too feeble to vanquish it, provided that the will consent not so, that a man remain convict of all the crimes, whereof he may be accused.  
What seeming ground then have we to be enraged against those pleasures which we have received; 
The will is so free that it cannot suffer violence, but from itself.  if ourselves only give them both being and form? the Fancies conceive these delights, and the will gives them birth, they are the works whereof our imaginations form the Species, and our desires make the Metamorphosis, changing them into objects palpable, and sensible, which are marks of the seal of our depravedness.  
Let a man than abhor pleasures instead of accusing them, 
Pleasures are the greatest enemies of life, for in casting flowers upon our heads, they fill our hearts with thrones.  detest their vanity in lieu of complaining of their dedeitfulnesse. But if they be criminal, they only bear the stain of their Fathers, and if they be complices of our destruction, 'tis we give them Birth, to give us death.  
Let men cease to lament of Fortune, since the Mirror of its flying scarf, 
Fortune is still herself, he which trusts her, takes delight to be cheated.  and wings express to the life its lightness, and our folly.  
Let none Argue any more that the world is cause of our ruin, since we cannot choose but tread every hour over the dust and ashes of those, who have too late repent to have followed it. As for voluptuousness, 'tis a vain Idea, to which our passions give a body, to make it serve as a sensible object of their brutality, insomuch that it can do nothing, but by our first motions, taking its vigour from our force, and its power from our Sovereignty, and this renders us doubly culpable, palleating our faults, instead of acknowledging them, 
Pleasure still takes its force from our voluntary weakness.  since laments, rather than excuses, might absolve us them.  
Is it not that St. john chrysostom touched with compassion of our miseries cries out in astonishment of our weakness: ‛ Oh World how many hast thou deceived! 
'Tis more than folly, when the folly of others, serves us not for example,  but this is its trade and profession. O Fortune how many hast thou made to fall! but even yet still, while I am speaking, she gives employment to her treason, and exercise to her Tyranny. O Pleasures comfitted in Sweets, and steeped in bitterness, how many have ye poisoned! but yet their venom is so common, that the whole earth is infected with it. What remedy then to all these ills? No other than this, to pry into ones self, in the MIRROR of his own Ashes, 
We can no better contemplate any thing, then in the Mirror of our Nothing.  a MIRROR always hanging at the Girdle, and which flatters not. A MIRROR whose glass, though more brittle, than one of Crystal, makes us yet to see that all the objects of the World are false, but that of our Corruption, a Mirror, which represents us more lively in our portrait, then in ourselves, A Mirror whose kind of shadow and Chimaera makes us see in effect that which we are in appearance.  
A Mirror all miraculous, which preserves certain Species' of nothing to render them sensible to our knowledge. A Mirror all divine, which metamorphosing our bodies into shadows, yet expresses us so naturally, that the most arrogant cannot mistake themselves. A Mirror lastly, which Nature hath charmed with its own proper spells, 
All the Mirrors of the World flatter, except this of our miseries.  to the end, that viewing himself herein, a Man may be able to resist the charms of the World's allurements.  
I am greatly astonished at those that preach us the Knowledge of ourselves, to be so troublesome, and difficult, since that at all times, and in all places, of all sides and all sorts of fashions, we are Nothing at all, or if by an excess of flattery and vanity, 
If a man would still study himself he would become the wisest of the World.  I borrow some names to express truly what we are, it can be no other than those of dirt and mire, whose noisomeness takes away all doubt on it, from the most incredulous.  
In what then consists this trouble of studying to know one's-selfe, since the most ignorant may in this, go out Doctors in the school of our miseries: 
Selfe-knowledge only difficile to the proud.  where lies the difficulty to arrive to this knowledge? when the very wind of our sighs carries away, every moment, some of that polluted dust, whereof we be made. Where is this pain, say I yet, since our senses and spirits can have no other object, than this of Inconstancy, as unseparable to their nature, as it is proper to our condition. And what can be this difficulty, when we are capable of no action more, then to destroy ourselves? We must break this rind farther.  

Humility is a skilful Schoolmaster, to teach us to know our selus  I will believe that every one knows from whence he comes and whither he goes, that his body is but a work of rottenness, and that the worms attend thereof the prey, as a nourishment which to them is destinated: but it is important to consider that these truths, though sensible, are oftenest put in oblivion, and this default of memory denotes that of knowledge. He which museth upon his slightness, undervalueth (except God) all things, 
A man knows no more than he remembers.  and vanity would never be able to surprise us, during the interim of this meditation. Man knows very well that he is Mortal, 
The remembrance of Death makes us forget the vanities of Life.  but whilst he never thinks seriously of the necessity of dying, this knowledge is forgot, though he dye without cease, and in losing the remembrance of his condition, loses the knowledge thereof.  

The way to pass our days contentedly, is to think every hour of the last.  Remember that you are a Man said his page every morning to Philip of Macedon. This great Monarch made himself to be roused every day from sleep, with the News of Death, fearing to be charmed with the sweets of Life. Greatnesses environ him on all parts, to make him forget his humility, but understand you not the delicate Air, which he causes to be sung to the tune of his miseries: 
The remembrance of the poorness of Death, is a potent charm to resist the memory of greatness of Birth.  the pomp and Magnificance of his riches dazzle his eyes with their lustre, that he might never consider the wretchedness which is proper to him. But you see how he makes himself to be awaked with the noise of this truth, ever to cherish its remembrance: Sir remember that you are a Man; oh how many Mysteries are comprised in these words! behold the Allegory on't.  
Great Kings remember you are subject to many more Miseries, than you have subjects in your Empire. 
If we be different in manner of life, we are all'equall in necessity of dying.  Great Monarches remember that of all the great extension of your Territories there shall not remain you one only foot; So jealous are the worms of your glory. Great Princes remember that your Sceptres and your Crowns, are such feeble marks of greatness, that fortune sports with them, Time mocks at them, and the Wind shall sweep away their Dust: Sovereign Judges of the Life of Men, remember that although you are above the Laws, this of Dying is inviolable.  
The Fable is pretty, of the resolution, which the flowers and plants took to elect a King and Queen, 
Cares and anxieties surpass in number the pleasure of, Kings.  and as the number of Voices gave the election, the Marigold was declared to be the King of the Flowers, and the Briar Queen of Plants, and under this toy lies hid serious verities.  
Is there any thing fairer in all the borders of the Garden of Nature, than the flower of the Marigold? It's golden Tincture of the colour of the Sun, at first view dazzleth so delightfully; that the Eye amazedly gazing with admitation of its fresh-displayed beauty, can hardly retire its regards from an object so agreeable. But gather it, and dight it on you, and its sentproduces a thousand disliks' in the Mind, for that one only, which you hold in your hand, for hence of a sudden the humours become dull, and melancholy having been annoyed with so fair a fulsomeness.  
Royalty is absolutely the same: The Sceptres are as fresh flowers of Marigold, 
If Crowns and Sceptres were to be sold, wise men would never buy them.  whose lustre and beauty equally ravishing, attract at first glance to their admiration the Soul by the eyes; but if a Man take them into his grasp, or deck his head with ●hem, he shall find himself filled with anxious cares by this coverture. If you doubt of this, ask Seleu●us, he will answer, That the first ●oment of his Reign, was the last of ●is Quietness.  
The Sweet-bryar also bore away ●he Royalty; for who would not love 〈◊〉 with its Rose? O how both together have powerful attractives, to ●●mpt equally, both the heart to desire them, and the hand to pluck them? And 'tis in vain that Nature hath given arms to the jealousy of its prickles, 
Thorns are the Roses of King's gardens.  to serve for the defence of its flowers; since these sharps are as so many baits, which irritate us rather with Desire then Fear. All the world insert it in their nosegays; but the prickles remain, the Rose withers.  
Say we then also, that Royalty is a fair Sweet-bryar, accompanied with its Roses; I mean many contentments of the same nature. Both together have great charms to affect us both with love and desire, but the Briars of the Crown remain, 
Great miseries are destinated to great fortunes.  the Rose of delights withers. O how ponderous is the load of this greatness▪ And if you believe not me, enquir● hereof of the puissant King Mithridates, 
The felicity of Kings hath much more lustre, than Reality.  he will often reiterate to you That he never sighed, but for the ponderous burden of his Crowns.  
SIR, REMEMBER YOU AR● A MAN.  
But what is there here to pride in 〈◊〉 May it be of the greatness of his D●minions? This is but an alien good, which admits not to be possessed but by vanity, 
King's may trouble themselves to conquer the earth, it still triumphs over them.  since its honours and pleasures have nothing else more in propriety. To be an amply landed-man, is to have miry soil to sell, and small profit to make thence.  
Sir remember you are a Man. What may be his ambition? may it be to conquer the whole world, what will he do with it after conquest, since it is a Ball of snow, which Time melts by little and little, tumbling it without cessation.  
Sir remember you are a Man. What might be his designs? Should he pretend to Altars, and Temples, what oblations can be made to a Victim, 
He which makes himself to be adored, is rather fi. to be Death's Victim then to be idolatrized.  ●hom Death holds conrinually at a ●ay? can Incense be offered to a ●ung hill, or an Idol made of a Sink? ●e very thought shocks common ●nse.  
Sir, remember that you are a Man. What can he do with his absolute ●ower? 
Man is so miserable, that I am amized ●ee p●ti●s not himself.  A little stone makes him ●umble; a straw can blind him; a ●adow, an Atom, a thing of nothing are capable to reduce him to nothing at all. And is not this an object of pity, rather than of envy? Great Kings, these are truths too important for you, to lose their remembrance.  
Well may you outbrave the heavens with a bristling eyebrow; the only imagination of its Thunderclaps, holds you already in alarm. Boldly may you tread upon the Earth with a disdainful foot; the Same whereof you are made, shall shortly be so trodden, when the worms are glutted with it. 
I have said to corruption, Thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother and mysister. job. 17.14.  Remember that you art Men, and that all the objects of riches and honours which environ you, are of the same Nature as you are. You are dying every moment and every thing falls away without cease.  
When I represent to mind you heads, 
The head that wears the crown, wears away with it.  diademed with a rich Crown I conceive it a little point infirm'● and closed in a circumference, whos● lines about at the centre of corrupt●● on, lines of magnificence, which terminate at the point of wretchedness.  
If I consider you with Sceptre in hand, 
Sceptres and the hands which hold them, are equally perishable.  me thinks I see a simple shrub, planted upon worse earth, the shrub dries up, and is reduced to dust, the ground remains that it was before.  
Let me contemplate you seated upon your Thrones, decked with your richest ornaments, my imagination shows me a jupiter in picture, holding the Thunder in his hand; for you are so weak for all your absolute power, that if you presume hardily to raise your head, 
A strange thing that the clarity should blind us, though it be the principal of the view.  but to look upon the Sun, your eyes will water at the same time, to expiate with your tears, the crime of your arrogance.  
Great Kings, Remember then, that you are not Great, but in miseries. Sovereign Monarches, Remember, that your Empiredome is but a servitude, since you are subject to all the disasters of your subjects. Powerful Princes, one gust of wind defies to the struggle your absolute power. Sacred Majesties, 
All the attributes of worldly glory accompany us but to the grave.  I salute you to day by this name: but to morrow I will change terms, and call you Skelitons and carcases, to the end that in speaking this truth, all the world may know you, I will change my tone.  
How ingenious are the Poets in their fancies? They recount us, how that Inconstancy being banished from heaven, descended upon earth, with design to have her picture drawn, and upon the refuse, that Painters made of it, she addressed herself to Time, 
Man serves for sha●le-cocke to all things, since all things concur to his ruin.  who after he had considered her in all her diversities, made use at last of the visage of Man for the finishing cloth, wherein having represented her to the life, all the world took her for Man himself, since in effect 'tis but one and the same thing. O fair truth discovered by a fable.  

Man is Inconsla●●vit self, ●ather than us pourtract.  He than that now would see the Image of Inconstancy, let him consider the Lise-touches and lineaments of it, upon his own visage. Our forehead which wrinkles every moment, is it not the very same as hers? Our Eyes, which by continual use every hour, do already require spectacles, are they not as hers? Our cheeks which now chap-fall are in nothing different from hers. In fine our visages are the only MIRRORS WHICH FLATTER NOT.  
But what shall we answer notwithstanding to the objection of this truth, that, that which we see of MAN, 
Though a Man hides himself under the veil of hypocrisy, his defects always break through.  is not the MAN. If his visage like a false Horologe index false, this our portrait of Inconstancy is merely imaginary:  
But is there any thing more inconstant than the spirit of Man? 'tis a weathercock for all winds, behold again the first draughts of the visage of Inconstancy; must we not of necessity compare his changing humour to hers, 
The spirit of Man is much more changing, than his body, for this changes only in growing old, but that grows o●d only in changing.  if a man would exhibit thereof but one example; and these are yet new lineaments, which represent us this levity. In fine, his thoughts, his desires, and all the passions of his mind, are but objects of vicissitude, capable of all sorts of impressions: so that in the perfection of the portraiture of Man, Inconstancy is found perfectly depainted. Let us proceed.  
The fictions of Poets are yet serious enough, to serve us often for sufficient entertain of the time. 
Virtue only can render us invulnerable. A virtuous Man fears nothing.  'Tis they which tell us of one Achilles, immortal in all the parts of his body, save only his heel.  
Great Kings, I will, if you please, take you for Achilles', and will give out you are like him, invulnerable, but only in the heel. But of what temper soever your Arms be, to what purpose serve they you with this defect? This only blot duskes the lustre of your glory. Nature has done surely well, 
Every Man would be immortal, but none takes pain to acquire immortality.  to prodigallize upon you thus, both her graces and favours; she hath immortalised you but by halves. All your apparences are divine, but something within spoils all, each particular is a heel, by which Death may surprise you.  
Shall I say then that you are Achilles', who will believe mei, since your heads serve but as Butts to the shafts of Fortune? 
'Tis only the conscience of a just Man is of proof, against the stroke of Time and Fortune.  To preach you invulnerable, a small scratch may thereon give me the lie. Truth more powerful than flattery constrains me to call you by your name, for in remembrancing you that you are but Men▪ I suggest you to the life all the disasters, which accompany your Life.  

Man is so poor a thing, that one cannot give him a name but is advantageous to him.  Thou hast much to do, to make Panegyrics in praise of Man, O Mercury Trimegistus, and to maintain so confidently, that he is a great Miracle, it must be then a Miracle of misery, since Nature produceth nothing so miserable as he is.  
And thou Pythagoras, which haste had the forehead to persuade us, that Man was a mortal God, if thou hadst made Anatomy of his carcase, the stench of his filth, had soon made thee change this language. Plato thou reason'st well upon this subject, yet without sound consideration, then when with an enforcement of spirit and eloquence, thou wouldst oblige us to believe, 
There is no Tongue in Nature which can-furnish us with terms strong enough to express the miseries of Man.  that Man is of the race of the Gods: yes surely, since thy Gods are Gods of earth, the cause is matched to the effect, for Man is of the same matter. Plotinus, thou also didst not miss it, when in favour of Man, thou saidst he was an abridgement of the wonders of the world, for since all its wonders heretofore so famous are no more but dust and ashes, Man may hereof be the example with good reason.  
O how much more is expert David in the knowledge of our condition, when he compares Man, not only to the Dust, but to the Dust which flies away, to show us, that, that little which he is still, flies away till it be nothing in the end.  
But how glad am I O Lord, that I am but Dust, to the end that I may fly towards heaven, 
Memento homo quòd nihil es, & in nihilum reverteris.  for the earth I undervalue. How I am satisfied that I am but Ashes, that I may but be able to keep in my soul some little sparkle of thy love. What glory, and what contentment too, is it to be devoured by worms, since thou callest thyself a Worm? gnaw O Lord, gnaw both my heart and intrals. 
Ego sum vermis & non homo. Psal. 22.6.  I offer thee them in prey, and regive me new ones, that may offend thee no more. I know well that my life flits away by little and little, but how agreeable is this flight unto me, since thou art its object. I see well that my Days slide away, and pass in continual course. But O what consolation is it to be sensible of dying at all hours, for to live eternally? O Verities, again, what ravishments have you to consolate the souls of the most afflicted? I return to my subject.  

Humility is ever honoured by all the world.  We read of the Priests of the Gentiles, that they writ letters every year to their Gods, upon the Ashes of the Sacrifices, which they made upon the top of Mount Olympus, and I believe that this was upon design, that they might thus be better received, being written upon this paper of humility. Let us fetch now some truth from this fancy. 
All the parts of the body are as so many Characters of dust, wherein may be read the truth of our nothingness.  Let us write every day to heaven, upon the paper of our Ashes, confessing that we are nothing else, and let us make our sighs the faithful messengers of these letters, as the only witnesses of our hearts. I will hide myself under the Ashes, O Lord, to the end that thy Justice may not see me, said David. What curtain's this? This Sovereign Justice which makes it bright day in hell, cannot pierce the Ashes to find underneath a Sinner. No, 
Seest thou how Ahab humbleth himself. I will not bring the evil in his days 1 Kings 21.29.  no, for this veil has the virtue to reflect the beams of this revenging light within the source, which produced them.  
Remember that I am nothing, O Lord, and that thou hast made me of nothing, 
Recordare quae so, quòd sieut argillam feeisti me & in pulveremreduces me. job 10.9.  and every moment canst reduce me to something less than nothing; cries out job, in his miseries. He finds no other invention to appease the mild choler of his God, then putting him in mind of his infinite greatness, and at the same time of the pitiful estate, whereunto he is reduced. Why should you take Arms against me, O Lord, (pursues he) when the breath of your word is able to undo the same, which it hath made me, 
Humility triumphs over all things.  Remember, O Remember, that I am but what the benign influence of your divine regards permits me to be, for on the instant that you shall cease to regard me, I shall cease to live.  

Man remember thy beginning, for thou art not made of Fire like the Stars, nor of Air like the winds, but of mire, from whence it is thou soyl'st all the would.  Deck we then with Ashes our Body of Dust, and let us cover with a new earth our own, to make Rampires of proof against the thunders of heaven. See you not how its all-powerfull Justice, finds limitation in the confession of our being nothing. We need fear nothing, acknowledging that we are nothing. Well may the thunder make a horrid rumbling, yet the Hyssop out-braves it in its lowliness. 
He which can overcome himself shall never be vanquished by a greater Captain.  Fear and Humility ever abandon each others company. The only means to triumph over all things, is to vanquish Ambition.  
O Lord, I durst scarce believe, that I am, if thy providence alone were not the Prop of my Being. But since thy goodness hath drawn me from the Abyss of Nothing; let thy grace cause me always to keep the remembrance of my original. Before Time was, I was Nothing; now Time is, I am yet Nothing. But what happiness is it to be Nothing at all, since thou art All-things? for if I search myself in vain in myself, is it not sufficient that I am found in thee? I will then forget even mine own name, and muse of nothing, but of the Chimaera of my being, since as a Chimaera, it passeth away and vanisheth. The only consolation, 
What a joy is it to pass away continually with all things, towards him that hath created all things?  that remains me in my passage, is that thou alone remainest firm and stable, so that without end thou art the end of my career, and without bounds limitest the extent of my course, as the only object, both of my rest and felieity. See me now upon return.  
With what and over to be adored lustre, appears the love of God in his day, 
Heaven changes the sighs of the Earth into tears, I mean its vapours into dew.  in the work of Man? Would not one say, that it seems he made him of earth, that he might strew thereon, the seeds both of his blessings and graces! O fortunate Earth, which being diligently cultured, may bring forth the fruits of eternal happiness!  
Boast thyself O Man, to be Nothing but Earth, 
Since we are of Earth, let us suffer this divine Sun of Love, to exhale the vapours of our si●hs, for to metamorphose them into the tears of Repentance.  since the heaven bedews the Earth continually. But if with a provoked eye, it lancheth out, sometimes its thunders upon it, herself doth afford hereof the matter. Live always Innocent, and thou shalt not know what 'tis to fear. Employ thyself without cease, to measure the depth of the Abyss of thy nothingness; and though thou never pierce to the bottom hereof, thy pains shall not be unprofitable, because seeking thyself in thy baseness, thou shalt always recover thyself again much greater than thou art.  
The Sun, this fair Planet of the Day, which with a continual aspect, 
We are all amorous of ourselves, not knowing for what, for our defects are objects rather of hate then Love.  contemplates all created things, cannot make reflection of his beams to see himself, as if his mother Nature had apprehended in making him so glorious; that the Mirror of his light, might not be metamorphosed into a fire of love, to render him amorous of his own proper lustre.  
But the Intellect, this Sun of our Souls, has a faculty with which it can both contemplate out of itself all things, 
A Man cannot stumble ordinarily, but through perverseness, since Reason enlightens him in the very worst ways.  and repeal again the same power to consider itself, which makes a Man capable, not only of the Meditation of the miseries of the World, but also of that of the afflictions and troubles, which inseparably keeps him company to the grave.  
We read of Moses, that God commanded him to frame the 
* The Laver which was before the Tabernacle. Exod. 38.8.  forefront of the Tabernacle all of Mirrors, to the end, that those that should present themselves before his Altar, might view themselves, in this posture of Prayer. O this excellent Mystery! Mortals, it behoves you to view yourselves in the Mirror of your Ashes, if you would have your vows heard.  
God hath taught us an excellent way of Prayer, Give us this day our daily bread. But why O Lord, teachest thou us not to ask thee our bread for to Morrow, 
There is nothing assured in Life, but its continual Death.  as well as for to day? O how good a reason is there hereof! This is because that life hath no assurance of tom-orrow; besides that it is an excess of grace, that we may be bold to crave of him, the bread of our nourishment for all a whole day, since every moment may be That of our Death. Reader, let this verity serve thee yet as a Mirror, 
'Tis not sufficient to muse of the necessity of dying, but to consider also that every hour may be our Lost.  if thou wouldst have thy prayers to pierce the heavens. This is not all, to know thy body is a Colosse of filth, which is trailed along from one place to another, as it were by the last struggle of a Life always languishing. It behoves thee also to call to mind, that every instant may terminate the course of thy troublesome career; and that this sudden retreat, constrains thee to bid Adieu for ever to all the things of the world, which thou cherishedst most. Thoughts only worthy of a noble spirit!  
I have eaten Ashes as bread, 
Psal. 102. 9 Cinerem tan quam panem manducabam.  says the Royal Prophet; but how is it possible? I conceive his thought. He entertained his soul with the remembrance of the Ashes of his body, and this truth alone served as object to his imagination, for to satisfy the appetite of his Soul. Lord give me both the same relish and desire, to repast myself still thus, of Dust and Ashes, in remembrancing myself always, that I am nothing else. 
A man to abase himself below that which he is, being so poor a thing of nothing  O sweet remembrance of my rottenness, since it steads me for eternal nourishment of my Soul! O precious memory of my nothingness, since able to satisfy the appetite of my heart! Let this be the daily bread, O Lord, which thou hast taught me to ask thee, to the end, that all my desires together nourishment. I recollect myself in this digression.  
Having divers times mused of the imbecility and weakness of Man, 
Si vitrei essemus, minus casus timeremus. S. Aug.  I am constrained to cry out with St. Augustin, What is there that can be more frail in Nature? If we were of Glass (pursues he) our condition might therein be better, 
There is nothing more brittle than glass, yet man is more.  for a Glass carefully preserved, may last long time, and yet what pain somever Man takes to preserve himself, and under what shelter somever, he shrowds himself, for covert to the storm, he breaks and is shattered of himself.  
What reply you to these verities, Great Princes? Well may you now be arrogant: The fragility of Glass cannot admit of comparison, with this of your nature; what seat will you give to your greatness? and what foundation to your vanity? 
Man is fully miserable, since his life is the source of his miseries.  when the wind alone of your sighs, may shipwreck you upon the Sea of your own proper tears? what surnames will you take upon you, for to make you be mistaken? That of Immortal would become you ill, since every part of your body, serves but as a But to the shafts of Death. Invincible, 
A man may do every thing with virtue, without it nothing  would also be no way proper, since upon the least touch of mishap, you are more worthy of pity, then capable of defence. Would you be called Gods? your Idolaters would immolate you to their own laughter. Tread under foot your Crowns, if rightly you will be crowned with them, you only thus render yourselves worthy of those honours, which you misprise: for Glory consists not in the possessing it, 
Heaven cannot be acquired, but by the misprise of earth.  but in the meriting; and the only means to obtain it, is to pretend nothing at all to it.  
How remarkable is the custom of the Locrians at the Coronation of their Kings: They burned before them a handful of Tow, to represent unto them the instability of their grandeurs, and the greediness of Time to destroy them. In effect, all the greatnesses of the Earth, are but as a bundlet of Tow; 
All the grandour of Kings is but as the blaze of flaming tow.  and then when Darius would make of them his treasure, Mishap set fire on them, and reduced 'em into Cinders, and when he had yet in his heart a desire to immortalize them, a new fire seized his intrals, by the heat of thirst, which burned him to the end to consume at once, both the cause, and the effect. So true it is, that the Glory of the world vanisheth away like Smoke. Great Kings, if you build a Throne of Majesty to the proof, both against Time and Fortune, lay its foundation upon that of your miseries. 
He which esteems himself the least of all, is the greatest.  Humility takes her rise in low linesse, from the lowest footing, when she makes her flight into the heavens.  
O how admirable is the Humility of Saint john Baptist! They would give him titles of Sovereignty, in taking him for the Messiah: but call to you Memory, how with an ejaculation o● Love and reverence, he precipitate● himself both with heart and thought into the Abyss of his own nothingness, there to admire in all humility, both Greatness and Majesty in his Throne. I am but a voice, 
Vox clamantis in deserto john 1.23.  says he, which beat at the ears to enter into your hearts.  
A Voice, which rustles in a moment, and passes away at the same instant; What Humility! Is there any thing which is less any thing then a Voice? 'Tis a puff of wind, which a fresh one carries I know not where, since both lose themselves in the air, after its ne'er solittle agitation, with their gentle violence. 'Tis nothing in effect, yet notwithstanding, the proper name of this great Prophet. 
Christus verbum, johannes vox.  They would elevate him, and he abaseth himself so low, that he would render himself invisible as a Voice, so much he fears to be taken for him, whose shooe-latchet, he judgeth himself unworthy to unloose.  
Lord, what are we also, but a little Wind enclosed in a handful of Earth? to what can one compare us, 
john 1.27. A man is to be estimated in proportion to the undervalue be makes of himself  without attributing us too much vanity. True it is, that we are the works of thy hands, but all other created things bear the same Title, but if thy bounty hath been willing to advantage our nature with many graces, proper and ordinated to it alone, these are so many witnesses, which convince us, not to have deserved them, since our very Ingratitude is yet a Recognising of this Truth. Insomuch that as our Life is nothing but sin, and sin is a mere privation, it may be maintained that we are nothing else, and consequently nothing at all. 
The most just man sinneth seven times a day.   
But how Proud am I, O Lord, every time I think thou hast created me of Earth, for this is a Principal, which draws me always to itself, by a right of propriety; from whence I cannot defend myself. All things seek their repose in their element. 
What is 〈◊〉 for a man to trumph here of the no●●d? the earth expects his spoil.  O how happy am I, to search mine in that of Dust and Ashes, whereof thou hast form me? The Earth demands my Earth, and my body as a little Gullet, separated from its source, speeds by little and little, to the same source, from whence it had its beginning. And this is that which impeaches me from gathering up myself, to take a higher flight. I should do bravely, to hoist myself above my Centre, 
Pride hoyses up, only to give a fall.  when the assay of my Vanity, and the violence of my fall, are but the same thing. I give still downwards upon the side of my weaknesses, and the weight of my miseries, overbeares upon the arrogance of my Ambition. O happy defect, 
A man no doubt may misknow himself, yet the least hit of mishap tears the veil of his hoodwink'tnesse.  and yet more happy the condition, which holds me always enchained to the dunghill of my Original, since the links of this easy servitude, are so many Mirrors which represent me that I am nothing, whensoever I imagine myself to be something. Let us change our Tone, without changing subject.  
Ladies, Remember that you die every hour, behold, here a MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT. It shows you both what you are, and such as you shall be. But if notwithstanding, you still admire yourselves under an other visage, full of allurements, and sweets. 
A strange thing that death is still as near us, as life, and yet we never think on't.  This is but Death himself, who hides him under these fair apparences, to the end you may not discern him. It is true, you have graceful Tresses of hair which cover your heads, and his is all Bald, but do not you heed, how he pulls them off from yours by little every day, and makes those which he leaves you, to turn White, to the end you may pull them out yourselves?  
It is true, your Eyes have a sparkling lustre, and beauty; but of his is seen only the hideous place, where Nature had seated them: But do you not consider, how with continual action, he Dusks the glory of this beauty; and in conclusion, puts to Eclipse these imaginary Pety-Suns.  
It is true, your hue is of Lillies, and your mouth of Roses, upon his face is seen only the stubs of these flowers: but call to mind, that he blasts this Lilly-teint, 
Ci me and Death are the only inexorables.  as well as Lillies themselves; and that the vermilion of this Rosie-mouth lasts but as Roses; and if yet you differ to day from him in some thing, you may resemble him tomorrow in all. I leave you to meditate of these Truths.  
Man is a true Mirror, which represents to the natural all things, which are opposed unto it. If you turn it downward to the Earth, 
Man is as one picture with two faces, and often the most natural is falsest.  we can see within nothing but objects of Dust and Ashes: but if you turn him to the Heavens-ward, there is to be admired in it beauties, and graces purely celestial. In effect, if we consider Man in his mortal and perishable condition, hardly can one find any stay in this consideration, since he is nothing else but a Chimaera, whose form every Moment, by little and little destroys, to reduce it to its first nothing. And indeed, not to lie to ye, Man, is but a Puff of Wind, since he lives by nothing else, 
Man is nothing in himself, yet comprehends all things.  is filled with nothing else, and dies only by Privation of it. But if you turn the Medal (I would say) the Mirror of his Soul towards his Creator, there are seen nothing but Gifts of Immortality, but graces of a Sovereign bounty, but favours of an absolute Will. The heavens and the Stars appear in this Crystalline Mirror, 
What though man be made of earth; he is more divine than mortal.  not by reflection of the object, but by a divine virtue proceeding from the Nature of his Cause. Let us to the End.  

The slumber of vanities is a mortal malady to the soul.  Me thinks This Page returns again to day within the Chamber of Phil●●● of Macedon, and drawing the Copataine, cries out according to his nundinary.  
Sir, Awake, and Remember that you are a Man: but why rouzes he him to think of Death, since sleep is its image Alexander knew himself mortal by his sleeping; and in effect those which have said, that sleep was the Brother of Death, have drawn their reason of it, from their reciprocal resemblance. Awake then Great Kings; Not to ponder that you are mortal, your sleep is a trance of this, but rather that you are created for immortality. Remember you are Men. I will not say, 
A man should not forget his heavenly beginning, having heaven for a daily object.  subject to all the miseries of the Earth; but rather capable of all the felicities of heaven. Remember that you are Men. I will not say the shuttlecock of Time, and the But to all the shafts of Fortune, but rather victors over ages, and all sorts of miseries. Remember that you are Men; I will not say any more Conceived in Corruption, brought forth by it, and also destroyed by it: But rather, I say, born for the glory of God, 
If a man should consider his worth by that which he cost, he would love himself perfectly.  Living for to acquire it, and Dying for to possess it. Remember that you are Men, I will say no more slaves of Sin, the Flesh, and the World: but rather free for resistance to the first, 
A man may do every good thing which he desires, since in his impuissance his will is taken for the deed.  strong enough to vanquish the next, and more powerful yet to give a Law to the third: Remember that you are men, I will no more say the pourtract of Inconstancy, the object of every sort of ill, and the pasture of Worms: But rather the Image of God, the subject of every sort of good, and the sole aliment of eternity, as created for it alone. Remember that you are men, I will not say made of clay, animated with mishap, 
Man is sure a thing something divine, which is not seen even to itself.  and metamorphosed a'new into rottenness; but rather made by the proper hand of God, animated by his bounty, and redeemed by his Grace.  
I wonder at this, that they should call man a little world, since the least of his thoughts is able to sign out it's expansion beyond a thousand worlds. True it is that he was made of Earth, 
Though he be made of clay, the workmanship is yet all divine.  but the Master which hath made him, having also drawn himself in the middle of his work (as did Phidias) renders him, more admirable than the Heavens. One might also judge at first view, that the greatest part of the creatures have many more Prerogatives than he. But contrarily the heavens, the Stars, and all that nature hath most precious, have in no sort correspondence or equivalence to his grandeurs: let us see the proof on't.  
I grant that the Sea may make us admire equally both its vastness of Empire, and efficacy of power, the least tear of repentance which a Man sheds is a thousand times more admirable, since it remounts even to the source of that grace, which produced it, and consequently beyond the Heavens. I grant that the Air fills all, and its emense nature permits no vacuity, 
The heart of man is so vast, and spacious, that God only can fill it.  through the whole universe. The heart of man carries him fare higher, being never able to find satisfaction in its desires, if its Creators-selfe, though without measure, be not its measure. Let the Fire always greedy and ambitious, scale the heavens in appearance with continual action by the vain attempts of its ejaculations; The least sparkle of the fire of divine love wherewith man may be inflamed is so pure and so noble, 
A man who loves God with all his heart, lives upon earth in the same fashion, as they live in heaven.  that one can not conceive an example of its perfection. Suppose the transparent heavens have no matter, then that of other form, and they render themselves thus wonderful in their simplicity, as in their course still equal, and still continual: the spirit of man is infinitely more excellent in its nature, and much more noble also in its actions, since it works without selfe-motion, but with a manner so divine, that its thoughts carry it every where without change of state or place. Be it that the Sun all marvellous in himself, and his effects produceth nothing but wonders. The Sun of reason, wherewith man is illuminate, is wholly miraculous, since it operates in a divine semblable manner: 
The reason of man is a ray beaming from the Sun of Divinity.  the virtue of other creatures vegetable, and sensitive is inseparably adjoined also to the body of man, as its material: Insomuch that he contains in a degree of eminence above all the creatures of the world, 
Man hath some titles of Nobility, to which the very Angels themselves cannot pretend.  more perfections himself alone, than all they together have ever possessed. And I shall well say more yet. That Man hath certain puissances of disposition to elevate himself so high in his humility, that the Angels shall be below him.  

If man were again to be sold, who could ransom him as he cost?  But if I shall yet moreover poise Man, in the balance of the Cross of his Saviour, and set him at the price of the blood, wherewith he was redeemed, which of the creatures, or rather, which of the Angels, will be so bold, to dispute the preeminence?  
Great Kings Remember then, that you are Men: but more admirable in your governments, than the Sea in its vastness. Remember that your are Men, but also capable to purify the Air, by one only sigh, though even that sigh be made of nothing else. 
A man makes himself above all things, if he under value them with misprise.  Remember that you are Men, but a thousand, thousand times yet more noble than the Fire, since the Seraphins burn incessantly with those divine Fires, wherewith your hearts may be inflamed. Remember that you are Men: but more perfect than the Heavens, since they were not created, but to pour upon heads their benign influences. Remember that you are Men, 
Man is an abridgement rather of the marvels of heaven, than of the miracles of earth.  but more marvellous without comparison, than the Sun; since your Reason is a divine light, which can never suffer Eclipse, but by opposition from a voluntary depravedness. Remember that you are Men: but also destined to command over all other living creature's. Remember that you are Men: but also kneaded as it were, by the hand of one All-powerfull, form after his Image, and redeemed by his blood, what can one say more?  

If a man did often muse of the end, for which he was created, he would therein set up his rest for all the inquietudes of the world.  Unto what a point of Glory hast ●hou then elevated me, O sweet Saviour? in abasing thyself even to the grave. After thou hadst form me of ●arth, thou hast also taken the same ●orme for to resemble me in all things. Thou I say, O my God, whose infinite greatness, cannot admit only the very admiration of the Separphins, ●ut through the Traverse of the Veil of their ordinary submissions. What prodigy of bounty is this! 'Cause ●e then O Lord, if it please thee, that may estimate myself at the price, which thou hast ransomed me for and that in such sort, that I may live no more, but in loving thee, to dye also one day of the same disposition▪ Let me be humbly-haughty, carrying the lineaments of thy resemblance that I may always follow thee though not able to imitate thee This is that, which I will continually implore thee for, until thou has● heard my vows.  
I advow now, O Mercury Trimegistus, that thou hast reason to publish that Man is a great miracle, 
The magnificence of man hath neither bounds nor limits, since God is his end.  since God himself hath been willing to espouse his condition, to show us in its mise●ries the miracles of his Love.  
I confess Pythagoras, that thou hast had no less ground to maintains that Man was a mortal God, 
Though a man still fade away, he is yet a lively portray of immortality.  since except this sweet necessity, which sub●jects him to the Tomb, he has thousand qualities in him all immo●●tall. I should finally have been 〈◊〉 advise with thee Plato then, when tho● preachedst, every where, that Ma● was of the race of the Gods, since 〈◊〉 piece of work so rare, and so perfect could not proceed but from a hand Omnipotent, 
All the creatures are admirable, as the effects of a sovereign and independent cause: but man has attributes of an unparallelled glory.  I mean this Rivelet of admiration could not proceed but from a source most adorable. I am of thy opinion Plotinus, & henceforth will maintain every where with thee, that Man is an abridgement of the wonders of the world: Since that all the Univers together was created but for his service, & pleasure. Say we yet moreover, that those wonders of the world, so renowned, are but the works of his hands; so that also the actions of his spirit can take their Rise above the Sun, and beyond the heavens, and this too now in the chains of its servitude.  
Great Kings, Be it supposed that you are living pourtraits of Inconstancy: 
Man flies away by little & little, from one part of himself, shalt he may entirely into himself.  The perfection of your Nature lies in this defect of your powers, for this Vicissitude, which God hath rendered inseparable to your condition, is a pure grace of his bounty: since you wax old only, that you may be exempted from the tyranny of Ages: since (I say) you die every moment, only to make acquisition of that immortality, to which his love has destined you.  

This defect of inconstrancie is the perfection of man; since he ischangeable to day to be no more so to morrow.  O happy Inconstancy! if in changing without cease, we approach the poin● of our sovereign felicity, whose foundations are immovable. O dear Vicissitude! if rowling without interval in the dust of our original, we approach by little and little, to thos● Ages of glory, which beyond a● time assign at our End, the beginning of a better Career. O Glorious Death, since terminated at that crue● instant, 
A man is only happy in the perpetual inconstancy of his condition  which separates us from Immortality.  
It is true, I confess it again, Gre●● Kings, that you are subject to all th● sad accidents of your subjects; 
The greatest misery that can arrive to a man, is to offend God.  Bu● what happiness is it, if these misfortune's are as so many several waye● which conduct you into the Port. B●● it granted, that you are nothing b●● Corruption in your Birth, Misery 〈◊〉 your Life, and a fresh infection 〈◊〉 many attributes of honour to yo●● since you disrobe yourselves in t●● grave of all your noisomeness, for 〈◊〉 Deck yourselves with the ornament of Grace, of felicity and glory, whi●● belong in proper to your souls, as being created for the possession of all these Good Things.  

Heaven, ' Earth, Nature, the very Devils are admirers of the greatness of man.  Who can be able to dimension the greatness of Man; since he who hath neither bounds nor limits, would himself be the circumference of it? Would you have some knowledge of Man's power? hear the commandment which josuah made to the Sun, to stop in the midst of his career. Would you have witnesses of his strength, Samson presents you all the Philistines buried together under the ruins of the Temple, whose foundations he made to totter. Require you some assurances of his courage? job offers you as many as he has sores upon his body. In fine, desire you some proofs of his happiness. Heaven has sewer of Stars, then of felicities to give him. 
Man may be whatsomever he will be,  What name then shall we attribute him now, that may be capable to comprehend all his glory? There ●s no other than this of Man; and Pilate did very worthily (no doubt) to turn ●t into mockage before the Jews; 
john 19.5.  he ●hews them a God under the visage of 
Ecce homo. Behold the Man.  a Man. Let the world also expose the miseries of Man in public; 
The name Man is now much more noble than that of Angels.  His Image of Earth is yet animated with a divine spirit, which can never change Nature. Well may they tear his bark, the Inmate of it is of proof against the strokes of Fortune, as well as the gripes of Death. The Man of Earth may turn into Earth; but the Man of heaven takes his flight always into heaven. 
With what new rinds some-ever a man he covered, he bears still in his sorehead the marks of his Creator.  That Man I say, fickle and inconstant, kneaded and shaped from dirt, with the water of his own tears may resolve, into the same matter: But this stable and constant Man, created by an omnipotent hand, remains uncessantly the same, as incapable of alteration.  
Rouse then yourselves from sleep great Princes, 
He that would always muse of Eternity, would without doubt, acquire its glory.  not for to remember Death but rather to represent unto your selve● that you are immortal, since Death hath no kind of Dominion over you● Souls, which make the greatest, as being the Noblest part of you.  
Awake then great Monarches, not fo● to Muse of this necessity, which drawe● you every hour to the Tomb: bu● rather to consider, that you may exempt yourselves from it, if your Actions be but as sacred as your Majesties.  

Man jam a hidden treasure, whose worth God only knows.  Great PRINCES Awake, and permit me once more to remembrance You that you are Men, I mean the Masterpieces of the works of God; since this divine workemaster hath in conclusion metamorphosed himself into his own work, My feathered pen can fly no higher.  

Man only is she ornament of the world.  Those which have propounded that Man was a new world, have, found out proportionable relations, and great correspondencies of the one to the other, for the Earth is found in the matter whereof he is form, the Water in his ●eares, the Air in his sighs, the Fire ●n his Love, the Sun in his reason, ●nd the Heavens in his imaginations. But the Earth subsists and he vanisheth, 〈◊〉 Sweet vanishment! since he is lost 〈◊〉 himself, that he may be found in is Creator, But the Earth remains ●●me, and his dust flies away: O hap●y flight, since eternity it its aim! The ●ater, though it fleets away, yet returns ●e same way, and ret orts upon its own paces: 
Man may be said to be happy in being subject to all mishaps.  But Man contrarily being settled upon the declining stoop of his ruin, rolls insensibly without interval to the grave, his prison. 
Death is a grace rather than a pain.  O dear ruin 〈◊〉 O sweet captivity! since the soul recovers her freedom, and this Sepulture serves but as a Furnace to purifi●● his body. The Air, although it corrupt, is not for all that destroyed, th● corruption of Man destroys its material. O glorious destruction, since i●steades him as a fresh disposition to render him immortal. The Fire, though it fairly devour all things, is yet preserved still itself, to reduce all th● World into Ashes: But Man perceive himself to be devoured by Time, with out ability ever to resist it. Oh beneficial Impotence, since he finds h●● Triumph in his overthrow! 
The ●el●citic of man in this world consists in the necessity of death.  the Sunn● causeth always admiration in its ordinary lustre, but Man's reason is impaired in the course of Times. Oh welcome impairment, since Time ruin● it but only in an Anger, knowing th● it goes about to establish its Empire beyond both time and Ages. In find the Heavens may seem to wax old 〈◊〉 their wand'ring course: 
How happy is man in decaying evermore since he thus at last renders himself exempt from all the miseries which pursue him.  they yet appear the same still every day, as they were a thousand years a'gon: Man from moment to moment differs from himself, and every instant disrobes him somewhat of his Being. Oh delightful Inconstancy, since all his changes make but so many lines, which about at the Centre of his stability.  

A long life is a heavy burden to the soul, since it must render an account of all its moments.  How mysterious is the Fable of Narcissus; the Poets would persuade ●●s, that He became selfe-enamoured, ●●ewing Himself in a Fountain. But 〈◊〉 am astonished, how one should become amorous of a dunghill, though ●overed with Snow or Flowers. A face cannot be form without Eyes, Nose, ●nd Mouth, and yet every of these ●arts make but a body of Misery, and Corruption as being all full of it.  
This Fable intimates us the repre●ntment of a fairer truth, since it in●●tes a Man to gaze himself in the ●ountaine of his tears, thus to become morous of himself, not for the lineaments of dust and ashes, whereof ●s countenance is shaped, but rather of ●ose beauties and graces, wherewith his soul is ornamented, and all these together make but a rivelet, 
If a man could contemplate the becauties of his soul in innocence he would always be surprised with us love.  which leads him to the admiration of that source from whence they took their original.  
Oh how David was a wise Narcissus! then when he made of his Tears a Mirror, 
If a man would of en view himself in the tears of his repentance, be would soon become a true self●over.  so to become enamoured of himself, for he was so self-loving in his repentance, that in this He spent both days and nights, with unparelleled delights.  
But if Narcissus shipwreck himself in the fountain of his self-fondness; This great King was upon point to Abyss himself in the Sea of his t●eres, 
All the vain objects of the world are so many fountains of Narcissus, wherein prying men may shipwreck themselves.  for their liquid Crystalline showed him to himself so beautiful, that he burned with desire thus to drown himself.  
Lady's vie● yourselves in this Mirror, since you are ordinarily slaves to your own self love. You will be fair at what price soever; see here is the means. The Crystal Mirror of your tears flatter not, contemplate therein the beauty of this grace, which God hath given you to bewail your vanities, This is the only ornament which can render you admirable All those deceitful Crystals, 
Tears are the faithfullest Mirours of penitence.  which you wear hanged at your Girdles, show you but feigned beauties whereof Art is the workmistresse and cause, rather than your visages: Would ye be Idolaters of the Earth which you tread on? your bodies are but of Dirt; but if you will have them endeared, where shall I find terms to express their Noisomeness? Leave to Death his Conquest, and to the Worms their heritage, 
If Ladies would take as much care of their souls as of their bodies, they would not hazard the loss both of one and tother.  and search yourselves in that original of Immortality, from whence your souls proceed, that your actions may correspond to the Nobleness of that cause. This is the most profitable counsel which I can give You: It is time to end this Chapter.  
Great Kings I serve you this Morning instead of a Page, to awake You, and remembrance You that you are Men: I mean, Subjects to Death, and consequently destinated to serve as a Prey to the Worms, a Shuttlecock to the Winds, and matter for to form an object of horror and astonishment to you altogether. Muse a little, that your life passeth away as a Dream; 
The meditation of our nothingness, is a sovereign remedy against vanity.  think a little that your thoughts are vain; consider at the same time, that all that is yours passes and flies away. You are great, but this necessity of Dying equals you to the least of your subjects. 
Men are so near of blood together, that all bear the same name.  Your powers are dreadful, but a very hand-worme mocks at 'em: your riches are without number, but the most wretched of men carry as much into the grave as you. In fine, may all the pleasures of Life make a party in Yours, yet they are but so many Roses, whose prickles only remain to you at the instant of Death. 
Man hath nothing so proper to him, as the misery to which he is borne.  The horror which environs You, chaseth away your greatnesses, the weakness which possesseth you, renders unprofitable your absolute powers, and only then in that shirt, which rests upon your back, are comprised all the treasures of your Coffers. Are not these verities of importance enough to break your sleep?  

If the earth be our mother, heaven is our father.  I awake you then for to remembrance you this last time, that you are Men: but destined to possess the place of those evil Angels, whose Pride concaved the Abysses of Hell: that you are Men, but much more considerable for the government of your reason, than your Kingdom. That you are Men, but capable to acquire all the felicities of Heaven, if those of the Earth are by you disdained. That you are Men, but called to the inheritance of an eternal Glory, if you have no pretence to any of this world.  
Lastly, that you are Men: but the living images of an infinite and omnipotent one. 
Though the body and soul together make up the man: there is yet as much d●fference between the one and the other, as between the scabbard and the sword.  Clear streams of immortality remount then to your eternal source. fair rays of a Sun without Eclipse rejoin yourselves then to the body of his celestial light. Perfect patterns of the divinity, unite yourselves then to it, as to the independent cause of your Being. Well may the Earthquake under your feet, your wills are Keys to the gates of its abysses: should the Water or'ewhelme again all, your hopes cannot be shipwrecked. That the Air fills all things may be, but your expectations admit of some vacuum. Though the Fire devour all things; the object of your hopes is above its flames, let the heavens pour down in a throng, 
Although the puissaences of the soul, work not but by the senses, the effects in this point are more noble than the cause  their malignant influences here below: your souls are under covert from their assaults. Let the Sun exhaling vapours make thereof thunders for your ruin: you are under the protection of him who ejaculates their flashes; 
Man needs fear nothing, being a●evated above a.l.  insomuch that instead of hurting you, all things do you homage. The Earth supports you, the Water refresheth you; the Air imbreaths you, the Fire warms you; 
Man could not be more happy then be is, since God is his last felicity.  the Sun lights you, & Heaven attends you; the Angels honour you, the Devils fear you, Nature obeys you, and God himself gives himself to you to oblige you to the like reciprocation. Is not this to possess with advancement all the felicities, which you can hope? I dare you to wish more.  
A wake thyself then Reader, and let thy conscience and thy misery each in its turn serve thee as a Page every morning to put thee in mind, That thou art a Man, 
To dye is proper to man.  I mean a portrait animated with Death, rather than with Life, since thou canst do nothing but dye, but in this continual dying, amid the throng of evils and pains which are enjoined to thy condition; Consider also that thou art created to possess an Eternity both of life and happiness, 
How happy is man, thus to be able to be as much as he desires.  and that all these infinite good things are exposed as an aim of honour and glory to the addresses of thy will; for if thou wilt, Paradise shall be thine, though Hell gape at thee; Heaven shall be thy share, its delights thy Succession, and God alone thy Sovereign felicity.   

A PROLUSIVE upon the EMBLEM of the second Chapter.  

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

This solemn passage of this Monarch's story  
With greatest lustre doth advance his glory.    


Victorious SALADINE caused to be Proclaimed to all his  
Army that he carried nothing with him to the  
Grave but a SHIRT after all his Conquests.    

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.  
CHAP. II.  

The horror and misery of the grave, makes the hair stand on end to the proudest.  ARrogant spirits, ambitious Hearts be silent, and lend an ear to the public cry of this Herald, who with a voice animated with horror and affright, as well as with compassion and truth, proclaimeth aloud, in the view of heaven and earth, and in the presence of a world of people; That this Great SALADINE, magnificent Conqueror of Asia, and Monarch of the whole East, carries away to the grave for fruit of his victories but only a shirt, which covers the mould of his body, and even this scrap of linen too, Fortune leaves him, but to give the worms.  
Absolute Kings, puissant Sovereigns, what will you reply to these discourses, for to you they are addressed? I doubt well, that shame, confusion and astonishment, bar your speech, 
This necessily of dying, serves for temperament to the vanity of the greatest Monarches of the world.  and that this sensible object of your proper miseries, affects you so with ruth, to force from your bosoms a thousand sighs. The greatest Monarch of the earth becomes at a clap so little, as not to be found, no, not in his miseries, for the wind gins already to carry away the dust whereof he was form. The powerfullest King of the world, is reduced to such a point of weakness, that he cannot resist the worms, after vanquishment and subjugation of entire Nations. The richest Prince of the East, takes a glory of all his treasures, to carry away but only a shirt to his Sepulture. What can you answer to these verities?  
This famous Saladine, the terror of men, the valour of the earth, and the wonder of the world, 
Man cannot complain of the world, since at his death he gives him a shirt, which at his birth, his mother Nature refused him.  esteems himself so happy, and so advantaged by fortune, in respect she leaves him this old rag to cover his corruption, that he makes this favour, to be published with sound of trumpet, in the midst of his Army, that none might be in doubt on't: what beyond this can be your pretensions? I grant you may be seated like Xerxes, upon a Throne all of massy gold, canopied with a glistering firmament of precious stones; and that on what side somever you turn your menacing regards, you see nothing but objects humbled before your Royal Majesties. You never seat yourselves upon these Thrones of magnificence, but as it were, to take leave of the assembly, 
All the speeches of Men are but discourses of adieu & leave-taking, since every day be marches strait forward toward Death.  continuing still to give your last God-bwyes, like a man who is upon point to departed continually, since he dies every moment. Insomuch, that all this Pomp which accompanies, you, and which gives shadow to the lustre wherewith you are environed, vanishes away with you, and all those who are its admirers, and idolaters, run the same fortune, being of the same nature.  
Be it from me granted, that the report of your glory, admits no vacuity, no more than the Air does, and that your name is as well known as the Sun, and more redoubted then the thunder. This voice of renown is but as the sound of a Bell, 
To what purpose doth the renown of a Man make a noise in the world? the noise ●e●seth, the renown passeth.  which redoubles a noise to its own detriment, to advertise those that doubt on't; and this name so famous, and dreadful, finding no memory here below to the proof of ages, buries itself at last, in the nothingness of its beginning.  
Be it again, that all the Gold of the Indies can be valued but to a part of your Estate, and that all the world together, possess less treasure than you alone; what advantage think you to bear away, more than the most miserable of the world, that in this you should be vain? Enjoys not he the same Sun which lights you? hath not he the same usage of the Elements, 
The tranquillity of t●e mind and the health of body, are the only riches of the world.  whereof you make use? But if you have more than he, a gloriousness of apparel, and a thousand other superfluous things (which are altogether estranged to virtue, as being imaginary goods, whose appearance alone is the only foundation) he may answer you with Seneca, that with whatsomever coverture a Man hides the shame of his nakedness, he shall pass for well-clothed among wise men. And to come to the point; a Man hath always enough wherewith to follow his way, and to finish his voyage. The surplus is but a burden of cares, which are metamorphosed into so many briars, when Death would discharge us of them. Besides, Riches consists but in opinion, though their treasures be palpable and sensible. A man is Rich, equal to that which he believes himself to be. 
He is the most rich, who is most conient.  And though he hath nothing, this Grace wherewith he is treasured, to find rest in his miseries, is above all the Gold of the world.  
What difference think you there is betwixt the Rich and the poor? both the one and the other, are equally pilgrims and travellers, and go alike to the same place. Then, if the Rich pass through the fairer way, they rencontre when they die, 
All Mortals together make a dance of blind men, who in dancing run to death without s●●●g the way they pass.  all the thorns of those roses which they have passed upon. There is no arrival to the Haven of the grave, without being tempested sooner or later, in the storm of those miseries, which accompany us. And me thinks it is a comfort, to suffer in good time those evils, which we cannot avoid.  
Rich-ones, how miserable do I hold you, if the goods of the earth be your only treasures! Rich-ones, how unhappy are you, if your felicities be but of Gold, 
The treasure of good works only inriches us eternally.  and Silver! Rich-ones, how you compel my pity of your greatnesses, if you have no other titles than those of your Lordships! Rich-ones, how frightful only at the hour of Death are your names, since the misery, wherein you are borne, accompanies you in the sepulchre.  
True it is, that the Air of the Region where you dwell, may be very temperate, the Seasons of it fair, and the lands fertile: but you consider not, that while you live, you often sigh back the air which you receive; that this sweet time, which smiles on you, entraines you in flying to the season of tears, 
The content of riches is like an odor ferous fume, but it passes, and so doth their enjoyment also, and there is all.  and that very soon the dunghill of your bodies shall perhaps render the lands yet more fertile.  
The Rich Men of the world have done nought but pass away with the ages, that gave them birth: you are borne in this, and this very same goes away, and leads you with it, and all the rest of Men, without skilling what you are, or in what fashion you are vested, well may you possess an infinite number of treasures; you must always troth, and rise as soon i'the morning as others: but if you play the slugs, and sleep too long, 
'Tis strange, whether we shift place and s●at or no, we yet run incessantly to Death.  Death comes in the end to awake you, and interrupt your repose with an eternal disquiet. What will you say to this? The fable of Midas comprehends in it important verities; Apollo grants him all that he demands, he satiates the appetite of his unmeasurable ambition by the virtue which he gives to his touch, to be able to turn all things into gold. See him now rich for a day, his hands are as new Philosophersstones, which make the grossest, and most impure metals, change both nature, 
To what purpose is it to be environed with riches? they are a strange kind of good, whereof one can enjoy the usage but for a moment only.  and price, he sees himself enrounded in a moment with so great a number of treasures, that he gins to apprehend the enjoyment of those goods, which he desired with so much passion; and from fear he comes to astonishment: then, when pressed with hunger, all the Viands which he touches with his hands, lips, or tongue, are metamorphosed into Gold. O inseparable amazement, from a mortal grief, caused by a semblable regreet, that he could not limit his ambition, but to the desire of his own ruin!  
Rich-men, you are as so many Midass', since with all your treasures, you never importune heaven for any other thing, but to increase their number, to which effect you destinate your cares, your watchings, and your labours. But make no more imploring vows; behold yourselves at last heard. The glistering of your riches dazzles me, your greatnesses and magnificences give you cheerful tincture; yet let us see the reverse of the Medal.  
After your so many strong wishes for Gold and Silver, 
The covetous grows poor in measure as he grows rich, since in increasing his treasures, increases the famine of his insatiable avarice, and thus of what he possesses he enjoys nothing.  their treasures remains to you for to satiate, at least in dying, the unruled appetite of the ambition of your life. Riches I say environ you on all sides, after your so passionate covetise of them. But in this last instant, their possession is the saddest object, which can be presented to your thoughts. And notwithstanding 'tis the only nourishment which rests to you, amid the hunger which torments you uncessantly, as if for punishment of part of your crimes, heaven did permit, that the instruments of your pleasures, 
A Man carries away nothing with him at his Death, but either a regreet or else a satisfaction of an evil or a good Life.  should also be the same of your punishments, considering the greatness of your miseries, by that of your unprofitable treasures: for after all you must dye, and though you carry with you this desire, to bear away with you your riches into the tomb, they remain in your coffers, for to serve as witnesses to your heirs, of the vanity of their enjoyment.  
The Silkworms, which have so much trouble to spin out their mouths their little golden threads, think to establish to themselves a shelter of honour, to the proof of all sorts of atteints, and on the contrary, they warp the web of their own ruin. Just so is it with the Rich-ones of the world, who an ingenious industry, 
To what effect is't to seek repose in this world? 'tis never to be sound but in God.  employ all their assays, to lay solid foundations here below of an immortal life, and yet all their actions cannot but terminate in an end contrary to their designs; since they search Eternity in the circles of Ages, always in revolution, and repose in the perpetual instability of all worldly things. Insomuch, that they trouble themselves to suffer much, and all their cares and pains, are but as fresh sowings of 
* See the ambiguity of the French word Soucies', in the first Chapter.  Marigolds, which dying in their gardens, respring in their hearts, there to dye never. Behold the end of their jorney-worke.  
Treasures, to what effect serve you me, if I must enter all naked into the grave? Pleasures, what becomes of your sweets, if my last sighs are but bitterness? Grandeurs of this life, in what stead you me, if you cannot exempt me from the miseries of Death?  
LORD, I am rich enough in that I serve for an object of pity to thy adorable Providence, whose o're-liberall bounty furnishes me for all my day's nourishment enough to pass them, what can I wish more? on what side somever I take my way, to go the course of Death, 
Heaven is an object of consolation to the most miserable.  I can never lose from view the heavens, which are the Gates of thy Palace. Insomuch, as if any thing fail me, I have but to strike there with my regards, thou art always upon a ready watch, to secure the miserable. Supply me then, O LORD, if it please thee, with thy ordinary charities, and since that hope dies after me, I will rather cease to be, then to hope in thee. These are the strongest resolutions of my soul.  

We beg of God every day new favours, & every day we render ourselves unthankful for those we have received.  We read of the children of Israel. that having received of God and infinity of riches, at their coming out of the red Sea, by the wrack of their enemies, they made of their treasures, Idols, and joining in this sort Idolatry to Ingratitude, they erected altars to their brutality, since under relief of a brute beast, they represented their God.  
But leave we there the children of Israel, and speak of the Fathers of BABYLON, I mean those wicked rich ones of the world, to whom God hath done so great favours, in heaping them with so many goods. Are not they every day convicted of Idolatry, in their unacknowledgement, since the coffers of their treasures are the Idols of their temples? 
Are we worthily Christians, when idolatry is more familiar to us then to infidels, since we make idols of all the objects of our passions?  More beasts than brutes, in their voluntary depravedness; they offer incense to their brutish passions; and no otherwise able, but to erect them secret altars in their souls, they there sacrifice every hour a thousand sighs of an unsatiable ambition. Insomuch, that the God of heaven is the God of their dissimulation, and the Calf of Gold, the God of their belief and opinion.  
Say we then boldly, that the objects of our passions are Golden Calve● to us, since our hearts become their Idolaters. One here will sigh for love of honours, as well as for his Mistress with design to hazard a thousand lives, and as many souls, for the conquest of their vain felicities: and see here his idolatry, making his God of these Chimeras of honour, which vanish away like a Dream, at the rousing up of our reason.  

What folly is't, to seek repose in the world, which subsists only in revolution?  Another there, will lose quite and clean, all the peace wherein he is of a quiet life, for to set up a rest purely imaginary in the amassement of treasures. And of heaven hearing his votes, with design to punish him, give some favourable success to his cares, and watchings, he becomes and Idolater now indeed, an Idolater of those goods, which as yet he adored but in hope, and renders himself miserable, for having desired too ardently felicities, which only bear the voice to be so, but their usage and possession may prove as dangerous upon the earth, as Rocks within the Sea.  

The goods of the earth are right evils, and at Death each one shall so experiment 'em.  One will have his heart wounded, and his Soul atteinted with a new trick of ambition, and as all his desires & thoughts are terminated to the objects of his designs, he is never in health, while the fever of his passion is continual. I leave you to consider of what ratiocination he can be capable, during the malady of his spirit. All sorts of ways seem equally fair unto him, for to guide him unto the port whither he aspires, having no other aim but this to acquire, a● what rate somever that good whereof he is in Quest; and of this Good, it is where of he makes his Idol, after a shameful immolation of the best days of his Life, to the anxieties of its possession.  
Another will establish his repose in the turmoil of the word, turning his spirit to all winds, to be under cover● from the tempests of fortune. Blind as he is, he follows this Goddess with the hoodwinked eyes. Wavering as he is, he aspires but after the favours of this inconstant Deity, of which he is secretly an idolater, but if perchance she elevate him very high, there is no more hazard of his fall, the law's o● this necessity are inviolable, and one cannot avoid the rigour of them, if not avoiding their servitude. Insomuch that after he hath sneaked himself a long time amongst the grandeurs of the earth, he finds himself enlabyrinthed in the miseries, wherein he is borne, without possessing any thing in propriety, but the usance of a puff of wind, which enters once again at last into his entrails, to force thence the last sigh. And thus he becomes the Victim of the Idol of his passions, without purifying ne'er the less from the sacrifice of his life, the soil of those offerings, which he hath made upon the altars of Vanity. Behold the sad issue of this Dedalean labyrinth, wherein so many of the world take pleasure to intricate themselves in.  
O how Rich is he, LORD, who hath thy love & fear for his treasure? O how happy is he, 
If the fruition of all the world together were to be sold, it were not worth so much trouble as to open the mouth only to say, I will not buy it.  who hath for object of felicity the contempt of these things of the world! O how Contented is he, who thinks always of eternal delights! To have many riches for a hundred years, is not this to possess at the end of that term a Good, which is as a good, as never to have been. To taste greedily the sweets of every sort of prosperity, during the reign of a long life; is it not already to dye by little and little for grief to abandon them, since in flying away, they intraine us into the grave. To pant continually for joy in the presence of a thousand pleasures, is it not to prepare in one's breast, the matter of as many griefs? since every contentment is a disposition to a kind of martyrdom, by the necessary and infallible privation of its sweets, whereof while we taste on't, it menaceth us. In fine, to have all things at wish, is it not to possess vain businesses, since the world has nothing else to offer us? The riches which Fortune gives and takes away again when she will, 
A wicked rich Man is much astonished at his Death, to have his conscience void of good works, and his coffers full of money, since with all the gold of the world, he cannot purchase the grace of the least repentance.  can never enrich a Man, it behoves him to seek his treasure in the mines of his conscience, so to be under covert from sin; for otherwise he runs the same hazard, as of the goods which he possesses, I mean in their decay, to lose himself with them. The prosperities of the earrh, are once more fresh flowers of the garden, fair to the eye, and of good sent, but 'tis to much purpose to gather them, and make nosegays; in holding them one holds nothing, because their fragility renders them so slippery, that they 'scape both from our eyes and hands, and though their flight be slow, one day only is all their durance. The pleasures of the world are of the same nature, I grant they may have some agreeableness to charm our senses, yet 'twere too vain to vaunt of their possession, though one enjoys them, forsomuch as they slip away, 
The arrival of pleasures annunciates us always their fueedie departure.  and vanish without cease from our eyes, like the alwayes-flitting water trills. Their sway hath so short limits, that each moment may be the term on't. Solid contentments are only found in heaven, and the only means to relish them beyond all sweets, is continually to Muse on them, for having always our spirit arrested upon meditation of an object so delicious, our thoughts draw thence by their virtue this efficacy, to ravish us with joy. I return to my first proposition.  

The good or ill which we do, accompanies us to the grave.  That the greatest MONARCH of the world, after possession of all things to his wish, and having led a thousand times fortune herself in triumph, upon the territories of his Empire should in conclusion be exposed all naked in his SHIRT, at the end of his career, to serve for a prey to the worms, and a shitlecocke to the winds, certes a man must needs be very insensible, not to be touched with affright at these truths.  

The misprizall of riches, is the only treasure of life.  GREAT KINGS, if you have not other Mines of Gold more precious than those of the India's; you shall dye as poor as you were borne: and as Tears were the first witnesses of your misery, sighs shall be the last of your poverty, carrying with you this regreet into the grave, to have possessed all things, and now to find yourselves in estate of enjoying nothing.  

If we would acquire Heaven, we ought to have no pretence to Earth.  GREAT KINGS, if you have no other marks of sovereignty, but this of the large extent of your territories, the tribute which your subjects shall render you at the end of the journal, shall be very little, since the long spaces of your Empire shall be bounded with seven foot.  
GREAT KINGS, if you have no other treasures than those of the rent of your Demeans, all those goods are false, and the regreet of their privation too true. 
The rents of virtue's demeans are not subject to fortune.  But if you doubt of this yet, consult the dumb oracle of the Ashes of your Ancestors, and the truth will answer for them, that they never have had any thing more proper to them then misery, nothing more sensible than disasters, and that with all the riches which they have enjoyed during life, they have not been able to procure at the hour of Death, more than that piece of linen, wherein they are enveloped.  

True valour has no other object, but the conquest of eternal things.  GREAT KINGS, if you have no other Philosopher-stone but this, the Conquest which your Valour may make, all your greatness, and all your riches, shall be enclosed in the coffins, wherein you shall be buried. For, all that Fortune shall give you to day, DEATH shall take from you to morrow, and the day after, one may count you in the rank of the most miserable. I will again change tone.  
What a contagious malady in this age, wherein we are, is this passion of amassing treasures! All the world would be rich, as if Paradise were bought with ready money, 
If one knew the peril of being rich, he would only be in love with poverty.  and that the commerce of our safety were a public Bank, where the most covetous render themselves the most happy. Every one makes bravado of his acquists, and poyzeth his felicities to the balance of his riches, being never able to be otherwise content, but in reference to the measure of what he is estated in.  
There one will assume a pride to have ten thousand Acres of wood, whose revenue, nourisheth his passions, and entertains his pleasures. 
We may call Man a Tree, whose root is the immortal soul, and the fruits which it bears are of the same nature either for glory or punishment.  Insomuch, that he considers not that these Trees are laden but with the fruit of these world-miseries; & of all together he shall bear away, but the branch of one only, which shall serve very soon for a Beer to his carcase, See in what consists the profit of his rents, after their account made.  
Another will be rich only in Meadows, and changing his hay into Gold, which is but Earth; he fills therewith his coffers. But Fool, that he is, he thinks not that his life is a Meadow, his body the hay thereof and Time the Mower, 
The World is a Meadow, and all the objects which therein we admire, are flowers, which fade every hour.  who by his example makes public traffic of the same merchandise, changing by little and little the hay of his body into Earth. And is not this to be very ingenious to cheat a man's self?  
Another's aim is only to be rich in buildings, some ' the Country, some 'th' City, and assuming vanity from the number, as well as the magnificence of his Palaces, he believes that they are so many Sanctuaries of proof, against the strokes of fortune, or the thunders of heaven. What a folly's this, to esteem one's self happy, for having divers Cabins upon earth, to put himself under couvert from the rain, and wind, during the short journey of life? The rain ceases, the wind is past, and life dies, and then the tempest of a thousand eternal anguishes comes to entertain him, without possibility of discovery, even from hope, one only port of safety. To be only rich then, in aedifices, is to be rich in castles of paper and cards, such as little children lodge their petty cares in.  

We must build upon the unshakeable foundations of eternity, if a man would be sheltered from all sorts of storms.  To what purpose steads it us to be richly lodged, if every hour of the day may be that of our departure? Men trouble themselves to build houses of pleasure, but the pleasures fade away, and we also, and these houses remain for witnesses of our folly, and for sensible objects of sorrow, and grief, in that cruel necessity to which we are reduced to abandon them. It is to be considered, that we are borne to be Travellers and Pilgrims, and as such, are we constrained to march always strait to the gist of Death, without ever resting, or being able to find repose even in repose itself. To what then are all these magnificent Palaces, 
Though we say the Sun sets every night, yet it rests not: and so Man, though he lay himself to sleep, rests not from his voyage to Earth.  when our only retreat beats on to the grave? To what end are all this great number of structures, when we are all in the way, and point to end our voyage? O how well is he housed, that lodgeth his hope in God, and lays the foundations of his habitation upon ETERNITY! A good conscience is the richest house that one can have.  
Another designs his treasures in numerous Shipping, traficking with all winds, in spite of storms and tempests: but be it granted a perpetual calm as heart could wish, and imagine we, (as himself does) that he shall fish with Fortune's nets, all the Pearls of the OCEAN; what can he do at the end with all his ventures? if he truck them away, he can gain but stuff of the same price, if he sell them, he does but change white purified earth for yellow, which the Sun purifies as well within the mines: what will he do now with this new merchandise, or this his gold? behold him always in trouble, to discharge himself of so many burdens. If gold were potable, he might perhaps nourish himself therewith for a while; but as MIDAS could not do it in the fable, he will ne'er bring it to pass in the verity, he must needs keep watch then day and night to the guard of his riches; and well may he keep sentinel, Death comes to rob him of them, since at his going out of the world she takes them away from him. What appearance is there, that the treasures of the Sea should be able to make a man rich, since the possession of all the world together cannot do it. A hundred thousand ships are but a hundred thousand shuttle-cockes for the winds, 
The treasure of good works, is eternal riches.  and a hundred thousand objects of shipwreck. Suppose they arrive to the Port, the life of their Master is always among rocks, for 'tis a kind of ship, which cannot arrive at other shore, but at the bank of the grave. And I leave you to consider what danger he may run, if there the storm of his avaricious passion cast him. The sand-blind-sighted may foresee his ruin, and the most judicious will believe it infallible. Behold in fine a man rich to much purpose, 
Our life is a Ship, which losing from the Haven of the Cradle, at the moment of our birth, never comes ashore again, till it run aground upon the grave.  that would have drained by his ambition, the bottomless depths of the Ocean, and now to find himself ith'end of his career, in the abysses of hell, having an eternity of evils for recompense of an age of anxieties, which he hath suffered during his life.  
LORD, if I would be rich in wood, let it be in that of thy CROSS, and from henceforth let its fruits be my revenues, and my rents. If I would traffic in meads; Let the meditation of the hay of my life, be my only profit. If I set myself to build houses, 
He which puts his trust in God, is the richest of the world, how poor somever he be.  let it be rather for my soul then for my body, and in such sort, that my good works may be the stones, and the purity of my conscience the foundation. And lastly, If I would travel the Seas, to go to the conquest of their treasures: let my tears be the waves thereof, and my sighs the winds, and thy grace alone, the only object of my riches.  
Make me then rich, O LORD, if it please thee, by the only misprise of all the treasures of the Earth, 
'Tis already a sufficient enjoyment of rest and quiet, to set up ones rest in God only.  and teach this secret language to my heart, never to speak but of thee in its desires, nor of other than thyself in its hopes, since of thee alone, and in thee only lies the fullness of its perfect felicity and sovereign repose. Let us not rest ourselves in so fair a way.  
I cannot comprehend the design of these curious Spirits, who go seeking the Philosophers-stone in that Spittle, where an infinite number of their companions are dead of regreet to have so ill employed their time. They put all they have to the quest of that which never was, and burning with desire to acquire wealth, they reduce all their own into cinders, and their lungs also with vehement puffing, without gaining other recompense at the end of their labours, but this, now to know their folly: 
The love of God is the only Philosopher-stone, since by it a man may acquire eternal treasures.  but the Sun sets, the candle goes out, the bed of burial is prepared, there must be their Enter at the Exit of so many unprofitable pains. To what purpose serves it now, to know they are fools, having no more time to be wise.  
What cruel Malady of spirit is it to sacrifice both one's body and soul in an unlucky alymbicke, for to nourish a vain ambition, whose irregular appetite can never be satisfied? Is not this to take pleasure in kindling the fire which consumes us? to burn perpetually with desire of being rich in this world, 
An inclination toward the misprise of Earth, is a presage of the getting of Heaven  and yet get nothing by it: And then to burn again eternally in hell, without possibility to quench the ardour of those revenging flames: is not this to warp oneself the web of a fate, the most miserable that ever was?  
Produce we then of nothing the creation of this Philosopher-stone, & grant we it made at present to the hearts of the most ambitious. I am content that from the miracles of this Metamorphosis they make us see the marvels of a new gallery of silver, like to that which bare NERO to the Capitol. I am content that they make pendant at the point of a needle, as SEMIRAMIS, the price of twenty millions of gold. I am content that after the example of 
* Atabali, King of Peru.  Atabalipas, they pave their halls with Saphires. I am pleased, that imitating Cyrus, they enround their gardens with perches of gold. I am content, 
The World is aptly compared to the Sea, since as the storms of this, so are the miseries of that, and like the flitting billows ever rolling, so are all the objects which we here admire.  that the Dryads of their fountains be composed of the same material, following the magnificences of Cesar. I am content that they erect with Pompey an Amphitheatre all covered with plates of Gold. I am content they build a Palace of Ivory, there to to lodge another Melaus, or a Lovure of Crystal to receive therein an other Drusus, and let (I am content still) this Lovure be ornamented with court-cupboards of Pearls equal to those of Scaurus, and with coffers of the same price as that of Darius. To what will all this come to in the end? What may be the reverse of all these medals? The scorching heat of Time, and the Suns-beames have melted this gallery of silver, its admirers are vanished, and its proprietary. Even Rome itself hath run the like fate, and though it subsist yet, 'tis but only in name, its ruins mourn at this day the death of its glory. That so precious Pendant of Semiramis could not be exempt from a kind of Death, 
'Tis a Rule without exception, that all that is included in the revolution of Time, is subject to change.  though it were inanimate. I mean that in its insensibility, it hath received the attaints of this Vicissitude, which altars and destroys all things, since it now appears no more to our eyes. All those Saphir-paved halls are passed away, though Art had enchained them in beautiful Workemanships. They have had otherwise a glittering lustre, like the Sun; but this Planet jealous of them, hath refused in the end its clearness, so much as to their ruins; insomuch that they are vanished in obscurity. These gardens environed with rails of gold, have had (like others) diverse Spring-times, to renew their growth, but one Winter alone was enough to make them dye. Those Dryads which enriched these fountains are fled upon their own water-trils, and scarce remains us their remembrance. That proud Amphitheatre of Pompey could not eternize itself, but in the memory of men, & yet we scarce know what they say, when they speak on't. That Ivory Palace of Melaus goes for a fable in histories, being buried in the Abisses of non-entity. That famous Lovure of Crystal having been bustled against by Time is broken, 
Meditate here a little, how oft the face of the Earth hath been varied since its first creation.  and shivered into so many pieces, that not so much as the very dust on't subsists, but in the confused Idea of things, which have been otherwhile. All those high cup-boards of Pearl, and all those coffers of great price have indeed had an appearance like lightning, but the thunderbolt of inconstancy hath reduced them into ashes, and the memory of 'em is preserved in ours, but as a dream, since in effect it is no more at all.  
But if the precious wonders of past Ages, 
There is nothing so certain in the world, as its uncertainty.  have done nothing but pass away together, with their admirers and owners, is it not credible, that those covetous rich ones, did run the same fortune with all the treasures of their Philosopher-Stone, and at the end of their Career, what device could they take but this very same of SALADINE, since of all their riches, there remains them at their Death, but only a poor Shirt, 
* Fui, & nibil ampliu  I have been, says this great Monarch, and behold, here's all.  
Why, Rich-ones of the World, do you trouble yourselves so much, to establish your glory here below, for to perswadeus at the end of the journal only this, That you have been? An atom has the same advantage, for this creating power, which we adore, after he had ta'en it out of the Abysses of nothing, wherein you also were buried, made it to subsist in nature. 
Yet thus is it a blessedness of our condition, thus to escape by little and little the miscries which are incident unto us.  Be it that you have been the greatest on Earth, yet now the fair light of your fair days, is extinguished for ever. The Sun of your glory is eclipsed, and in an eternal West. And that your fate which interloomed the web of your greatnesses, together with your lives, lies entombed with your Ashes, to show us that these are the only unhallowed relics which your Ambition could leave us.  
You have been then otherwhile the only Minions of Fortune, like Demetrius, but he and you are now no more any thing, not so much as a hand full of Ashes; for less than with an Infinite power, 'twere impossible to any, to reunite into a body, the parcels of the Dust, whereof your Carcases were form, behold in what consists at this day, the foundation of your past glory.  
You have been then otherwhile the same as SALADINE, the only Monarch of the East, and have possessed (as he) treasures without number, and honours without parallel: 
If virtue eternize not our memory, our life passeth away like the wind, without leaving any trace.  But (as He) also you have done nothing else but pass away, and like him again you have not been able to hide your wretchedness, but under a Scrap of Linen, whereof the Worms have repasted, to manifest you to all the World.  
In fine, you have been otherwhile the wonders of our days, but now you are the horror of this present, for the only thought of the dung-heap of your Ashes poisons my spirit, so delicate is't, and I leave farther provocation to the incredulous, if they be willing to be stronger witnesses of it, but let us now leave personal reflections, and trouble we not the repose of Churchyards.  
I grant that you may be at this instant that I speak unto you, so rich and happy, 
He which esteems himself rich and happy in this world, knows not the nature of worldly happiness and riches.  that you cannot wish more of Fortune, nor She able to offer you more: Yet thus ought you to consider where you are, who you are, and what are the goods which you possess. You are in the World, where all things fly away, and 'tis in this way of flying away, that you read these verities: my meaning is, you dwell upon the same earth, whereof you are form, and consequently you lodge upon your buriall-places, whose entrances will be open at all moments. To say who you are, I am ashamed, in calling you by your proper names, for to remembrance you your miseries: Corruption conceives you, Horror infants you, Blood nourishes you, and infection accompanies you in the Coffin. The treasures which you enjoy are but Chimaeras of greatness and apparitions of glory, whereof living you make experiment, and dying you perfectly know the truth on't.  

There is nothing so constantly present with us, as our miseries, since always we are miserable enough at best.  To what end then can stead you your present felicities, since at present you scarce enjoy them at all? for even at this very instant another, which is but newly upon pass, robs you of part of them; and even thus giving you hint of the cozenage of his companions, Cheats you too, as well as they; and thus they do altogether to your lives, as well as your contentments; in ravishing these, they intraine the others: then what remonstrance can you exhibit of esteeming yourselves happy for past felicities, and which you have not enjoyed but in way of departed? And if this condition be agreeable unto you, still there is a necessity of setting up your rest at the end of the career, and there it is, where I attend to contribute to your vain wail, as many resentments of Pity. Take we another track, without losing ourselves.  
How ingenious was that famous Queen of Egypt, to deceive with good grace her Lover. 
How much better is it to be so happy in fishing, as to angle for grace in the tears of penitence?  She caused underhand dead fishes to be ensnared to the hook of Antony, as often as the toy took him to go a fishing; to the end to make him some sport by those pleasant deceits. May we not say that Ambition doth the same? for when we cast our hooks into this vast Ocean of the vanities of the world, we fish but Dead things without soul, whose acquirement countervailes not a moment of the Time, which we employ to attain it.  
Had I all the goodliest farthels of the world jaded on my back; I mean, had I acquired all the honours, wherewith fortune can tickle an ambitious soul, should I thence become greater of body? my growing time is past. would my Spirit thence become more excellent? 
'Tis to no purpose to be passionate for such goods as a man may lose, and the world can give no better.  these objects are too weak to ennoble her Powers. Should I thence become more virtuous? Virtue looks for no satisfaction out of itself. Should I thence be more esteemed of the world? This is but the glory of a wind, which doth but pass away. What happiness, what contentment, or what utility, would remain me then, that I might be at rest? A Man must not suffer himself thus to be fooled. All honours can be but a burden to an innocent soul, for so much as they are continual objects of vanity, which stir up the passions, and only serve but for nourishment to them in their violences, to hurry them into all sorts of extremities. And after all, the necessity of dying, which makes an inseparable accident in our condition, gloomes the glittering of all this vain glory, which environs us. In the anguishs of Death, a man dreams not of the grandeurs of his life, and being ever and anon upon point to departed, finds himself often afflicted most with those good things which he possesseth, 
'Tis an irbosome remembrance of past happiness.  measuring already the depth of the fall by the height of the place, whither he is exalted.  

* Galba.  He which found Fortune at his gate, found no nail to stay her wheel: But if She on the one side takes a pleasure to ruin Empires, to destroy Realms, and to precipitate her favourites: Death on the other side pardons no body, altars the temperament of all sorts of humours, perverts the order of every kind of habitude, and not content yet to beat down all these great Colossuses of Vanity, which would be ta'en for the world's wonders, calls to the sharing of their ruin the elements, thus to bury their materials in their first abysses, where she hath designed the place of their entombement.  

All things pass away, and by their way tell us that we must do so too.  What can a Man then find Constant in the world, where Constancy doth no where reside? Time, Fortune, Death, our Passions, and a Thousand other stumbling blocks shall never speak other language to us but of our miseries, and yet we will suffer ourselves like A. LEXANDER to be voiced immortal. Our prosperities, our grandeurs, our very delights themselves, shall tell us, as they pass, a word in our ear, that we ought not to trust them, and yet for all this, we will never sigh but after them. Be it then at last for very regreet, to have vented to the wind so many vain sighs, for Chimaeras of sweets whereof the remembrance can not be but full of bitterness.  

no security of pleasure, to enjoy such things as may every moment be lost.  Vain honours of the world, tempt me no more: your allurements are powerful, but too weak to vanquish me. I deride your wreaths of Laurel, there grows more on't in my garden than you can give me. If you offer me esteem, and reputation among men, what should I do with your presents? Time devours every day the like of them, and yet more precious. I undervalue all such Good-things, as It can take away again from me.  
Deceitful greatnesses of the Earth, cease to pursue me, you shall never catch me, your charms have given some hits to my heart, but not to my soul, your sweets have touched my senses, but not my spirit; what have you to offer me, which can satisfy me? Time and Fortune lend you all the Sceptres and Crowns which you borrow, 
Worldly Greatnesses are but like Masking-clothes, which serve him and t● other but for that time.  and as you are not the owners, they take them away again when they will, and not when it pleaseth you. So then, I will have no Sceptres for an hour, nor no Crowns for a day. If I have desire to reign, 'tis beyond Time, that I may thus be under shelter from the inconstancy of Ages. Trouble not yourselves to follow me. This world is a Mass of mir●, upon which a Man may make impress of all sorts of Characters, but not hinder Time to deface the draught at any time. Ambitious Spirits, fair leave have you to draw the Stell of your designs upon this ready primed cloth: Some few years wipe out all. Some ages carry away all, and the remembrance of your follies is only immortal in your souls, by the eternal regreet which remains you of them.  
SCIPIO made design to conquer Carthage, and after he had cast the project thereof upon mould, he afterwards took the body of this shadow, and saw the effect of his desires: But may not one say, that the Trophies of his valour have been cast in rubbish within that mass of dirt, whereof the world is composed, since all the marks thereof are effaced? Carthage itself though it never had life, could not avoid its Death. Time hath buried it so deep under its own ruins, that we seek in vain the place of its Tomb. I leave you to ruminate, if its subduer were himself able to resist the assaults of this Tyranny.  
If ALEXANDER had sent his thoughts into heaven, there to seek a new world, as well as his desires on earth there to find one, he had not lost his time; but as he did amuse himself to engrave the history of his ambition and triumphs upon the same mass of clay, which he had conquered; he writ upon water, and all the characters on't are defaced. The Realms which he subdued, 
There is more glory to despise the world, then to conquer it: for after its conquest, a man knewes not what to do with it.  have lost some of them their names, and of this Triumpher there remains us but the Idea as of a Dream, since men are ready to require Security, even of his Memory, for the wonders which it preacheth to us of him.  
May we not then again justly avow, that of all the conditions, to which a man may be advanced without the aid of virtue, either by nature or Fortune, there is none more infortunate, then to be to these a favourite, nor any more miserable, then to be a Great-one? This inconstant Goddess hath a thousand favours to lend, 
All those who engage themselves to the service of fortune, are ill paid; and of this, every day gives us experi●●●●.  but to give, none but halter's, poisons, poniards, and precipices. 'Tis a fine thing to see Hannibal begging his bread even in view of Scipio, after he had called into question the price of the world's Empiredome. Is it not an object worthy of compassion, to consider Nicias upon his knees before Gillippus, to beg his own and the Athenians lives, after he had in a manner commanded the winds at Sea, and Fortune ashore, in a government sovereignly absolute? Who will not have the same resentiments of pity, reading the history of Crassus, then when by excess of disaster he survived both his glory & reputation, being constrained to assist at the funerals of his own renown, 
All those who hound after fortune, are well pleased to be deceived, since her deceits are so well known.  and undergo the hard conditions of his enemies, attending death to free him from servitude? Will you have no regreet, to see enslaved under the tyranny of the Kings of Egypt, the great Agesilaus, whose valour was the only wonder of his Time? What will you say to the deplorable Fate of Cumenes, to whom Fortune having offered so often Empires, gives him nothing in the end but chains, so to dye in captivity?  
You see at what price Men have bought the favours of this Goddess, when many times the serenity of a happy life produceth the storm of an unfortunate Death. You may judge also at the same time, of what Nature are these heights of honour, when often the Greatest at Sun-rise, find themselves at the end of the Day, the most miserable. And suppose Fortune meddle not with 'em, to what extremity of misery think you is a man reduced at the hour of his departure? All his Grandeurs, though yet present, are but as past felicities, he enjoys no more the goods which he possesses, griefs only appertain to him in proper, and of what magnificences soe'er he is environed, this object shows him but the image of a funeral pomp, 
I wonder not if rich men be afraid of death, since to them it is more dreadful then to any.  his bed already Emblems the Sepulchre, the sheets his winding linen, wherein he must be enveloped. So that if he yet conceit himself Great, 'tis only in misery. Since all that he sees, hears, touches, smells, and tastes, sensibly persuades him nothing else.  
Give Resurrection in your thoughts, to great Alexander, and then again conceive him at last gasp, and now consider in this deplorable estate, wherein he finds himself involved upon his funeral couch, to what can stead him all the grandeurs of his life past, they being also past with it. I grant that all the Earth be his: 
Fortune sells every day the glory of the world to any that will, but none but fools are her chapmen.  yet you see how the little load of that of his body weighs so heavy on his soul, that it is upon point to fall grovelling under the burden. I grant that all the glory of the world belong to him in proper, he enjoys nothing but his miseries. I yield moreover, that all Mankind may be his subjects: yet this absolute sovereignty, is not exempt from the servitude of pain. Be it, that with the only thunder of his voice he makes the Earth to tremble: yet he himself cannot hold from shaking at the noise of his own sighs. I grant in fine, that all the Kings of the world render him homage: yet he is still the tributary of Death.  
O grandeurs! since you fly away without cease, 
Omnis motus tendit ad quietem.  what are you but a little wind? and should I be an Idolater of a little tossed Air, and which only moves but to vanish to its repose?  
O greatnesses! since you do but pass away, what name should I give you but that of a dream? Alas, why should I pass my life in your pursuit, still dreaming after you?  
O worldly greatnesses, since you bid Adieu to all the world, without being able to stay yourselves one only moment; Adieu then, your allurements have none for me, your sweets are bitter to my taste, and your pleasures afford me none. I cannot run after that which flies: 
Worldly Greatnesses are but children's trifles, every wise man despises them.  I can have no love for things which pass away; and since the world hath nothing else, 'tis a long while that I have bidden adieu to it. It had promised me much, and though it had given me nothing, yet cannot I reproach it, finding myself yet too rich by reason of its hardness. But I return to the point.  
Men of the World would persuade us, that it is impossible to find any quiet in it, to say, a firm settling of Spirit, 
The only means to be content, is to settle the conscience in peace.  wherein a man may be content in his condition, without ever wishing any other thing. And for my part, I judge nothing to be more easy, if we leave to reason its absolute power. What impossibility can there be, to regulate a man's will to God's? And what contradiction in't, to live upon earth of the pure benedictions of heaven? What greater Riches can a man wish then this, to be able to undergo the Decrees of his Fate, without murmuring and complaint? If Riches consisted only in Gold, Diamonds, Pearls, or such like things, of like rarity, those which have not of 'em, might count themselves miserable. But every man carries his treasure in his conscience. He which lives without just scandal, lives happily; and who can complain of a happy life?  

Riches are of use to humane life, but not of necessity, for without them a man may live content.  But if to have the hap of these felicities of this life, a man judge presently, that he ought of necessity to have a great number of riches: This is to enslave himself to his own opinion, abounding in his proper sense, and condemning reason for being of the contrary part. I know well that a man is naturally swayed to love himself more than all things of the world, 
Philautia.  & that this love proceeds from the passion of our interests, seeking with much care and pain, all that may contribute to our contentments; and whereas Riches seem to be Nurses of them, this consequence is incident to be drawn, that without them is no contented living. But at first dash, it is necessary to distinguish this love into Natural and Brutal, and believe, that with the illumination of reason, 
When Reason reigns, the passions obey.  we may purify the relishes of the first, even to the point of rendering them innocent, without departing from our interests, and consequently the enjoyment of our pleasures, giving them for object, the establishment of our settled content, in misprision of all those things of the world, which may destroy it.  
As for this brutish Love, which estranging us from God, separates us also from ourselves; the passion of it becomes so strong by our weakness, that without a special grace we grow old in this malady of Spirit, of contenting our Senses, rather than obeying our Reason, making a new God of the Treasures of the Earth. But in conclusion, these Gods abandon our bodies to the Worms, and our souls to the Devils. And for all their riches, the greatest Great ones can only purchase a glorious Sepulture. Is not this a great advantage, and a goodly consolation?  

He whose will submits to Gods will, lives ever content.  Maintain we boldly, that a man may find quietness of life in all sorts o● condition, with the only richenesse of ●tractable Soul, resigned to take the time as it comes, and as God sends it, without ever arguing with his providence. There is no affliction, 
The Spirit of a Man will bear his infirmity.  whereto our Soul cannot give us assuage. There is no ill whereto itself is not capable to furnish us a remedy. A man, how miserable somever, may find his contentment amidst his miseries, if he lives for his soul more than for his body's behalf. God makes us to be borne where he will, and of what Parents he pleases: if the poorness of our birth accompany us even to death, he hath so ordained it; what can we else do, but let him so do? Can he be accounted miserable, that obeys with good grace his sovereigns decrees?  

'Tis a greater danger to be very rich, then very poor: for riches often make men lose their way, but poverty keeps 'em in the straight path.  O, how is it fare more easy to undergo the burden of much poverty, then of great riches! For a man extremely poor, is troubled with no thoughts more important, then only how to find means to pass his life in the austerities whereto he is already habituated, without repining after other fortune, as being estranged equally both from his knowledge and reach; in which respects, he may well be styled happy. But a man very rich, dreams of nothing but to eternize the continuance of his days (although this fancy be in vain) in stead of letting them quietly slide away; insomuch, that being possessed with no passion more than love of life, he thinks always to live, and never to die. 
Death cannot be said to deceive any body, for it is infallible, and yet the world complains of it.  But Death comes ere he thinks on't, and taking from him all to his very Shirt, constrains him to confess, that riches are only profitable by misprision, since by the contempt a man makes of them, he may become the richest of the world.  
O what a sensible pleasure 'tis to be Rich, say worldly men always! but I would fain know, in what consists this contentment? what satisfaction can there be had to possess much treasure, knowing what an infinite number of our companions are reduced to the last point of poverty? Some in Hospitals, where they lie in straw, overwhelmed with a thousand fresh griefs. Others at the corner of a street, where a piece of a Dunghill serves them at once, both for bed and board. Some again in Dangeons, where horror and affright, hunger and despair tyrannize equally over their unfortunate spirits. And others in some Desert, to which ill fate has confined them, to make their ills remediless, as being fare removed from all sorts of succours. 
There is no emptiness in nature, for miseries fill all.  How with the knowledge of these truths, a man shall be able to relish greedily the vain sweets of worldly riches, it must needs be for want of reason or pity, and consequently to be altogether brutish or insensible. I shall have (suppose) a hundred thousand crowns in rents, and all this revenue shall serve but to nourish my body and its pleasures, without considering, that a hundred thousand poor souls sigh under the heavy burden of their miseries every Day: and yet men shall esteem me happy in being rich in this fate. O how dangerous are the treasures, which produce these felicities!  

'Tis a brave generosity, to be sensible of other men's miseries.  Is it possible, that the Great-ones of the world do not think at all in the middle of their Feasts, of the extreme poverty of an infinite number of persons, and that in themselves they do not reason secretly in this sort. What? in this instant that we satiate the appetite of our senses, with all that Nature hath produced most delicious for their entertain; a million and many more poor souls, are reduced to this extremity, as not to have one only crumb of bread. And in this serious thought what relish can they find in their best-cooked cates, and in their sweetest condiment? does not this important consideration, mingle a little bitterness? But if their spirits estrange themselves from these meditations, and fasten to objects more agreeable. O how hard of digestion is the second service of their collation! He which cannot love his neighbour, has no love for himself.  
To speak ingenuously, every time when I consider in that condition, exempt from want, wherein God hath given me birth, and wherein his goodness (which is no other than himself) keeps me still alive. I say, when I consider the misery to which the greatest part of the world is reduced, I cannot be weary of blessing this adorable Providence, 
All in God is adorable, and all incomprehensible; we must then adore, and be silent.  which grants me to see from the haven, the tempests wherein so many spirits are tossed: which grace to me alone (me thinks) is all extraordinary to see myself under shelter, from so many evils, wherewith so many persons are afflicted. By what means could I deserve, before the Creation of all things, that this sovereign Creator should design me from the Abysses of nothing, to give me Being, and a being moreover of grace, making me to be borne in a Golden age, in a Christian Kingdom, and in a City of the Catholic Faith, for to be instructed and brought up as I have been in the only Religion, wherein a man may find his Salvation? and with all these benefits, moreover, to elevate me above the temptations of poverty and misery.  
Are not these most pure favours, which would require of this Eternal ONE, (who hath bestowed them me) the term of an Eternity, that I might be able to arrive to some small condign acknowledgement of them? The most miserable wretch of the world, wherein did he differ from me in way of merit of some portion of these favours, which he possesseth not; since that before time was, he and I were nothing at all, and yet from all eternity God hath bestowed these things on me in precedency, rather than on him? At least (say I) it did behoove me, that since the first moment, I was capable of reason; I had employed all those of my life passed in the continual meditation of so many, and so great benefits, whereof to reach the reason, 'twere to find the bottoms of the Abysses of this infinite mercy, to which I remain infinitely indebted? And coming to the point, ought not I in this pre-eminence of mine contribute all my power to the succour of him, 
The nearest way from Earth to Heaven, is by Charity.  who enjoyeth not my happiness, to the end, thus to deserve in a manner, some party of them under the favour of merits from this great God, who only gives reward to those good actions, which he makes me do. Can I refuse to be charitable to him, who only begs some good of me, but to render me worthy of that, which I have received from heaven? I shall have all things to my wish amidst my pleasures, when Death itself is deaf to his plaints, in extremity of his pains: And shall not I give him some sort of consolation, either in good office, or in pity, being thereunto obliged by yet more powerful reasons?  

Earthly greatness is the least gift of Heaven.  Great-ones of the World, you are more miserable than these miserable-ones, even in the midst of your felicities, if the recite of their evils give you not some touch. You have riches more than they, but God hath given you these, but to cheer their poverty. As well also, though they now are yours, shall they take leave of you, at the Even of your depart, and if of them you carry any thing away, it shall be only the interests of that which you have lent these Poore-ones.  
Great worldly-ones, how is your fate worthy of compassion rather than Envy, if you have no other Paradise then your riches?  
Grandees of the World, how soon will the source of your contentments dry up, if only your treasures give it springhead?  

He whose hopes are only on the world, must needs at last despair.  Great Worldly-ones! of how short endurance shall be your prosperities, though an Age should be limit to their course, since at the end of that term you must dye eternally, and dye in a pain always living. Suggest to yourselves often these importancies. Visit and turn over the leaf, to read more of them.  
When I consider the great number of Emperors, Kings, Princes, and Lords, which have governed the World, and the Battles which they have given for its conquests, since the moment of its creation, I remain all amazed, nor able to find bounds nor measure in this amuzement. 
Hours, Days, Years, and Ages may well be different, but the world is still the same.  How many several Masters may a man imagine then, that the World hath had? and how many times conquered, dividing it into diverse Empires, Kingdoms, and Lordships? Well, yet the World hath still remained the same, and in the same place still: but its Emperors, Kings, Princes, and Lords, are vanished away, one at the heels of other, and all their conquests have served them only as matter of Pastime, since all their combats and battles, have had no other price of Victory, but upon the same earth, where their glories, and bodies remain together interred.  
O goodly childish sport, to amuse themselves about conquering some little point within the limits, wherewith the Universe is bounded! Ask but Alexander what he hath done with the bootyes of his Conquest. When he had ta'en away all, he had yet nothing, and of himself now remains there nothing at all. Ambition, behold the reverse of thy Medal.  
LORD, Preserve to me always, (if it please thee) this humour wherein I now find myself, 
Why should any love the world, which deceives all that trust in't?  to misprise all the things of the world, and It too with passion. Give me a heart wavering and inconstant, to this end, that it may uncessantly change from all worldly Love, till it be subjected to the sweet Empire of thy Love. Render, render evermore my spirit unquiet, until that it hath found its repose in thee alone, the foundations of such a rest are unremovable. I will give for nothing all my pretensions on earth, for thereto pretend I nothing at all. Heaven only is my mark and aim. Now you shall see soon the end of the Chapter.  
How was it possible that the glory of those brave Romans of former time, could any way arrive to that point (though they aimed it) whereto the renown of Rome itself could never attain? What a folly was it, 
These wise worldly ones have had no other recompense of their folly, but such a blast of Fame's Trump.  that they sought immortality amidst this inconstancy of Ages, where Death only was in his Kingdom, for they assisted every day, at the funeral of their renowned companions, and after they had seen their bodies reduced into ashes, they might with the same eye, moreover, contemplate their shadows, I mean their statues, metamorphosed into dust, and all their reputation served but as a wind to bear them away into an infinity of Abysses, since as a Wind, being nothing else, it flies away with these heaps of ruin, so fare both from the eye, and all memory, that in the end, there is no more thought on't.  
In effect, all these great men of the World did see buried every moment the hope of this vain glory, whereof their ambition was always labouring to make acquist; and yet not one of them for all this, stepped back; as if they took a pride in their vanities, and the folly of them were hereditary. 
Ambition never elevates, but to give a greater fall.  CAESAR had seen the death of Pompey, and with him all the glory of his renown, and Pompey had seen buried in the tomb of Time, and Oblivion, the renown of that great Scipio, whose valour more redoubted then the thunder had made the Earth tremble so oft. Scipio in his turn might have read the Epitaph, which despair, shame, and disaster had graven in letters of Gold upon the Sepulture of Hannibal, and Hannibal might have learned to know by the unconstancy of the Age, wherein he lived, before he made experiment of them, the misfortunes, and miseries, which are inseparable to our condition. And yet notwithstanding, all of them have stumbled one after other, upon one and the same Stumbling-stone.  

The richest of the world at last is found as poor as the poorest companion.  I am not come into Persia, for the conquest of treasures, said Alexander to Parmenio: take thou all the riches, and leave me all the glory: but after good calculation, neither of them both had any thing at all. These riches remained in the world still, to which they properly appertained, and this vainglory saw its lover dye, without itself being seen. Insomuch that after so great conquests, the worms have conquered this great Monarch, and as the dunghill of his ashes has no sort of correspondence with this so famous name of Alexander, which otherwhile he bore, 'tis not to be said, what he hath been, seeing what he is now, I mean his present wretchednesses efface every day the memory of his past greatnesses.  
Ambitious spirits, though you should conquer a thousand worlds, as he did this one, you should not be a whit richer for all these conquests. The Earth is still as it was, it never changes nature. All her honours are not worth one tear of repentance: all its glory is not to be prized with one sigh of contrition. I grant that the noise of your renown may resound through the four corners of the Universe: That of SALADINE which went round it all, could not exempt him from the mishaps of life, nor miseries of Death. After he had encoffered all the riches of the East, yet finds he himself so poor for all that, hardly can he take along with him so much as a Shirt.  
Embalm then the Air which you breathe, with a thousand Odours, be Served in Plate of Gold, Lie in Ivory, Swim in Honours, and lastly, let all your actions glitter with magnificence; the last moment of your life shall be judge of all those, 
'Tis the greatest horror of death, to render account of all the moments of life.  which have preceded it: then shall you be able at your Death, to tell me the worth of this vain glory, whereof you have been Idolaters, and after your Death, you shall resent the pains of an eternal regreet, having now no more opportunity to repent you to any effect.  
Believe me, all is but Vanity, Honour, Glory, Riches, Praise, Esteem, Reputation, All this is but smoke during Life, and after Death, nothing at all. The Grands of the world have made a little more noise than others by the way. But this Noise is ceased, their light is extinguished, their memory buried. And if men speak of them sometimes, the answer is returned with a shake of the head, intimating no more words of them, since such a Law of silence, Time hath imposed hereon. Seek your glory in God, and your Honour in the contempt of this earthly Honour, if you will eternize your renown, in the perpetuity of Ages. I have no more to say to you, after these truths.   

A PROLUSIVE upon the EMBLEM of the third Chapter.  

A Funeral Hearse with wreaths of Cypress crested,  
A Skeleton with Robes imperial vested,  
Dead march, sad looks, no glorious circumstance  
Of high Achievements, and victorious Chance;  
Are these fit Trophy's for a Conqueror?  
These are the Triumphs of the Emperor  
ADRIAN, who chose this Sable Heraldry  
Before the popular guilded Pageantry.  
' Stead of Triumphal Arches he doth rear  
The Marble Columns of his Sepulchre.  
No public honours wave his strict intent,  
To shrine his Triumph in his Monument.  
The Conscript Fathers and Quirites all  
Intent his welcome to the Capitol.  
The vast expense one day's work would have cost,  
He wiser fare (since t'other had been lost)  
To build a Mausolaeum doth bestow,  
Which now at Rome is called Saint 
* Moles ADRIANI nunc Castrun S. Angeli.  Angelo;  
Where to this Day, from Aelius Adrian's Name,  
The Aelian 
* Pons Aelius.  Bridge doth still revive his fame.  
Now was the people's expectation high,  
For wont pomp and glittering Chivalry:  
But lo their Emperor doth invite 'em all,  
Not to a Show, but to his Funeral.  
They look for Gew-Gaw-fancies; his wise scorn  
Contemns those Vanities, leaves their hope forlorn.  
For since all's smothered in the Funeral Pile,  
He will not dally with 'em for a while.  
This was Selfe-Victory, and deserveth more  
Than all the Conquests he had won before.  
What can Death do to such a man, or Fate,  
Whose Resolutions them anticipate?  
For since the Grave must be the latter end,  
Let our preventing thoughts first thither tend.   

Bravely resolved it is, knowing the worst  
What must be done at last, as good at first.    


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

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.  
CHAP. III.  
O How glorious is the Triumph over Death? O how brave is the Victory over a Man's self! You see how this great 
* Adrian.  Monarch triumphs to day over that proud Triumpher Death, after the happy vanquishment of his passions. He enters into his Empire by the Port of his Tomb, thus to reign during his life, like a man that dies every moment; he celebrates himself his own Funerals, and is led in Triumph to his Sepulchre to learn to dye generously. What a glory's this to over-awe That, which commands the whole world? what Courage is this, to assail and combat That, which none could ever yet resist? and what a power is it to tame That which never yet yielded? Echo herself hath not rebounds enough to resound aloud the wonders of this Victory.  
This is not the Triumph of Alexander, when he made his entry into Babylon, mounted upon a Chariot as rich as the Indies, and more glistering than the Sun.  
In this we see no other riches, but the rich contempt, which ought to be made of them; no other lustre, but of Virtue.  
This is not the Triumph of Caesar then, when he was drawn unto the Capitol by forty Elephants, after he had won twenty four battles. In this we see nought else but a funeral pomp, but yet so glorious, that Death herself serves for a Trophy to it.  
This is not the Triumph of Epaminondas, where the glorious lustre of the magnificence shamed the splendour of the day, which yet lent its light to it. The marvels which appeared in this here, seemed as celebrating in black the Exequys of all the other braveries of the world, since nothing can be seen more admirable than this.  

To triumph over vice, is the noblest Trophy.  This is not the Triumph of Aurelian, where all the graces are led captive with Zenobia. In this are to be seen no other captives but the world, and all its vanities, and their defeat is the richest Crown of the Victor.  
This is not the Triumph of that pompous Queen of Egypt entering into Cilicia, where she raised admiration to herself in a Galley of unutterable value, but in this we contemplate the more than humane industry of a Pilot, who from the midst of the storms and tempests of the world, recovers happily to the Port, the ship of his life, though yet but in the way to approach to it.  
In fine, this is not the Triumph of Sesostris, whose stately Chariot four Kings drew. Passions are the only slaves of this, and Death being here vanquished, this honour remains immortal, and the name of the Triumpher.  

All the glory of men van sh away with them.  Say we then once again, O how glorious a Triumph is this, over Death! O how brave is the victory over ourselves! and the only means thus to vanquish a mansselfe, is to bury his ambition before his body be ensepulchred, preparing nevertheless the tomb of both; to the'nd, that the continual remembrances of Death, may serve for temperament and moderation to the delights of life.  
We read of Paulus Aemilius, that returning to Rome laden with wreaths of Laurel, after the famous victory over the Persians; he made his entrance of triumph with so great pomp and magnificence, that the Sun seemed to rouse itself many times, as if upon design to contemplate these wonders.  
Pompey desirous to expose to the view of day, all the magnificent presents, which Fortune had given him in his last conquests, entered now the third time in Triumph into the City of Rome, where the noise of his valour made as many Idolaters, as admirers, gaining hearts, and now conquering souls, as well as before Realms and Provinces: But it seems, that the glory, which accompanied him in this action had this defect, not to be sufficiently worthily known, even of those that were witnesses of it, as surprising by much, all that they could possibly express of it.  
There was seen advanced before his Chariot, in ostentation, 
Vanity is a dangerous enemy, it flatters, only to surprise.  a Checkerworke composed of two sorts of precious stones, whose beauty set them beyond all price: But yet (me thinks) their sparkling might have in good time been a light to him, if by a feeling of foresight, touching the inconstancy of his fortune, he had caused to have been graven thereon the history of his mishaps. There was admired in sequel, a Statue of the Moon, all of Gold, in form of a Crescent, and I am astonished, that this Image of change and Vicissitude, made him not foresee the deturning of the Wheel, I mean the storm, that was to succcede the calm of his happiness. He caused moreover to be carried before him a great number of Vessels of Gold, never thinking that Death might soon replenish some part of them with his ashes. There was seen to follow a Mountain all of Gold, upon which were all sorts of animals, and many Trees of the same matter, and this mountain was enrounded with a Vine, whose golden glittering dazzled the eyes of all that considered its wonders. 
Ambition is an incurable disease of the soul, if in good time it be not looked too.  This proud Triumpher was the Orpheus, which to the Lyric sound of his renown, attracted this Mountain, these Animals, these Trees, this Vine. But as Orpheus, so him also, Fortune destinated a Prey to the fury of Bacchinals, I mean the Eunuches which put him to Death. Three Statues of gold, first jupiters', than Mars, and then of Pallas, came after. These were his Gods and his Goddess: what succours could he expect from these Deities, which had no subsistence, but in statue, and the copy of whose portrait had no principal? There was had in admiration moreover, over, thirty Garlands all of gold, and Pearls: 
A man had need to have an excellent memory, not to forget himself among his honours.  but these Crowns were too weighty for his head, from whence it came to pass, that he fell under the burden. A golden Chapel followed after, dedicated to the Muses, upon which was a great Horologe of the same materials. And as the Index still turned, ought not he to have considered, that the hour of his triumphing began to pass away, and that of his overthrow would presently sound, being sequel to the Laws of that vicissitude, to which Fate hath subjected all things? His statue of gold enriched with Diamonds, and Pearls, whereof nor he himself, nor he that enwrought them, knew the value, followed in its course, and in fine, this his shadow, was more happy than the true body, as having never been scuffled with, but by time, and the other was van quisht with misery. Then appeared the great Pompey, seated upon a Throne, where he and Fortune seemed to give Laws to the whole world, for his Triumphal Chariot was so richly glorious, so magnificent in rarities, so splendide in new, and ne're-before-seene wonders, that a ravishment surprised men's spirits, elevating them at once from admiration to ecstasy, not giving them leisure to make reflection upon the present realties. 
Be it our constant meditation, of the inconstancy to which all worldly things are subjected.  But this Triumphal Chariot still rolled about, and though the Triumpher remained seated in his place, yet his Fortune turned about likewise. Insomuch that in going to the Capitol, he approached by little & little to the bank, where his life and happiness, were equally interred.  
In fine, for the fullness of Glory, These proper names of the conquests, which he had made, were read in golden Characters: The Kingdom of Pontus, 
See Pliny's Nat. History, 7 Bock, 26 Chapter.  Armenia, Cappadocia, Paphlagonia, Media, Colchis, the Hiberians, the Albanians, Syria, Cilicia, Mesopotamia, Phoenicia, 
Pride is the passion of fools: for what a senselessness is it, to be proud, having so many miseries about us, which are incident to mortal man?  Palestina, judea, Arabia, and the Rovers of all the Seas. Who can be comparable to this proud Conqueror? and yet (I say it) having conquered and subjugated the greatest part of the Earth, Fate permits him not so much, as to expire upon it, and the Sea yet more treacherous, prepares him shipwreck in midst of the Port.  
What resemblance, and what correspondence can there be now, between this Triumph so sumptuous, so stately, and magnificent, and that, whose presentation I show you, where lowliness, humility, and misery hold the first rank, and possess the highest places. 
How poor is the vanity of men, having no other grounds but humane frailty?  Assuredly the difference is great, but yet this inequality here is glorious, since it brings along with it the price of that virtue, whereof Pompey despised the conquest. He in his Triumph, raised wonder to the beauty of those two great precious stones. But the sepulchral Marbles, which appeared in this of ADRIAN, were of another estimate, because Prudence values them above all price, putting them to that employment, to which she had destinated them. Again, if he expose to view in vessels of gold, Mountains, Animals, Trees, Vines, Statues of the same matter; This Hearse covered with black, which serves for ornament to this Funeral Pomp, contains yet much more treasure, since the contempt of all together is graven therein. He makes ostentation of his Statue of gold, enriched with Pearls: but our Monarch takes as much glory without them, showing in his own bare Portrait, the original of his miseries. That proud Conqueror had a thousand Garlands and golden Coronets, as a novel Trophy: 
Except the Crown of Virtue, all other are subject to change.  But ours here crownes himself with Cypress during his career of life, to merit those palms which await him in the end. In fine, Pompey is the Idol of hearts, and souls, and his Triumphal Chariot serves as an Altar; where he receives the vows and Sacrifices: But this Prince, in stead of causing Idolaters, during the sway of his Majesty, immolates himself up to the view of Heaven, and Earth, dying already in his own Funerals, and suffering himself to be as is were buried by the continual object, which dwells with him of Death and his Tomb. But if Pompey lastly, boast himself to have conquered an infinite number of Realms, or all the world together: 
* ADRIAN.  This Man having never had worse enemies than his passions, hath sought no other glory but to overcome them, and in their defeat, a Man may well be styled the Conqueror of Conquerors; for the coronal wreaths of this Triumph, fear nor the Sun's extremity, nor the Age's inconstancy. We must pass on farther.  

All the objects of Vanity are so many enemies, against which we ought to be always in arms.  Isidore, and Tranquillus, do assure us, that to carry away the glory of a Triumph, it was necessarily required to vanquish five thousand enemies, or gain five victories, as it is reported of Caesar. The consent of the Senate was also to be had. And the Conqueror was to be clothed in Purple, and Crowned with Laurel, holding a Sceptre in his hand, and in this sort he was conducted to the Capitol of jupiter, where some famous Orator made a Panegyricke of his prowess.  
What better Allegory can we draw from these profane truths, than this of the Victory, which we ought to have of our five Senses (as of five thousand enemies) whose defeat is necessary to our triumph. 
Still to wage war against our passions, is the way to live in peace.  These are the five Victories, which he must gain, that would acquire such Trophies, whose glory is taken away, neither by time nor Death.  
This consent of the Senate is the Authority of our reason, which alone gives value and esteem to our actions, and 'tis of her that we may learn the means in obeying her to command over our passions, and by the conquest of this sway, triumph over ourselves, which is the bravest Victory of the World.  
These Sceptres and Crowns are so many marks of Sovereignty, which remain us in propriety after subjection of so many fierce enemies, Heaven is the Capitol, whither our good works conduct us in triumph, and where the voice of Angels serves for Orator to publish the glory of our deeds, whose renown remains eternal.  

'Tis not all, to love Virtue, 'tis the practice.  These great Roman Captains, which made love to virtue, though without perfect knowledge of it, have sought for honour and glory in the overthrow of their enemies, but they could never find the shadows of solid Honour, which thus they sought; from whence it came to pass, that they have fashioned to themselves divers Chimaeras, for to repast their fancy too greedy of these cheating objects. Not that there is no glory in a Conquest: but 'twas their Ambition led them along in Triumph, amidst their own Triumphing.  
What honour had Caesar borne away, if he had joined to his Trophies the slavery of Cleopatra? he had exposed to view a Chaptive-Queene, who otherwhile had subjected him to her Love-dominion. But if the fortune of the war had delivered him this Princess, 
He triumphs with an ill grace, o'er whom his vices triumph.  the fate of Love would have given, even himself into her hands. Insomuch, that the Death of Cleopatra, immmortalized the renown of Cesar.  
Asdrubal, according to justin, triumphed four times in Carthage, but this famous Theatre of honour, where glory itself had appeared so often upon its Throne, serves in conclusion for a Trophy to a new Conqueror, insomuch, that it buried at once the renown, and memory, even of those, that had presented themselves triumphant personages.  
To day Memphis is all-Triumphant, and on the morrow this proud City is reduced to slavery. To day the report of its glory, makes the world shake, and on the morrow Travellers seek for it upon its own site, but find it not. O goodly triumph! O fearful overthrow! What continual revolution of the Wheel! Marcellus shows himself at point of day upon a magnificent Chariot of Triumph, and at Sunset his glory and his life finish equally their career. I mean, in the twinkling of an eye, Fortune takes away from him all those Laurell-wreaths which she had given him, and leaves him nothing at his death, but the regreet of having lived toolong.  

It may be some consolation in all our miseries, to see all else have their changes, as well as we.  Marius triumphed divers times, but with what tempests was the Ship of his fortune entertained? Behold him now elevated upon the highest Throne of Honour; but if you turn but your head, you shall see him all naked in his shirt, half-buried under the mire of a common Sink, where the light of the day troubles him, not being able to endure the Sun, a witness of his misfortunes. Behold him first, I say, in all abundance of Greatness, and Sovereignty, whereof the splendour dazzles the world; but stay a little, and you shall hear pronounced the sentence of his death, being abandoned even of himself, having no more hope of safety.  
How pompous and celebrious was the Triumph of Lucullus? In which, he raised admiration to the magnificence of an hundred Galleys alarmed in the Prow; a thousand Chariots, charged with Pikes, Halberds, and Corselets, whose shocking rumbles sounded so high, it frighted the admirers, though they celebrated the Festival of the Victory. The number of Vessels of Gold, and other Ornaments of the Triumph, was without number. The Statue of Mithridates also of Gold, six foot high, with the Target all covered with precious Stones, served anew to the Triumph. And of this Glory all the world together was an adorer, for the renown of the Conqueror had divers times surrounded the Universe.  
But, what shame after so much glory! What infamy after so great honour! Lucullus, 
Great Men cannot commit little faulis.  victorious over so many Empires, is found in fine subjected under the dominion of his pleasures: his valour has made many slaves every where, and yet his sottishness renders him in the end slave to his own passions. Insomuch, that after he had exalted the splendour of Rome's beauty, by his brave actions, worthy-admiration, he again blouzeth its lustre by his excessive deboshes, all black with vice. And now 'tis in vain to seek for Lucullus triumphant, since he is only to be found overthrown in reputation, in which he survives; thus rendering himself doubly miserable.  

Plutarch in Apophtheg. Reg. & Imp. Tristis sollicitusque circumivit urbem.  We read of Epaminondas, that returning victorious from the Leuctrians he received with regret the Present o● the honour of Triumph, which the Senat● had prepared him, apprehending evermore the deturne of the Wheel: so tha● the next morrow after the Festival, he● took on him mourning habit, to prepare himself betimes to suffer the change o● his fortune.  
It is remarked in the history of Demetrius, that entering in Triumph into Athens, the people cast flowers, and an infinite number of golden Globes up and down the streets, 
We are but as so many flowers planted by Nature in the Garden of the Earth, and only Death gathers us.  for a sign of a sumptuous congratulation. But what sign of Vicissitude and frailty, could there be more apparent, than this, which these flowers represented, since there is nothing more frail in Nature than they? And these balls shown also by their round, and still rolling figure, that the Glory whereof they were the symbol, and Hieroglyphic, could not be firm, and stable according as Truth itself soon after published by a sudden change, which rendered the fate of this Victor deplorable.  
Consider a little upon the same subject, what revolutions has the Ball of Empire, made since the first Monarch, let it fall at his Death. Is it not credible, 
In like respect also we are as Bowls, for still we roll along to the Grave.  that it hath run over divers times the circuit of the Universe, and its figure instructs us, that in the inconstancy which is proper to all created things, it will still roll incessantly from one to another, without ever staying, since its Centre is no where at all? For so long as the world shall endure, a continual vicissitude will be its foundation. And what means can there be to find a seat upon the earth, which may be sheltered from inconstancy, which reigns sovereignly and necessarily, as essential to all whatsomever subsists here below? I have not been fare, behold me upon return.  
Tertullian assures us, that in the Triumphs of the Romans, there was a man waged to cry aloud to the Triumpher,  
Remember thou art a Man.  

Worldly honours are so many temptations, to make us idolatrise ourselves.  Pliny passeth farther yet, and tells us, that they were accustomed to put an iron ring upon the Conqueror's finger, in sign of servitude, as if silently to intimate unto him, that he was beside himself, by an excess of vanity in this amplitude of honour, wherein he saw himself elevated above his companions. And upon the same subject, a great number of Historians do add, that about the Chariot of the Triumpher, there were two men assigned, the one carrying a Deaths-head, the other the Image of a Peacock, and both continually crying,  
REMEMBER THAT THOU ART A MAN. 
Vanity is a dangerous enemy, since it betrays us while it seems to oblige us, by the complacence which it gives us.   
Certainly, Vanity makes great Prize of us, then when we are elevated to some eminent degree of honour. And though our heads be but as of dead-men's, for we are dying uncessantly, and our miseries resemble us to those Images of Peacocks, which cannot bear up train, but upon ugly Feet: Yet our Blindness is so great, and this Self-love so extreme, that men are dazzled with too much Splendour, and a Man becomes slave to himself by loving himself with too much passion. Greatness and prosperity never let themselves be possessed, but to take greater possession of us. And as they have allurements to charm us, and sweets to ravish us, a Man had need implore the succour of Divine grace, if he would escape their pleasing tyranny, and nothing but flight from them, or contempt, can give us weapons to resist them. Let us still return to the point.  
We read of judas Machabeus, that returning victorious from Galilee, the people conducted him to the Temple, by a way all tapistred with flowers. Abraham after he had vanquished five Kings, was received in Triumph into Salem, now called Jerusalem.  
judith received the honour of Triumph by the destruction of Holofernes, and all the people of Bethuli● laden with Palm, to make her triumphal wreaths, cried out in her favour Behold the glory of Jerusalem, and the joy of all her Nation.  
joseph shows himself in Triumph also upon the Chariot of Pharaoh, 
Gen. 41.41, 42, etc.  wh● puts his Royal Ring upon his finger gives him his Chain of gold, and makes him publicly to be acknowledged for the second person of Egypt.  
David triumphs o'er Goliath, with magnificence worthy of his victory and the Virgins chant to his glory Saul hath killed his thousand, 
1 Sam. 18.7.  and David his ten thousand.  
Mordecai also had his turn of Triumph, mounted upon the horse of Ahasuerus, and had his praises Heraldized by Haman, in these terms: 
Esther 6.11.  Thus shall it be done to the man, whom the King will honour.  
All these Triumphs are worthy of admiration, I avouch it: but the Triumph over ourselves, is worthy astonishment, as having to combat our passions, and consequently the winning'st enemies of the world, I say, the winning'st, or the pleasing'st, since they guard themselves only with such kind of weapons, whose hurting makes us often sigh rather for joy then grief.  
Certainly, the Victory of Reason over all the revolted faculties of our ●oules, merits alone the honour of a Triumph; and what advantage som●●er a man has over his enemies, he himself is yet still vanquished, if his vices be not subdued. I pursue my degagne.  
They which have enthronised Virtue in their breasts, have laid their foundations upon the ruins of their passions, to testify to us, that a Man cannot be virtuous with their predominancy. And after essay of divers means upon design to vanquish them, I have found none more powerful, than this, The Meditation of Death, but if any doubt this, the trial on't will be profitable for him.  
How is it possible that a Man should let himself be mastered with the passion of Revenge, if he but muse of that Vengeance, which his sins may draw down every moment upon his head, as being every hour in estate to dye? He shall hear rumble in his ears the thunder of Divine Justice, by the continual murmur of his sighs, which advertise him of the approaches of Death. What courage can he have to avenge himself, being upon point himself to suffer the torment of eternal vengeance?  
Thou that art Vindicative, wilt thou then quench the ardour of thy Choler, feel thine own pulse, and consider that this petty slow fever, wherewith thou art stormed, leads thee by little and little into the grave. 
'Tis more honour for a man to avenge himself of his choler, then of his enemy.   
Who can be Ambitious, if musing of Death, since he must quit all with his life? Let us ponder a while the fate of those arrogant spirits, which ha' mused themselves to conquer the vain greatnesses of the Earth. What hath been in fine their share at the end of the career? They have had nothing but unprofitable regreets, to have so ill employed their time, finding themselves so poor with all their treasure, as if they had been borne the wreched'st of the world. Thou Ambitious-one, wilt thou be cured of the disease of thy Passion, think each hour of the day, that that which thou now hearest strike, may be thy Last.  
Who would sigh for profane Love, after these objects of dust, and ashes, 
Mortal frailty brings blemish to the fairest visages, and mightily takes from their opinion, being well considered.  if he often considered, that he himself is made of nothing else, and that this noisome and corruptive matter seekaes nothing more, than abysses of the grave, there to hide within its loath someness, in effect who would give his flesh a prey to pleasures, if he would consider that the worms do in expectation, make their fees thereof already. The Meditation of Death, serves for temperament to all sorts of delights. And if a Man be capable of love in this muse, it cannot be other then of his Salvation, since this object is eternal, but all others of the world perishable. Infortunate Lovers search the solace of your immodest passions in the Anatomy of the subject, whereof you are Idolaters. Be assistant at that dead view. Think of your own Death. Behold you are cured.  

He which considers of that wretchedness which is adjunct to Death, easily mispriseth the riches of this life.  What wretched Rich man would be so much in love with his treasures, if he would consider, that Death robs him from them every day, making him dye continually, and that at the end of the term of his life, he carries along with him but the good, or the evil which he hath done, to be either recompensed, or punished, but with a glory or a punishment, whereof Eternity alone must terminate the continuance? Covetous Misers, the only means for you to be so no more, is to celebrate your own funerals, by your Meditations, and often to consider the Account, not of your riches, but that which you must render one day of their fruition, since your Salvation depends thereon.  
Who, in fine, would make a God of his Belly, seeking with passion all the delights, which may tickle the sense of Taste, if he represented to himself the miseries of the body, which he takes so much pains to nourish, and the rigour of those inviolable decrees, which destinate him a prey to the worms, and the remains of their leave to rottenness? This consideration would be capable to make him lose both appetite, and desire, at the same time, to nourrish so delicately his carcase. O souls all of flesh, repasting yourselves with nothing else, there is no invention to make you change nature, but this, to Hear yourselves dye by the noise of your sighs, to See yourselves dye by the wrinkles which furrow every day upon your visages, and to Feel yourselves die by the beat of your pulse, which indexeth this your hectic fever, wherewith you are mortally attainted. This is a Probatum-remedie, the experience thereof is not dangerous.  
May not a man then maintain with much reason, that the thought of Death alone is capable to cure our souls of the disease of their passions in doseing them both the means, 
If a man should forget all things else but the miseries of his condition, this last were enough to exercise the vastest memory.  and the Virtue to triumph over them. But if of this you desire an example, call to mind that, which I have proposed you in the beginning of the Chapter. How marvellous is it that a great Monarch, who is able to maintain all manner of pleasure in his heart, with all the delights which accompany it; celebrates himself his Funerals in the midst of his career of life, beginning to reign at the end of his reign, since that last object is always present before his eyes. His Passions do assail him, but he vanquisheth them, they give him combat, but he leads them in triumph, and buries them altogether in the Tomb, which he prepares himself. Consider a little the glory, which is relucent in this action.  
We read of the Kings of Arabia, that they triumphed upon Dromedaries, the Kings of Persia upon Elephants, of Croatia upon Bulls, the Romans upon horses, and yet 'tis remarked of Nero, that he made himself be drawn in Triumph by four Hermaphrodite Mares. Camillus by four white Horses. Mark Antony by four Lions, Aurelian by four Hearts, Caesar by forty Elephants Heliogabalus by four Dogs.  
Moreover, the Poets do assure us, that the triumphant Chariot of Bacchus was drawn by Tigers, Neptunes by Fishes, of Thetis by Dolphins, Diana's by Hearts, of Venus by Doves, Juno's by Peacocks.  
All these objects of pomp, and magnificence, whereof histories, 
This Vanity is a most contagious malady, and the only preservative, is the remembrance of Death.  and Fables would eternize the vanity, have for all that done nothing but pass away, and though a little remembrance of ' them stay with us; 'tis but the memorial of a Chimaera, and of a phantom, since it preaches nothing else to us, but the ruin, and nonentity, of that which hath been other-while O how glorious a Triumph is it, 
These things ruminated on, will make us wise.  when we ourselves are encharioted over our passions now enslaved and subjected under the Empire of Reason? There is nothing so glorious, there is nothing so magnificent: For these Dromedaries, these Elephants, these Bulls, these Horses, these Hermaphrodite Mares, these Lions, Stags, and Tiger's aforementioned, are but brute beasts, which draw along in train after them others as brutish as themselves, as suffering themselves to be transported with vanity, which only reduceth them to this beastly-semblant vanity. Let us turn our face to another side.  
SABELLICUS in his ENNEADS, actively persuades us to believe, that the Christians of Aethiopia do carry in their processions, great vessels full of ashes, 
Let the fire of Divine Love glow upon our ashes.  to emblematize apparently the frailty of our nature. But may not we say upon too much reason, that we are earthen vessels full of ashes; and what object more sensibly can be presented before our eyes, to show us the truth of our miseries, than this of ourselves? From Earth is our production, and the same serves us with nourishment, and for sepulture also, as if ashamed the Sun should afford his light to our wretchedness.  
Make we then every day Funeral processions, or at least visit in meditation every hour our Tombed, as the place where our bodies must make so long abode. Celebrate we ourselves our own Funerals, and invite to our exequys, 
The thought of our end is a sovereign remedy against our passions.  Ambition, Avarice, Pride, Choler, Luxury, Gluttony, and all the other Passions, wherewith we may be attainted, to the end to be Conquerors, even by our own proper defeat: For when a Man yields to the Meditation of Death, than reason commands sense; All obey to this apprehension of frailty, and feebleness. Pleasures by little and little abandon us, the sweets of life seem sour, and we can find no other quiet, but in the hope of that, which Truth itself hath promised us, after so much trouble.  
Proud Spirits, be ye Spectators of this Funeral Pomp, which this great Monarch celebrates to day: He invites the Heaven and the Earth to his Exequys, since in their view he accompanies his portrayed gkeleton unto the Tomb: his Body conducts thither its shadow, the original the painted figure in attendance, till a Metamorphosis be made both of one and tother. O glorious action! where the Living takes a pride to appear Dead, as dying already by his own choice, as well as necessity. O glorious action! where the Triumpher takes a glory in the appearance of his overthrow. O glorious action! where all the honour depends upon the contempt of the world's honour. O glorious action! where Garlands of Cypress dispute the pre-eminence with Laurel and Palm. O glorious action! where the Conqueror under-going the Laws of Nature, elevates himself above it, making his puissance to be admired, in his voluntary weakness. But I engage myself too fare in't.  
Herodotus remarkes, that the Queen Semiramis made her Sepulchre be erected upon the entrances of the principal Gate of the 
* Babylon.  City, to the end, that this sad object of wretchedness might serve for Schoolmaster to passengers, to teach them the Art, to know themselves. O blessed Lesson is that, 
no better School than the Churchyard.  which the Tombs can afford us! O gracious Science is that, which they instruct us!  
Strabo testifies, that the Persians made Pipes of dead-men's bones, which they used at Festivals; to the end, that the sad harmony which issued thence, might temper the excess of joy. But may not we say our Lungs to be to us such kind of Whistles, and that our dolorous sighs, which produce thence the harmony, are capable to moderate the violence of our contentments? A strange thing it is, that all the animated objects, which are affected by our senses, bear the image of Death, and yet we never think but of Life. Let our eyes but fairly turn their regards on all sides, All that lives, they may see, dies; and what has no life, passes away before 'em. Our ears are tickled with the sweet harmony of Voices, or Instruments, or Tabors, or Trumpets: But these sounds are but Organs spirited with blasts, whose borrowed wind is lost, when the motion ceaseth; and there behold the Fail of their life. And for Instruments, 'tis true they warble delightfully, yet their melody is often doleful to the mind, 
The object of our nothingness has a grace and allurement capable to ravish the best spirits.  when it considers that it proceeds from certain guts of dead beasts, which Art hath so contrived. Tabors being of the same nature, must also necessarily produce the same effects; and Trumpets also do but sob in our ears, since their clangor is forced only by the violence of a blast of sighs: Our Taste cannot satiate the hunger of its appetite, but with dead and breathless things: and all our other senses are subject to the same necessity. Insomuch, that Death environs us on all sides, though we be always her own, and yet we never think on't, 
Death is ever present, and at hand, to our heart, but still absent from our memory.  but in extremities: as if we were only to learn at the last instant, that we are Mortal, and the hard experience which we make on't, were the only Lesson, which by Nature is given us.  
LORD render me capable, if it please thee, of this Science, which may effectually teach me the Art, to know myself; to the end, that this knowledge may represent to me always the reality of my wretchedness. Make me that I may see myself, may understand and feel myself to dye every moment: but so, that I may see it with the eyes of my heart, perceive it with the eyes of my soul, and feel it by the sense of my conscience, therein to find my repose and safety. I know well, that Nature mourns uncessantly the death of its works, which are devoured every hour by time; and though no where thus can I see but Sadness itself, yet nevertheless remain I insensible of the horror of these objects; and though they be terrible, my spirit not affrighted. Render me therefore, if it please thee, render me fearful, and make me even to tremble in thinking of it, since the thought of it is so important, and suffer me not to live a kind of Death, without meditating of that life which is exempt from Death, and whereof Eternity is the Limit. All my votes do terminate at this, and all my wishes, which I address to thy bounty, that I may one day see the effects of my hopes. Let us advance on our first proposition.  
O how celebrious, and glorious is the Triumph over our selves! Let us leave the Laurels, and Palms to those famous conquerors of Sea and Land. 
A Man hath no greater enemy than himself.  Their Crowns are now metamorphosed into dust, their renown into wind, themselves into corruption, and for a surplusage of mishap after the conquest of the whole World, they die in the miseries, whereunto they were borne.  
Cyrus could not bound his Ambition less, then to the vast extension of the Universe; and yet a 
* TOMYRIS.  simple woman only prescribed him an allay, and placed his head in the range of his own Trophies. Arthomides plays jupiter upon Earth, his portrait is the only Idol of his subjects: and yet one turn of the wheel casts him a sacrifice upon the same altar, which he had erected to his Glory, his life glistering with triumphs, but his death in such a ruin, clouded even the memory of his name. All those stately Triumphers, 
There is nothing more vain, than Vainglory: 'tis a body without soul or life, having no subsistence, but in Imagination.  of whom Antiquity trumpets-out wonders, have had no other recompense of their labours, but this vain conceit, that one day men would talk of them. But what felicity is it to be praised in this world, to which they are dead, and tormented in the other, wherein they live even yet, and ever. I care very little, that men should talk of me after my Death, the esteem of men is of so small importance, that I would not buy it so dear, as with a wish only. It behoves to search reputation in the purity of the conscience, if a man would have the glory of it last for ever. The renown of a good man is much greater, then that of Caesar or Alexander; for this has no other foundation, than the soil where it was sowed, and where the goodliest things display themselves like flowers, and like flowers also have but a morning-flourish: But the other having for a firm stay Eternity, this object ennobleth it to perfection, 
The renown of a good man only lasts always.  and thus desiring nothing else but heaven, it remains to us at the end for recompense.  
Blondus in his Treatise of Rome, in its triumphant glory, reckons up three hundred and twenty triumphs, all remarkable: but where are now these pomps, these magnificences, this infinite number of Trophies, and a thousand other ornaments, which rattled out their glory. Where are I say these conquerors? where are their slaves? their Idolaters, their admirers? These pomps have but flashed like lightning, 
'Tis some comfort yet to a wise man, though himself fade away, to see that all things else do so too.  and so passed away with the day, that accompanied their lustre. These magnificences have been but seen, and so took their passage in flight. These trophies being only bravadoes of the time, times inconstancy made them vanish in an instant, & all those other ornaments made but ostentation of their continual vicissitude, as being an inseparable accident of their nature. These vanquishers only had the name on't, since Death led them away also in triumph, for all their triumphings. Their captives were rather slaves of the miseries whereunto they were borne, then so by the absolute power of him who captived them. Their Idolaters have been immolated to the fury of years, which spare none; and their admirers have incurred the same fate with the subject, which they admired: Insomuch, that of all together, remaine● nothing but a faint remembrance which as it waxeth old, is effaced by little and little out of memory, and scarcely will it subsist so much in the imagination, as to be in the end buried among fables. 
Since Eternity only triumphs over Time, we should only strive to attain that.  Behold here the Anatomy of the glory of the world, see the true portrait of its false Image. Contemplate, meditate, you will avouch with me, that All is full of vanity.  
O how stately and magnificent is the Triumph of Ages! what trophies may a man see at their ever-rowling Chariot! what Conquerors are not in the number of their subjection? what sovereign power can resist their violence? what newer can Triumph then this of years? Who can give in account the number of their victories, and ●esse the captives which Death serves ●n for their trophies? What newer triumph again evermore then of months, of days, of hours, and moment's? For consider to yourself, how many Kings, Princes, and Lords, die ●n one age in all the places of the world. All these vanquishers are vanquished, ●nd led in triumph to the grave. Every Year makes its conquest a part, giveth ●attell, and carries away the victory over so many, 
A righteous man only stands exempt from the terror of death.  and so many men, that hardly can one conceive so lamentable a truth; Months, Days, Hours, and Moment's, triumph in their courses; who can number all those who died yesterday outright, or are dead to day? Nay more, how many die at this hour, and at this very instant, that I entertain you with this discourse. And all these defeats of mortality mark out to us the Triumphs, whereof time only bears away the glory: But let us not pretend to share in't, 'tis not worthy our Ambition. Let Ages, Years, Months, Days, Hours, and Moment's, triumph over us: 
A good conscience is ever under shelter from all the inconstant tempests of ages.  Virtue always limits their puissance, and with it we may prescribe a bound to all these Triumphants. Fair leave may they take to ruinated outward beauty, but that of innocence is of proof 'gainst all their strokes. Well may they impair outward graces; but those of heaven contemn their assaults. No doubt they may change the visage of all the marvels of Art, and miracles of Nature: Our Resolution is a rock in midst of all their storms, and may remain always itself without undergoing other rules then its own. So that thus we may lead Time itself along in triumph, if we live for nothing more than for Eternity.  

He which lives for eternity, dreads no death.  I scorn the Tyranny of Ages, my aim is beyond 'em all. I despise the power of years, my Ambition reigns already out of their reach. Let Months, Days, Hours, and Moment's, entrail all things along with 'em; I for my part, franchise their career, since my scope is much more farther yet. Let them triumph fully, my very defeat shall lead them in triumph at the end of their term, for the eternity whither I aspire, already assigns out their tomb. Let us stay no longer in so cragged a way.  
The Emperor Trajan caused his Sepulchre to be enframed in the midst of Rome's greatest place, as upon a state●y Theatre, on which his successors were to act their parts. Every man dies ●or himself; 
Seriùs aut citiùs metam properamus ad unam.  sooner or later we must arrive to the place, to which uncessantly ●ee walk. Be it to morrow, or today, ●t the end of the term all's equal. Nor old nor young can mark the difference in their course, being arrived to the end of their career, for a hundred Ages when past, and one instant make but the same thing. 'Tis only necessary to muse of our last gist in the grave, since thither we run till we ●re out of breath, from moment to moment.  
The Trojans would have the burying-places of their Princes to be in the most remarkable place of the City, to the end, 
Places of burial are sad theatres, where every day are acted none but Tragedies.  that this sad object might serve as a fixed Memento to remembrance them, that the Tragedy, which had been acted by these yesterday, might again be represented by some other to day.  
The Philosophers know that objects move the faculties, and that according to the quality of their impressions, they work upon the spirits, which contemplate them. Let us say now, that of all the direful objects, which are presented to our eyes, there is none more powerful o'er our apprehensions, than this of Meditation of Death, and the horror of the grave. The most courageous yield themselves to these assaults, the most valiant resist nor their violences. All droop at approach of an enemy so redoubtable. But our defeat, if rightly carried, is more glorious than our Triumph. What success is this, by being overcome, to bear away the crown of victory? such submission is a mark of Sovereignty.  

If the meditation of death make not a sinner change his life, nothing will do it.  Petrus Gregorius tells us of the Emperor Charles the fift, that he caused his winding head-ketcher to be carried before him for a standard in all his Armies, six years before he died, to the end, that the continual object of his greatness, might not be too powerful to tempt him to misconceive himself.  
We do the same every day, without thinking on't, for our shirts are in a manner as so many winding-sheets, which we carry always with us in all places where we go: But if this sad object be not enough to moderate our ambition, and rebate our vanity, this voluntary is inseparable from pain, we must needs undergo the Law, which we impose upon ourselves.  

'Tis best to let Death be welcome to us, since 'tis inevitable.  LORD suffer me not, if it please thee, so fare to mistake myself, as never to come to the point of meditating of this blessed Decree, which thou hast imposed on me, to dye one day. But illuminate my spirit with the light of thy grace, which may stead me as a Pharos, to show me the haven of the grave, where the ship of my life must put ashore. Make me also, if it please thee, to be ignorant of all things else, but the knowledge to live well, that I may also dye so; and thus, let the miseries which accompany me, the mishaps that follow me, and all the other afflictions which thy goodness hath subjected me to, be the ordinary objects of my thoughts, to the end, that I stray not from the way of my salvation. And now have have I no other passion, but to see the effects of these prayers. Let us go to the end.  

The Combat ought always to precede the Victory, and the Victory the Triumph.  Those that have averred, that the world is to us an hostile Army, composed of so many Soldiers as there are objects in nature, capable to agitate the power of our passions, had very good reasons to defend the truth of their Thesis. These objects of it make war against us continually, with all the assaults, inventions, and stratagems of a cruel enemy. Beauty, that assaults our souls, by the way of our eyes, with as much cunning as force; for at first view, it amuseth the Sense with admiration, by a slight of complacence, to which its sweets and allurements insensibly engage it. Afterwards the Sensus Communis, receiving the fair Species of the Idea of this fair enemy, presents them to the Fancy, the Fancy to the Understanding, which after it hath examined them according to its capacity, offers them to the Will, which by a natural apprehension, finds itself obliged to love the subject from whence these amiables do proceed. And now then it is the Cue of Reason, either to condemn or authorise this Love; but most often that becomes charmed itself, and we vanquished. Not that Reason is not sufficiently strong and powerful, but whereas its force and virtue depends merely upon grace, 
Our passions are the flattering'st enemies of the world, for they assault us with those semblant satisfactions to us, as may seem most agreeable; and thus they are most to be feared.  the contempt which ordinarily it makes of this, renders both alike unprofitable. This is that which obliges us in all these conflicts, to implore the help of heaven, rather than to trust upon our strengths, and evermore to have a jealous eye to this our subtle enemy, which yet can never get other advantage upon us, then that which our wretchlessness suffers it to acquire.  

We cannot justly complain of our defeat, since 'tis voluntary.  The very fairest objects of the world, may well enforce admiration, but not love, since love cannot be form in our hearts, but by a powerful reflection of the amiable qualities which are found in the subject, and in this it is necessary, that the understanding do operate, and the will consent. And this cannot be done without a free deliberation, which we absolutely authorise. Insomuch, that we cannot be overcome, if we rush not into't with desire of our own overthrow. And this not so neither, as if there were no trouble in the resistance; but rather 'tis a way to acquire much more glory in the victory over beauteous objects, by the power of reason, which is more troublesome and difficult, then that which one gets o'er an enemy by force of arms. 
The rewards which God hath prepared after all our troubles, do infinitely surpass our deserts.  But the honour also surpasseth always the difficulty, and what pain soever a man can possibly take, the Prize and Crown at last can admit of no comparison.  
We must then bravely combat those proud beauties, which make public profession to enchain our hearts in irons, and put our souls upon the rack, and let them see, to their confusion, that the natural Magic of their charms is to us a new Art of Logic, which informs us to make Arguments, both to give for granted their power, and yet destroy their force. Fair leave have they to expose to view their blandishments, and graces: the light of Reason produceth a livelier Day, whose lustre duskes the midday-splendour; for by the aid of this light a man may see, that all their quaintnesses are but daubings, their delicacies but artifice, and their attractives, but only composed by distillatories. And how can one Idolatrise them then, after meditationall presentment of these verities? Behold the only means to prescribe a rule over these Sovereigns, who would impose it on the whole world. 
He commands best, that can obey reason.  Not that this kind of combat requires force of courage, but rather of prudence, after first a misprise of them to fly away; and not to put the victory into hazard.  
There are yet other enemies, which render themselves as redoutable as the former, such are Ambition, riches, etc. what means is there to resist them, or to speak better, to vanquish them? they have no less allurements, and sweets, than the beauties afore-spoken of, and though the force of them be different, they cease not nevertheless, to excite and move the passions with all sort of violence.  
Ambition has its particular delicacies, and charms, to ravish men's hearts, and soveraignize o'er their souls; and I believe, that its Empire extends itself fare beyond that of Love: for all the world is not capable of this latter passion, but of the other every man has a smatch from that defect, from our original, wherewith a man is tainted. 
Vanity is bred and borne with us, but 'tis in our choice, whether to let it ever keep us company.  And this passion is so much the more to be feared, as it is natural, and growing up with us in measure as we grow ourselves. The means to vanquish it, is to study to know oneself, and thus plainly to see the frailty of our foundation.  
What Ambition can a man have, that knows the number of the greatest part of the miseries and mishaps which accompany his life? To what can he pretend, being not able to dispose of one only moment? Nay, what can he wish for beyond himself, since for any long time together, he has not strength enough to look down to his own feet? What high aim can he give his designs, since all his thoughts, his desires, and hopes, have their limited scope beyond his power, as depending upon the Future, 
'Tis the best mystery of all humane Trade, to learn to die daily, and in this Vocation they that are active apprentices, are Masters.  whereof he cannot dispose. All lies then in this, to know ourselves, that is, to consider the certainties thus sensible, both of our defects and infirmities.  
The Passion for Riches is always extreme, allowing no moderation in our hearts. 'Tis a kind of hydropicke malady, wherein thirst increaseth the more one drinks. A rich man of ten thousand pounds a year, wisheth thirty thousand, and if perhaps he see the effects of his desires, he soon conceives new ones, being never able to find content in the enjoyment of the goods which he already possesseth.  
That temperament of spirit, which Philosophy teacheth us to live content in, whatsomever condition a man is in, is a virtue so chaste, that it suffers itself to be possessed by no body in this age, 
The true knowledge of Virtue, would soon insinuate its love.  wherein we are; not that a man cannot enjoy it, but 'tis to be sought in the purity of the conscience, rather than in the world, where it is unknown but only barely in name.  
This greedy passion of heaping treasure upon treasure, is so proper to our criminal and corrupt nature, that a man cannot guard himself from it, without a special help from Heaven. Since that robbery, which our first Parents made in the terrestrial Paradise, all our thoughts and hopes are so thievish, that they would rob the future of those goods, which we wish for then, making no esteem of those which we already possess; our hearts sigh uncessantly with impatience, in attendance of a new acquist. What remedy now is there to cure so contagious a malady, whose insensible dolour makes us often contemn a remedy? what means I say, 
Poverty of spirit is the greatest riches.  to triumph over a passion so strong and puissant, and to which our nature itself lends a hand? 'Tis certainly an action of study, where reason with time must get the advantage. It is necessary to consider every time that this desire to amass riches, doth press and force us; what shall we do with all these treasures, after we have heaped them up? To leave them to our heirs, it is to make them rich with our own loss, which they too perhaps will laugh at, in the possession. 'Tis I say, to damn ourselves for others profit, as if we had never lived for ourselves. To carry them into the grave with us, is to have laboured for worms: what shall then become on 'em? We must of necessity leave them behind. O cruel necessity! but yet most sweet and pleasing in its continual meditation, 
'Tis the best providence in this world, to lay up treasures for t'other.  since it teaches us to undervalue all that may be lost.  
There are a great number of other Passions, which may master us with the same violence, according to the disposition of the predominating humour which possesseth us; such are Choler, Envy, Detraction, etc. but with the only force of Reason, assisted with the usual grace, which concurres in all good actions, we may easily be able to triumph over them.  
We read of Pyrander King of Egypt, that being one day in choler against one of his slaves, he heard a clap of thunder so terrible, that he became suddenly quite appeased; as if he had had this thought that the Gods were angry with his fury since they clamoured louder than he Let us have often the same thoughts but with more truth and illumination every time that this blind passion would exercise over us its tyranny. My meaning is, that in the violentest heat o● our choler, we lend an ear of imagination to the noise of the thunder of divine Justice, that thus we may be appeased at the same time, 
'Tis a good method first to fear God, then to love him.  for what ground have we to be armed with fury, against our neighbours, when heaven is animated with just vengeance against ourselves?  
The Passion of Envy as black as hell, & the most criminal of all together proceeds from an envenomed mischievousnes, to which nature contributes nothing at all. 'Tis a devilish passion, whose fury & rage keeps the soul in fetters, 
Envious men are most their own enemies, and rob themselves of the rowne quiet  and whose thievish jealousy robs away the goods of others in a hounding after 'em, & yet possesses none of 'em. What means is there then to vanquish this untameable vice? No other but this, to consider the Justice of that adorable Providence which imparts never its favours and graces, but with weight & measure. God cannot do but justly, since his justice is no other than himself. Then if this man have 10000 ●ounds a year, and I but a 100, whereof can I complain? shall I doubt ●he reason from Reason itself? shall I accuse Justice of Injustice? To take for granted, that the Sovereign of all does ●hat he will, and the Almighty what ●e pleaseth, I will always rely to that balance, which God bears in his hand, and by which himself weigheth his actions to the poise of his will, and consequently to the measure of his Justice. What objection can be made against this truth?  

The envious man is never in health, tortured with the Hectic Peaver of this ever-burning passion.  Envious Maligner, adore that, which thou canst not comprehend, and then instead of pining for the goods, which thou enjoyest not; give thankes to heaven for those which thou possessest, and how small someover they be, they are ever great enough to amuse thee all thy life-long to the study of thankful acknowledgement.  
The Passion of Detraction is easily overcome by a fresh consideration of our own proper defects, for of all the Vices whereof we accuse one another, our hearts may convince us. If I call a man thief, am not I a greater thief than he, since against the Laws of charity I rob him of his honour by this injury? Suppose he be a false villain, yet in calling him by this name, I betray the secret, which his fault should ●n charity impose upon me. But if he be nothing so; lo I myself am now a Traitor both at once of his reputation, 
'Tis more important to learn to hold one's peace, then to hold up the talk.  and mine own conscience. There is no fault more unpardonable, than this of Obloquy, and in regard that for a just expiation of the crime, it is fitting that the tongue which did the hurt, should give the remedy.  
Thou Detractor, if thou canst not moderate thy passion, speak ill only of thyself, Study thine own vices, Meditate thine own faults, and Accuse thyself of them before heaven, which is already witness of thy crimes; and by this way of reproaching, thou shalt obtain one day to be praised eternally. Behold me now at the end of the Chapter.  

He which often muzes of Death, will every day learn to live well.  After all these particular remedies with which a man may learn easily to resist the tyranny of the Passions, there is none more sovereign than this of the Meditation of Death. All the rest abbut at this only, as the most authorized, by daily experience.  
Great Kings, suffer yourselves to be led in triumph by your own thoughts to the grave, and by the way consider how your greatnesses, your riches, your delights, and all the magnificence of your Court, follow you step by step, being brought along by the same fate, whose absolute Tyranny spares none. And since you may dye every hour, think at the least sometimes of this truth, to the end that that hour of your life's dial surprise you not. Much good do't you to nourish up yourselves deliciously, yet all these Viands wherewith you repast yourselves are empoisoned, as containing in 'em the 
* Caliditas, Frigiditas, Humiditas, Siccitas.  four contrary qualities, whose discord puts into skirmish your humours, and this battle is an infallible presage of your overthrow: well may you chase away Melancholy, by virtue of fresh pleasures, these very contentments cheat away your life, for though you think of nothing but how to pass away the time, it passes ere you think on't, & Death comes before you have foreseen his arrival. Well may you cocker up your bodies, content your senses, and satiate the appetite of your desires: the Taper of your life has its limited course, 
Pleasures make us grow old, as well as griefs.  as well as that of the day. Every man pursues his career, according to the inviolable Laws of heaven, which hath asigned 'em out at once, both the way, and the bounds. Suffer Time to lead you by the hand to the Tomb, 
Fata volentem ducunt, nolentem trahunt.  for fear he hale you thither. But in dying muse at least of that Life, which never shall have end. All the felicities which you have possessed, are vanished with the flower of your age, and all those which you will yet enjoy, will fly away with the rest. What will remain with you then, at the last instant of your life, 
Those pleasures cost very dear, which are worth nothing but repentance.  but an irksome remembrance, to have tasted a thousand pleasures, which are past, and to have lost so many means of having had others, which would have lasted eternally. Disinvest yourselves then, for one hour every day, of all your greatness, and in the presence of your own selves, meaning in review of all your miseries, & mishaps, which are proper to you, confess the truth of your nullity, and of your corruption; by this search you shall recover yourselves, and by this confession thus shall you Triumph o'er yourselves.   

A PROLUSION upon the EMBLEM of the last Chapter.  
VIewing the Ranges of a Library  
Of Dead-men's bones piled in a Coemitarie,  
Great ALEXANDER finds Diogenes,  
And thus they Dialogue.  Alex. 
Cynic, among these  
Ruins of frail Mortality, what dost look?  Diog. 
For that, wherein I fear to be mistook,  
I seek thy Father PHILIP'S Scull among  
This pellmell undistinguishable Throng.  Alex. 
Let's see, which is it? show me. (Diog.) Sure 'tis that,  
Whose nose is bridge-falne.  Alex. 
Dead-men's all are flat.  Diog. 
Why then 'tis that where shrowds perpetual night,  
Caved in those hollow eye-holes, void of sight.  Alex. 
Still all are so,  Diog. 
Why 'tis yon skinless brow,  
Chap-fallen, lip-sunke, with teeth-disranked row,  
Yond peeled scalp  Alex. 
Thus still all are alike.  Diog. 
So shall both You and I. and let this strike,  
Thy knowledge ALEXANDER, and Thy sense,  
'Twixt King and slave once Dead sh' no difference.  

L'envoy.  


Mors seeptra ligonibus aequat. Hor.  THere is no difference, Death hath made  
Equall' the Sceptre, and the Spade.  
No Dreader Majesty is now  
I'th' Royal Scalp, then Rustic brow.  
Fair NEREUS has no beauteous grace,  
More than Thersites ' ugly face,  
Now both are dead, odds there is none  
Betwixt the fairest, and foulest One.  
Tell me amongst the huddled pile  
Of Dead-men's bones, which was ere while  
The subtlest Lawyer's, or the Dull  
And Ignoramian Empty Skull?  
Was yond some valorous Samsons arm?  
Or one that ne'er drew sword for harm.  
Or wink and tell me, which is which,  
Irus the poor, or Croesus' rich?  
What are they now, who so much stood  
On Riches, Honours, and high Blood?  
there's now no Difference, with the Dead  
Distinctions all are buried,   

Only the Soul as Ill, or Well,  
Is Diffrenced or in Heaven, or Hell.     


Alexander, and Diogenes discoursing among the  
Sepulchers of the Dead, the Cynic tells the King,  
That in the Grave, Monarches and Meaner Men are all alike.    

THE MIRROR WHICH FLATTERS NOT.  
CHAP. IU.  
WHat a horrid spectacle is this? what a frightful object? See you not this great number of Dead men's sculls, which heaped one upon another, make a mountain of horror, and affright, whose baleful, and contagious umbrage, insensibly invites our bodies on to the grave. What a victory is this over these? but what an inhumanity? what a defeat? but what a butchery. May we not say, that fury and rage, have assassinated, even Natures-selfe, and that we now alone remain in the world, to celebrate its funerals by our lamentations, and regreets. Fathers, Mothers, 
Death is a severe judge, and pardons none.  Children, Nobles, and Plebeians, Kings, and their subjects are all pellmell in this stack of rotten wood, which Time like a covert, but burning fire consumes by little and little, not able to suffer, that ashes should be exalted above dust.  
Proud Spirits, behold here the dreadful reverse of the medal. All these sad objects of mortality, and yet actively animated, with horror & affright, by their own silence enjoin the same to you thus to amuse your Spirits in the contemplation of their deplorable ruins. If you be rich, See here those, who have possessed the greatest treasures of the world, are not now worth the marrow of their own bones, whereof the worms have already shared the spoil. If you be happy; The greatest favourites of fortune, are reduced to the same noisomeness as you see the filth that enrounds them. If you be valiant, Hector, and Achilles, are thus here overcome, behold the shameful marks of their overthrow. If you be men of Science, 
Death may be contemned, but not avoided.  Here lies the most learned of the world. 'Tis the Epitaph on their tomb, Read it.  
I grant moreover, you may be the greatest Princes of the earth. An infinite number of your companions are buried under these corrupted ruins. Suppose in fine, that your Sovereignty did extend itself over all the Empire of the world; A thousand and a thousand too of your semblables, have now nothing more their own, than that corruption, which devours, even to the very bones.  
Ambitious Heart, see here a Mirror which flatters not, since it represents to the life the reality of thy miseries. Well mayst thou perhaps pretend the conquest of the Universe; even those, who have borne away that universal Crown, are now crowned, but with dust, and ashes. 
'Tis no wonder the Miser ne'er thinks of Death, his thoughts are only taken up for this Life.   
Covetous wretch, behold the book of thy accounts, calculate all that is due to thee, after payment of thy debts: learn yet after all this, that thy soul is already mortgaged to devils, thy body to worms, and thus, notwithstanding all thy treasures, there will not abide with thee one hair upon thy head, one tooth in thy chaps, nor one drop of blood in thy veins, nor ne'er so little marrow in thy bones, nay the very memory of thy being, would be extinguished if thy crimes did not render it eternal, both here, and in the torments of hell.  

Pride is but like the nooneflourish of a flower, which at Sunset perisheth.  Proud arrogant man, measure with thy bristled brows, the dilatation of the earth, Brave with thy menacing regards the heavens, and the flarres. These molehills of rottenness, whereof thy carcase is shaped, prepare toward the tomb of thy vanity. 
Seneca Epist.  These are the shades of Death inseparable from thy body, 
Quotidie morimur, quotidie enim demitur aliqua pars vitae.  since it dies every hour. If thou elevate thyself to day, even to the clouds; to morrow thou shalt be debased to nothing. But if thou doubt of this truth, behold here a thousand witnesses which have made experience of it.  
Luxurious Wanton, give thy body a prey to voluptuousness, deny nothing to thy pleasures; but yet consider the horror, and dreadfulness of that Metamorphosis, when thy flesh shall be turned to filth, and even that to worms, and those still to fresh ones, which shall devour even thy coffin, and so efface the very haste marks of thy Sepulture.  
How remarkable is the answer of Diogenes to Alexander? What art thou musing on, Cynic, says this Monarch to him one day, having found him in a Charnell-yard, I amuse myself here (answers he) in search of thy father Philip's bones among this great number, which thou seest; but my labour is in vain, for one differs not from another.  
Great Kings, the discuss of this answer, may serve you now as a fresh instruction, to insinuate to you the knowledge of yourselves. You walk in triumph to the Tomb, followed with all the train of your ordinary magnificences: but being arrived at this Port, blown thither with the continual gale of your sighs, your pomp vanisheth away, your Royal Majesty abandons you, your greatness gives you the last Adieu, and this your mortal fall equals you now, to all that were below you. The dunghill of your body, hath no pre-eminence above others, unless it be in a worse degree of rottenness, 
Corruptio optimi pessima.  as being of a matter more disposed to corruption: But if you doubt of this truth, behold and contemplate the deplorable estate, to which are reduced your semblables. Their bald scalps have now no other Crown, than the circle of horror, which environes them; their disincarnated hands hold now no other Sceptre, but a pile of worms, and all these wretchednesses together, give them to see a strange change, from what they were in all the glories of their Court. These palpable and sensible objects, are witnesses not to be excepted against. 
The serious meditation of his miserable condition, is capable to make any man wise.  Let then your souls submit to the experiment of your senses.  
But what a Prodigy of wonder's here▪ do I not see, the great Army of Xerxes, reduced and metamorphosed into a handful of dust? All that world of men in those days, which with its umbragious body, covered a great part of the earth▪ shades not so much as a foot on't with its presence. Be never weary of thinking of these important truths.  

In Hercule Octaeo.  Seneca in the Tragedy of Hercule● brings in Alcmene, with grievous lamentation, bearing in an urn, the ashes of that great Monster-Tamer; 
Ecce vix totam Hercules Complevit urnam, quàm leve est pondus mihi, C●i totus aether pondus incubuit leve?  And to this effect makes her speak; Behold, how easily I carry him in my hand, who bore the Heavens upon his shoulders. The sense of these words, aught to engage our spirits to a deep meditation upon the vanity of things, which seem to us most durable. All those great Monarches who sought an immortality in their victories and triumphs, have miss that, and found Death at last, the enjoyment of their Crowns and splendours, being buried in the same Tomb with their bodies. See here then a new subject of astonishment.  
The Mathematicians give this Axiom, All lines drawn from the Centre to the Circumference are equal. Kings & Princes, abate your haughtiness, 
The world is a Game at Chess, where every of the Sett has his particular Name and Place designed: but the Game done, all the Pieces are pellmelled into the Bag: and even so are all motrals into the grave.  your subjects march fellowlike with you to the Centre of the grave. If life gave you pre-eminence; Death gives them now equality. There is now no place of affectation, or range to be disputed: the heap of your ashes, and their dust, make together but one hillock of mould, whose infection is a horror to me. I am now of humour not to flatter you a whit.  
We read of the Ethiopians, that they buried their Kings in a kind of Lestall: and I conceive there of no other reason, then according to the nature of the subject, they joined by this action, the shadow and the substance, the effect with the cause, the stream with its source; for what other thing are we then a mass of mire, dried and baked by the fire of life; but scattered again and dissolved by the Winter of Death; and in that last putrefaction, to which Death reduceth us, the filth of our bodies falls to the dirt of the earth, as to its centre, for so being conceived in corruption, let us not think strange to be buried in rottenness.  

'Tis well men hide themselves after death in the Earth, or the enclosure of Tombs, their filth and noisomeness would else be too discovert.  Earth, dust, and ashes, remain still the same, be it in a vessel of gold, or in a coffin of wood, or in a Mausolean Tomb of marble. Great Kings, well may you cover your wretchedness, with a magnificent Sepulchre, they will for all this not alter condition, the noisomeness of your bones is never without the abhorrement, and putrefaction proper to them. And if (suppose) their mass be reduced into dust, and the wind carry it away, the very wings of the wind are laden with rottenness, and can scatter nothing else in a thousand places, where ere they fall. I will a little straggle out the way without losing my aim.  
Fabius Paulus reports, that upon the Tomb of Isocrates, there was a Siren seared upon a Ram, and holding a Harp in her hand. And this gave to understand, That this famous Orator charmed men's souls through their ears, by the sound of his admirable eloquence. But whereas no melodious air was heard from the mute Harp of this Siren, it was required of the Spectators, to take for granted in imagination, the harmony of her sweet touches, 
How unsufferable is the vanity of men, who even is on their Tombs, will have the display of their vain glory.  as emblem of the sweetness of this great Orator's voice: But Death imposeth silence on both, and thus remained they a sad sight, both in object, and mysteries contained under; since now of these passages remains no more but a weak remembrance, and whereof Time by little, and little effaceth even the Ideas.  
johannes Baptista Fontanus relates, that upon the Sepulchre of Q. Martius there was ' graven a Ram supported upon the two fore-feets, and a Hare dead by its side. The Ram represented the generosity of this great Captain in all combats, and the dead Hare, his vanquished enemies: But what honour now remains him after their defeat? This van quisher of an infinite number of miserable wretches, is at the last overcome with his own miseries. Though Triumphant in a thousand combats, one marble stone now contains all his trophies, and glory. O deplorable fate! to have but seven foot-earth, after conquest of the greatest part of the earth.  
Plutarch assures us, that upon the Tomb of Alexander, there was represented in Emblem Asia, and Europe, appearing vanquished, and in the chains of their captivity, with this mot, which served as a fresh Trophy, The victory of Alexander. O poor victory! O sorry triumph! for where are now its Laurels, and Palms? This great Monarch conquered the whole world, but being never able to conquer his ambition, This in the end, hath taken away all the glory, which it made him acquire. Great Princes, advance then on to the conquest of the Universe, but I advertise you one thing, 
The misprise of the world is more glorious than all its honours.  All those that are returned from the same action, have much repent themselves, to have taken so great pains for so small a matter. 
* Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle.  The Game's not worth the Candle, as the Proverb. But if you love to Conquer, and triumph; your passions will furnish you with such subject every hour. Let's once see the end of our career.  
We read of Cyrus, that he caused to be engraven these words upon the stone of his Monument, HERE LIES THE CONQVEROUR OF THE PERSIANS. But what excess of mishap could have reduced so great a Monarch to such an excess of wretchedness, must it be said? Here lies, of one that lately stood so triumphant? Would he have men admire his past glory in view of that vault, where he was interred? would he have men adore the magnificences of his Life upon the same Altar, where Death exhibits him as a victim? Is not this a vanity more worthy of compassion, than envy?  
The History of the life of Themistocles was to be read upon the marble of his Sepulchre, but 'twas forgotten, there to depaint also the story of his Death. 
'Tis but a poor satisfaction to, have for recompense of so much pains, but the ostentation of a glorious Sepulchre.  Behold the high deeds of Themistocles, this was the inscription. But to us it may be of importance to consider, that although the wonders, which he had done, were only graven upon the port of his Monument, yet for all that, they also made their entry into it, and followed the fate of their author: so that now rests nothing of Themistocles, but Name, for of all that he hath done, the wind hath carried away the glory, and the small remembrance on't, which sticks by us, is but a portrait of vanity.  
There was represented upon the Tomb of joshua, the Sun with this inscription. 
Iosh. 10.12.  Sun stand thou still upon Gibeon. True it is, the Sun stood still in the midst of his career, to give full Triumph to this great Captain over his enemies: But after they were overthrown, this Planet jealous of his glory conducts him also to his grave, as not enduring to see any thing upon earth, as durable as itself. So true it is, that all things here flit away, 
There is no course swifter, then that of Life to Death.  with the swiftness of a Torrent; though their flight to us seem much more slow.  
The Epitaph, which some 
* Sit fides penes Authorem.  writings report us of Adam, has not so much splendour and magnificence, as the others. He is Dead, says his Epitaph, speaking only of him. O excellent Epitaph! Men shall say no more of you one day, Great Kings. Well may you with Q. Martius come off victorious from all combats, and enter in triumph into Cities with Alexander. Well may you cause to be ensculpted the History of your Acts, upon the marble of your Sepulchers, like as Themistocles; and may you Sub-poena the Sun for a witness of the reality of your triumphs, like joshuah: Yet for all this, men shall say no more of you, than was said of ADAM, HE IS DEAD. They are dead, and there is all.  
The Epitaph of David composed by some, from consequence of Scripture, is worthy remark: Here lies the invincible Monarch, who in his childhood o'ercome Bears, in his adolescency Lions, in his youth Giants, and in his age himself. Traveller envy not his repose, for thou art in the way to it thyself. These words are express in a near regard to the sense of those, which are couched in Scripture upon this subject, and I thereto can add no more than this discurse of my astonishment, and rapture.  
What! so great a Prince as David, favoured by heaven, and redoubted upon earth, and so endowed by Nature, shall he glimpse out a little but like a flash of lightning, and pass away like a puff of wind? where then shall a man find constancy and assurance? 
Inconstancy is the only foundation of created things.  What can be the site and foundation of all these our new wonders of the world, whose beauty seems to contest for lustre with the very Sun? O LORD, to me it is a most agreeable consolation, to see in my race to the tomb, how all things follow me. I am well apaid, that there is nothing here below durable, but thy Word alone, since this makes me hope for an Eternity, which shall never be subject to the inconstancy of times. Let all things LORD change with me, and thus I love this change, for in rolling along, from time to time toward the grave, I still approach towards thee, and consequently to my sovereign repose, and last felicity. Let us follow our first traces.  
The first Epitaph which was put upon Tombs, was that of the fair RACHEL, as is partly remarked from Scripture, 
Gen. 35.20.  and Borchardus assures us it was a Pyramid, which jacob erected, sustained upon a dozen precious stones, with this inscription, _____ HERE LIES BEAUTY AND LOVE.  
Ladies, let your sweetness and blandishments now change language, and let 'em tell us no more that you are fair, since Beauty is buried in the Tomb of the fair Rachel: But if you make bravado of your crisped hairs, whose glistering charms dazzle the eyes, & captivatemens' souls at once: Her bright locks dispersed into a thousand golden wreaths, had the power to enchain men's hearts, and yet her virtue was to despise this power. But for all this, 
Ladies, if you be sair● to day, there is a to morrow when you shall not.  notwithstanding Nature was never able to exempt from rottenness this Mistress, or Masterpiece of the works of her hands. Suppose that Majesty itself, has no better Mirror then from the clear reflections of your ivory foreheads: Rachel's was so perfect, that 'tis in vain to seek terms to express its accuratnesse, and yet now 'tis nothing but ashes, if so much.  
Let your Eyes (suppose) be more clear and beautiful than the Sun, able to make a rape upon men's liberties, and enamourate the sternest hearts: those of Rachel were so admirable and bewitching, that she herself redoubted their force and power. Looking herself in a Miriour, her own eyes inflamed her, 
●●ll the tenors of bod●l● perfect● us are held of time, wh●●e 〈◊〉 ●●slan●y ●leases away with they every moment.  and of this pleasing heat, she apprehended the iustu●nce, being herself even tempted to desire it: But for all this, those two sparkling wonders, quickened with Nature's sweetest, and most aymiable graces, are now nothing but rottenness and corruption.  
Be your Cheeks half Lilies, half Roses, your lips Carnation-Gilly-flowers, your teeth Orient Pearl, your bosom purest Alabaster, and all these lovely parts enlivened with a spirit divine: fair Rachel possessed all these perfections soveraignely, and more than e'er you saw, or wished, as elevated above your knowledge. But (O mishap) she herself, in whom all these rare beauties were united, and assembled, is now no more ought at all; or if she be somewhat, it can be but a little dust, and earth, and ashes, 
Every thing fades sooner in us, than vanity and sin.  which the worms keep possession of in deposit. O fearful metamorphosis.  
Ladies, will you yet presume yourselves fair, after you have thus now assisted in imagination and thought, to the funerals of Beauty itself after you have read, I say, the Epitaph, which Truth itself hath written upon her Sepulture. I grant you have a thousand sweets, and graces: yet now at least confess ye, that these blandishments are but of so thin aerial worths, that the wind carries them away, as if they were composed of nought else; for scarcely have they birth, but you see them decay, and then the misprise, that each one makes of them, renders 'em more capable to produce pity then love.  
'Tis remarked in the life of the happy Francis Borgia, of the Society of the Jesuits, that being engaged in the world to seek a fortune, although the greatness of his birth, and merits, were of very great consideration; the Emperor Charles the fifth committed to his charge the dead body of his dear Spouse, to be conducted and carried to the Sepulchre of her ancestors, which he under took, holding for an excess of honour the commandment which he had received, and the particular choice which his Majesty had made of his person. But then, when being arrived to the place, where were to be performed the last Exequys of this Princess they were desirous to visit the corpse according to the ordinary formalities accustomed to be practised in an action so important. Never was seen so much horror, and dismay, as upon overture of the Coffin, on the countenances of the Spectators. They look for the body of this Princess in his presence, 
There is no object more affrightful than mortal misery, but the daily habit of our sad experiences, takes away the horror.  and 'tis not to be found, for none can know it: her visage heretofore full of blandishments, and all the graces, both of Majesty, and sweetness is now but a heap of filth, whereof the worms in swarms, and still increasing, keep the Court of guard upon the putrefaction. And the rest of her body is still a fresh stock for these vermin, 
But O the worm of conscience is to weak souls much more dreadful, than those which devour the body.  who have now already reasonably well satisfied their hunger with this prey.  
Even those that enwraped this Princess in her winding linen, dare not maintain 'twas she, and he to whose care the body was deposited, knows not what to say, finding himself so confounded, and astonished with so sudden and affrightful a Metamorphosis, that he straight resolved at that instant, to quit the world, and divest himself of all his greatnesses, since they are not able to exempt the body from corruption.  
Ladies, suffer yourselves to be no more surprised by vanity, you see to what extremity of horror and misery, 
All beauties but of virtue are still changing.  are reduceable your allurements and charms. The greatest Princess of the world, and one of the fairest as hath been, being now fallen from her Imperial Throne into the grave, not one of her attendants can retain any knowledge of her in so short a space. The worms having effaced the lineaments of her resemblance, have enveloped it so deep into corruption, that no where is it to be found else being but Rottenness. Reader, render up thyself to the hits of a Truth so sensible.  
'Tis reported of Semiramis, that she caused to be put upon her Tomb this Inscription. The King that shall have need of money, shall find within this Sepulchre as much as he would have on't. And some time after, King Darius transported with a violent passion of Avarice, caused this Sepulchre to be opened; but found within no other riches, then of so much gold as was necessarily employed, in the engraving of these words. Covetous wretch, 
'Tis an insolence to the privileges of Nature, to trouble the repose of the Dead.  which comest to disturb the repose of the dead, satiate thy greedy passion upon the treasure of my miseries, since this object is powerful enough to make thee undervalue all the riches of the ●orld.  
You that are Covetous, Enter of●en, at least in Meditation, into Tombs; visit to such effect the Churchyards, ●nd you shall find therein more riches ●hen you wish for, considering the horror of that rotten earth, wherein ●our semblables are interred, you will reason without doubt thus;  
To what purpose at last will stead ●e all, the treasures, which I amass ●p in my coffers, if the very richest of ●he world be but earth, and ashes be●ore my eyes? What shall I do at ●he hour of my death, with all the ●oods which I now possess, if even ●●y body be a prey destinated to worms ●●d rottenness?  
LORD, I aim at nothing of this world, ●ut that glory alone, which a man may acquire by the contempt of it, but as is a glory, whereof the acquisition depends of thy grace, more than my force; 
All our hopes depend from grace, nothing from ourselves.  give me the Courage, if it please thee, to surmount all the temptations, which shall oppose themselves against my design of Victory, to the end, that my vows may be heard, and my pains recompensed. I return to myself.  
When I consider, that all the world together, is but as it were a Caemitarie or Churchyard, wherein every hour of the day, some wretchedness, or other, brings to the grave those whom such their miserable condition hath destroyed, I have no more passionate desire of life, since evils and troubles are proprietaries of it, 
He which meditates of another's man's death, puts himself in mind of his own, since we are all slaves to the same fate.  rather than we. Who can keep account of the number of persons, that expire at this very moment, that I am now speaking to you, Or the different deaths, which terminate the course of their career? All is universally dreadful, and yet we quake not, either in horror, or astonishment.  
A Walk into Churchyards, and Charnels, though it be sad and melancholy, by reason of the doleful object there obvious, 
In many of the Churchyards of France, are thousands of dead men's skulls and bones, piled up, as at S. Innocents' at Paris, Saint Croix at Orleans, etc.  hath yet ne'rethetlesse something in it agreeable to content good souls, in the contemplation of those very objects, which they there find. How often have I ta'en pleasure to consider a great number of Dead-men's sculls arranged one in pile upon another with this conceit of the vanity, and arrogance, wherewith otherwile they have been filled? Some have had no other care but of their Hair, employing the greatest part of their time, 
Meditation upon the vanities of life is a piece of serious felicity before death.  either to frizle or to empouder them; and represent unto yourselves by the way, what recompense now betides them for all their pains. Others all full of ambition, had no other aims but at coronal wreaths, consider a little in this their misery, the injustice of their pretensions.  
I ha' remarked in sequel how a little worm did gnaw the arm of some late Samson, reducing thus all his force to an object of compassion, and wretchedness, since that arm heretofore so strong, and dreadful, had not now force enough to resist a little worm. Reader muse often of these truths, and thou shalt find therein more joy than sadness.  
Typotius reports of john Duke of Cleveland, that to testify the frailty of our nature and the miseries of our condition, he had ta'en the Emblem of a Lily, with this device.  

Hodie Lilium, Cras Nihilum.  Hodie hoc, cras nihil. It flourishes to day, to morrow 'tis nothing.  
Great Kings, your life is like this Lily, it appears like this flower, at Sunne-rise with glittering and pomp, 
Even those things, which seem most durable, have in effect but a morning prime like flowers.  but at noon its vivacity and lustre begin to fade, and at the end of the day it vanisheth away with it, and scarce its being is remembered.  
We read in Appianus of Pompey, that after he had triumphed over three parts of the world, he carried nothing away with him to the grave, but these words, Hic situs est magnus Pompeius, Pompey is here buried with all his pomp.  
O World, how poor art thou, since thou hast but such a thing of nought to give? O Fortune, how miserable art thou, when thy favourites are exposed to public view, as objects of compassion? Let him trust in 'em who will, a man shall never be able to escape their tromperies, but by despiting their favours.  
Here lies Hannibal: Behold all the honour, which posterity rendered to the memory of so great a Captain. And Time, 
Time is as inexorable as Death, and neither of them spare any.  even jealous of the glory of his name, though not able to bury it in the Abysses of Oblivion, hath yet devoured the very marble of his Sepulchre. Are not these things truths worthy to raise astonishment?  
'Tis remarked in Suetonius, of one of the Roman Emperors, that being now at last gasp, and as it were at a bay with Death, he cried out in excess of astonishment; Fui omnia, sed nihil expedit: I have been all in all, but now it nothing helpeth me. I have tasted all the pleasures of all the greatness of the world, but the sweets are changed into sours, and only their bitter disgust stays with me.  
Experiment all the delights of the Earth, Great Kings, the distaste will ever at last only remain to your mouths, & sorrows to your hearts, and if these do no good on you, a thousand eternal punishments will possess your souls. Represent to yourselves, that all the felicities of Life, are of the same nature as that is▪ That decays every moment, and they slit away without cease. The contentments which men receive here below, 
Contentments causein their privation as extreme discontents.  are like the pleasures of the Chase, which are only rellished running. I draw to an end.  
Belon in his Monuments of the Kings of Egypt, says, that they were interred with such a splendour of pomp and magnificence, that even those who had divers times before been admirers of it, were for all that often in doubt, whether the people went to place the corpse in the Throne again, rather than in their Sepulchre. O how ill to the eyes is the lustre of this sad kind of honour! For if vanity be insupportable barely of itself, these excesses of it, put the spirits upon the rack.  
Diodorus Siculus, speaking of the Tomb which Alexander caused to be erected, for his favourite Ephestion, assures that the magnificences, which were there to be admired, were beyond as well all value, as example. Marble, Brass, Gold, and Pearls, were profusely offered to most cunning Artisans, to frame thereof such works, wherein sadness and compassion, might be so naturally represented, that they might affect the whole world with the like. Diamonds, Rubies, and all other precious stones, were there employed, under the Image of a Sun, Moon, and Stars. It seems this Monarch blinded with Love, thought to hold the Planets captive in the glorious enchainments of those fair Masterpieces, 
A Man should never be angry with his 〈◊〉 fates the d●●●●● on't, are ●●●●●lable.  as if he would revenge himself of them for their malign influences, which they had poured upon the head of his dear Ephestion. But this conceit was vain, for the same stars, whose captivity he ostented upon this Tomb, conducted him also by little and little to his grave.  
The Romans transported with passion, to honour the memory of the Dictator Sylla, caused his statue to be framed of a prodigious height, all composed of perfumes, and cast it into the funeral pile, where his body, whereof of this was also but a shadow, was to be burnt to ashes: Being desirous by this action, to give to understand, that as the odour of his statue dispersed itself through all the City of Rome, the much more odoriferous savour of his peculiar virtues would spread itself through all the world. But to go to the rigour of the literal sense, it is credible, they had not cast in this aromatical statue into the stack, but only to temper the excess of the stench of the body, which was to be consumed with it. And I proceed to imagine beside, that the odour of this statue, the cinders of his body, and all the glory of the actions of Sylla, had all the same fate, since the wind triumphed o'er 'em altogether. Behold the reverse of the Medal of Vanity.  
'Tis remarked in the life of the Emperor Severus, by the report of DION, that he made to be set at the gate of his Palace an Urn of marble, and as oft as he went in or out, he was accustomed to say, laying his hand on it; Behold the Case that shall enclose him, whom all the world could not contain.  
Great Kings, have often the same thoughts in your souls, if you have not the like discourses in your mouths, the smallest vessel of earth is too great for the ashes of your bodies, which shall remain of them, after the worms have well fed on them: for the wretchedness of your humane condition, reduceth you at last to so small a thing, that you are nothing at all. But if I must give a name to those grains of corrupted dust, which are made of your deplorable remains, I shall call them the Ideas of a dream, 
Man only is considerable in respect of his noble actions.  since the memory of your being can pass for no other together with the time. Behold a fresh subject of entertain.  
Some of our Ethnic Historians report to us, that the Troglodytes buried their kindred and friends, with the tone of joyful cries, and acclamations of mirth.  
The Lothophagis cast them into the Sea, choosing rather to have them eaten of fishes in the water, then of worms in the earth.  
The Scythians did eat the bodies of their friends, in sign of amity, insomuch that the living were the Sepulchers of the dead. The Hyrcanians cast the bodies of their kindred to the Dogs. The Massageteses exposed them as a prey to all manner of ravenous beasts.  
The Lydians dried them in the Sun, and after reduced them to powder, to the end the wind might carry them away.  
Amongst all the customs, which were practised amongst these strange Nations, I find none more commendable than the first, of the Troglodytes, looking for no hell, they had good reason to celebrate the funeral of their friends and kindred, with laughter and acclamations of cheerfulness, rather than with tears, and lamentations.  
For though that Life be granted us by divine favour, 
There is mo●e of temulent in die th●● to live, if we ●●nsider the end, which man was created.  yet we enjoy it but as a punishment, since it is no other thing then a continual correction of our continual offences. Besides the sad accidents which accompany it inseparably, even to the grave are so numerous, that a● man may justly be very glad at the end of his journey, to see himself discharged of so ponderous a burden. 
The body of Man being made of earth is subject to earth; but the soul holds only of its sovereign Creator.  Not that I here condemn the tears, which we are accustomed to shed, at the death of our nearest friends, for these are ressentments of grief, whereof Nature authorizeth the first violences. But neither do I blame the virtue of those spirits, who never discover alteration upon any rencontre of the mishaps, and miseries of the world, 
The living are more to be bemoaned then the dead, they being still i'th' midst ●f this life's tempest, but these are already arrived to their Port.  how extreme soever they be. And what disaster is it to see dye, either our kindred or friends, since all the world together, and Nature itself, can do nothing else. What reason then can a man have to call himself miserable, for being destinated to celebrate the funerals of those, whom he loves best, since the divine Providence, hath soveraignely established this order, and since moreover in this career of Death, to which all the world speeds, the Present on't, being not distinguished but by Time, it will appear when all is come to the upshot, that one hath lived as long as another, since all ages though different during their continuance, are equal then when they are passed. Change we the discourse.  
I advow once again, There is no remedy more sovereign to cure the passion of arrogance, than this the of consideration of Caemitaries, and Tombs. The most vainglorious and ambitious are forced to yield themselves at the assaults of these sad objects. For a spirit ne'er so brave and valorous, cannot but be astonished, when he sees at his feet the bones and dust of an infinite number of persons, 
To what purpose is Courage against those perils, which cannot be avoided.  who were as valiant as he, what thoughts can he have but of submission, and humility, considering that one part of himself is already reduced into dust and filth? I say a part of himself, since he himself is but a piece of the same matter, which now serves him for object, and to the same last point will be extended one day the line of his life.  
When Virgil tells us of the fate of Priam, 
Aeneid. lib. 2. lacetingens litore truncus, Auulsumque humeris caput, & fine no mine cor●u●.  he bring in Aeneas astonished at it, that so great a Monarch should leave to posterity no other Monument of his greatness, but a Tronck of fl●sh, a head separated from the shoulders and a carcase, without name or shape.  

He which makes himself rightly sensible of his miseries is partly in way to be exempted from their tyranny.  Great Kings, This truth is a Mirror which flatters not. Gaze here often in these meditations, and you will surely at length consider, that All is full of vanity, and that this glory of the world, whereof you are so strongly Idolaters, is but a Fantasy, and Chimaera, to which your imaginations give that beauty, which charms you, and that delicacy, which ravishes you. What think you is it, to be the greatest of the world? 'Tis an honour, whereof misery and inconstancy are the foundations, for all the felicities which can arrive us, are of the same nature as we are, and consequently, as miserable as our condition, and as changing. This Earth whereon you live, is the lodging of the dead, what eternity believe you to find in it? Eternity of honours, riches, and contentments, there was never any but in imagination, and this Idea, which we have of them, is but a reflection from the lightning of Truth, wherewith heaven illuminates noble souls, thus to guide them to the search of the true source of all, by the aid of these small rivulets. 
There is nothing eternal in this world but this scope of truth.  It is time to finish this work.  
I have made appear to you in the first Chapter, the particular study which a man ought to take, to come to the 
* Hoc jubet illa Pyrhicis oraculis adscripta vox, Nosce Te.  Knowledge of himself, 
Seneca.  wherein lies the accomplishment of perfection. And herein the precept is, The Consideration of the miseries, which are destinated to our Nature, as being so many objects capable enough, to force up the power of our reason, to give credence to the resentments of frailty, which are proper to us. But this is not all to be merely sensible of our wretchedness. Serious Consideration must often renew the Ideas of them in our souls, more than the hard experience of them. And this to the end, that vanity, to which we are too incident, may not surprise us, 
He that searches into himself shall not lose his labour.  during the intervals of a meditation, so important. We must often dive into ourselves, and seek in the truth of our nothingness, some light to make us thus to know ourselves. Afterwards making a rise a little higher, it is necessary to consider the End, for which we were created, and in this consideration to employ all the powers of the several faculties of our souls, to the generous design of getting possession of that glory. Behold the Corollary of my first Argument, or Chapter.  
The second instructs us a new means, to resist powerfully the hits of the vanities of the world, from the example of the wretchedness of 
* Saladine.  one of the greatest Monarches of the world. Fortune had refused him nothing, because she meant to take all from him, for in the height of his glory he finds himself reduced to the poorness of his shirt only, which is all he carries with him into the grave. 
Povetty and Riches depend upon opinion, and a noble soul is above his fortune in what condition somever he be.  And this makes us sensibly perceive that the greatnesses of the earth are Goods, as good as estranged from humane nature, since in this mortal and perishing condition we can only possess their usance, and the term of this possession is of so short endurance that we see as soon the end, as the beginning. Reader represent unto thyself, how thou shalt be dealt with at thy death, both by Fortune and the world, since the Minion of this blind Goddess, 
Et quae veneraris, & quae-despicis unus exae quabit cinis.  and the greatest of the Universe is exposed all naked in his shirt in sight of all his subjects to be given in prey to the worms, 
Sen.  as well as the most miserable of the Earth.  
The Third Chapter, where Life leads Death in Triumph teaches, us the Art to vanquish this untamable, by considering its weakness: for in effect, if Death be but a privation, 
The horror of Death, is purely in the weakness of imagination.  'tis to be deprived of reason and judgement, to give it a being, since it cannot subsist but in our impaired imaginations. The phantom of an Idea is it, whose very form is immaterial, as having no other subsistence, I say but that, which the weakness of our spirit gives it. And again, to come to the most important point; Let this be the close of the recapitulation, that you may have means not to stand in fear on't; 
Sen.  
* Incertum est, quo te loco Mors expectet: itaque tu illam omni loco expecta.  Muse on it always, look for it in all places, and o'recomming yourselves, you shall triumph over it. Never did an unblemished life fear Death.  
The last Chapter, where the object of Caemiteries, and Sepulchers, is laid before your eyes, may now again serve for the last touch, since it is a Theatre, where you must play the Tragedy of your lives. All this great number of Actors, 
Hodie mihi Cras tibi. Think on that Reader, it may be thy turn to morrow.  whose bones and ashes you see there, have every one played their part, and it may be, that the hour will soon Knell, that you must act yours. Reader, live ever in this providence, a Man cannot too soon resolve to do that well, which howsomever must be done of necessity. God grant, that these last lines may once again reproach thee, the bad estate of thy Conscience; delay not too long this Check to thyself, lest too late the regreets be then in vain. Thy salvation is fastened to an instant, 
Momentum est unde pendet aete●nitas.  consider the infinite number of them, which are already slipped away, when perhaps at that moment, thou wert in estate (if dying) to incur the punishment of a second Death, and that eternal. If thou trust to thy youth, put thy head out of the window, and thou shalt see carried to the grave some not so old as thyself. If thou rely upon the health, which thou now enjoyest, 'tis but a false going-dyall. The calm of a perfect health, 
Saepe optimus status corpotis pericul● susimuwml; s.  hath oftentimes ushered the Tempest of a sudden Death. What hopest thou for? 
Hip.  hope is deceitful; what stayest thou so●. 
Sera nimis Vita est crastina, vive hodie.  A wise man ought never to defer till to morrow, what should be done to day. Lastly, what desirest thou? The peace of conscience is the only desirable good. Go on then right forward, thou canst not miss the way which I have chalked thee.  
FINIS.   

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

L'ENVOY.  
INgenuous READER, thou dost crown  
The Moral active course laid down,  
By De la SERRE, what is penned,  
If thy ACTIONS recommend.   

Relating to the first EMBLEM.  

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

Do something to advance thy bliss  
Both in the other World, and This.    

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

Relatory to the third EMBLEM.  

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

When every Soul shall feel what 'Tis  
To have lived Well, or done Amiss.    

Relating to the fourth EMBLEM.  

LEt not the Splendour of high Birth  
Be all thy Gloss without true worth,  
Let neither honour, nor vast wealth  
Beauty, nor Valour, nor firm health  
Make thee bear up too high thy head,  
All men alike are buried.  
Stare not with Supercilious brow,  
Poor folks are Dast, and so art Thou.  
Triumph not in thy worldly Odds,  
They die like men whom we count Gods,  
And in the Grave it is all one,  
Who enjoyed all, or who had none.  
Death cuts off all superfluous,  
And makes the proudest One of us,  
Nor shall there diffr'ence then between,  
The dust of LORDS, or slaves be seen.  
Together under ground they lie  
Without distinctive Heraldry;  
Unless it be that some brave Tomb,  
Do grace the Great-ones in Earth's womb.  
But better 'tis that Heaven's door,  
Is oft'nest open to the poor;  
When those, whose backs and sides with sin,  
Are bunched, and swollen, cannot get in.  
Beware the Bulk of thy Estate,  
Shocke thee from entrance at that Gate.  
Give Earth to Earth, but give thy Mind  
To Heaven, where its seats assigned,  
If, as it came from that bright Sphere;  
Thither thou tend, not fix it here.  
Live, that thy SOUL may White return,  
Leaving its Partner in the URN,   

Till a BLESSED DAY shall reunite,  
And beam them with Eternal Light.   
Ainsi Souhaite Vostre tres humble Serviteur Tho. Cary. TOWER-HILL, Antepenultimâ Augusti. 1638.   

To my endeared Friend, the Translator, Mr THOMAS CARY.  

1.  
'TIs Moral Magic, and Wits Chemistry,  
Out of Death's Ugliness  
T'extract so trim a Dress:  
And to a Constellated Crystal tie  
Such an imperious spell,  
As who looks on it well,  
By sprightie Apparitions to the Eye  
Shall see he must, and yet not fear to dye.   

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

3.  
FRIEND, here remoulded by Thy English hand,  
(To speak it, is no fear)  
In hue as slick and clear.  
Nay, when Thy own Minerva now doth stand  
On a Composing state;  
'Twas curtsy, to Translate.  
But most thy choice doth my applause command;  
First for thy Self, then for this crazy Land.   H. I.  

LECTURO.  
COnspice, quod vani nudat tectoria Fastûs;  
Et penetrabundi concipe vera Libri,  
O falsis animose bonis: Sirenaque rerum  
Dedoctus, vitreas exue delicias.  
Interpres Genium, quo vivax Author, habebit:  
Nec tantùm Patrii claustra decora soni.  
Tam bene Cinnameâ pingit feralia cannâ,  
Phoenicis miro quae qua si rapta rogo.  
E gemitu solatiolum, è paedore venustas,  
Eque cadavereo vita reculta situ.  
Alter in arcanis sapiat subtile docendis,  
Sublimique suus stet ratione liber:  
Alter amet flores, bibuli mulcedo popelli;  
Surdescens tandem plausibus ipse suis.  
Praesentem Libitina librum sibi vendicat; illa  
Corripiens artem Rhetoris, illa Sophi.  H. I.  

ΤΩ ΕΝΤΕΥΞΑΜΕΝΩ ΙΑΜΒΙΚΑ.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ΟΛΟΝ, ΚΕΝΟ'Ν.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉)  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  HEN. JACOB.  

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

Jmprimatur, Lingua Vernacula,  
SA. BAKER.