THE SOULS soliloquy: AND, A CONFERENCE WITH CONSCIENCE.  
As it was delivered in a SERMON before the KING at Newport in the Isle of Wight, on the 25 of October, being the monthly Fast, during the late TREATY.  
BY The Right Reverend Father in God, Brian Duppa, Ld. Bp. of Salisbury.  
Printed for R. Royston, 1648.   

THE SOULS' soliloquy: AND, A Conference with Conscience.  PSAL. 42. v. 5. Why art thou cast down, O my soul, and why art thou disquieted within me? 
THis Psalm was directed to the Sons of Core, but with this Inscription, In finem intellectûs filiis Core, implying a caution, that they should be sure, they understood what they sung; which that they might the easier do, you shall find this very Verse thrice repeated over; twice in this Psalm; once in the next: such Repetitions being usual, when God would awake the Memory: As he does in the 136 Psal. where, that his Mercy might not be forgotten, (without any danger of Tautology) seven and twenty times he repeats it over, For his mercy endureth for ever.  
If we look on This Psalm in the General current of it, we shall find it divided between Light and Darkness; Here a Cloud, and There a Sunshine; Here a Soul Cast down, and There Erected: But if we look upon these words only, we shall find more cloud than sunshine. Like a picture, Commended rather by the shadowing of it, than the Colours. For however the Anthems sung in the upper Choir in the Triumphant Church, have ever been of joy, yet in the Militant, Gods lower Choir hath ever been of Mourners. Among us, he that Sets the saddest tunes, proves the best Musician: For, where the groundwork is our Sin, the descant on it, must needs be our Sorrow.  
As Saint Ambrose therefore told his Auditory, That they should not look in his Sermon for matter to Applaud, but Mourn with him; So, while I touch upon this string of sorrow, if any here sensible of their sin, or misery, answer me with a sigh, or GOD that speaks to them By me with a Tear, it shall be my Joy, as St. Paul told the Corinthians, That I have made them sorry.  
But, if there be others that think the Text too melancholy for this Place, that come rather to have their Ears pleased, than their Hearts wounded; To these, I must alter my Note, and say, as St. Hierome did to Sabinian, Hoc ipsum plango, quod vos non plangitis, This makes me sorry, that nothing can make you so.  
But, as many that go to see dead bodies cut up, although they came not with the purpose to learn Anatomy, yet go away informed by that sight, what kind of substance the Heart is, the form and posture of it; where abouts the Spleen lies, or where the Liver; so you, that came not hither purposely to hear of sorrow, yet when you have looked a while on this Anatomy, when you have seen this Prophet how he dissects himself, rifling his breast, and cutting up his entrails, you may chance to go away instructed too, (perhaps against your wills) what the Soul is, or what the Conscience, what is that sorrow of the one, or what that disquiet of the other; for these are the Lessons that I am now to read you, These are the Troubles that made David cry, Why art thou cast down, o my soul, and why art thou disquieted within me?  
Athanasius counselled his friend, that when any trouble should fall upon him, he should fall presently to the reading of this Psalm; For there was a way, (he thought) of curing by the like, as well as by the contrary: for 'tis observed indeed that when two instruments are tuned to the same Unison, if you touch the strings of the one, the strings of the other will move too, though untouched, if placed at a convenient distance: That therefore you may try the same experiment in yourselves, do but set your affections for a time in the same key, in which these words were spoken, if really you feel none, Imagine some affliction laid upon you; when you have done so, that you may be the more fully moved, place your attention at a Convenient distance, look narrowly on this Holy Prophet, observe how he retires himself, shuts out the world, calls his sad soul, to as sad a Reckoning, Quare tam tristis? O my soul! thou that wert infused to give me Life, nay, says Philo the Jew; A spark, a beam of the Divinity, thou, which shouldst be, to this dark body of Mine, as the Sun is to the Earth, enlightening, quickening, cheering up my spirits, tell me, why art thou clouded? why art thou cast down?  
This is the first Interpellation of the Soul, as Saint Ambrose calls it; but the next is more abrupt, more troublesome, caused rather by pangs, and gripes, and tumults, then by sorrow; when the Sinner feeling thorns in his sides, fire in his bones, war in his Conscience, can hold no longer from expostulating, Not only why art thou cast down? But as Symachus renders it, Why art thou disquieted, not within me only, but against me?  
You see then the two main parts of my Text. The subject of the first, The Dejection of the Soul: the Argument of the latter, the Disquiet of the Conscience. But because there are other observations worth the looking after, We must first make a general discovery of this Enquiry, Why art thou cast down, O my Soul? etc.  
The words imply rather a soliloquy, than a Dialogue: yet Clemens of Alexandria calls it a Prosopopoeia, where one is made two by way of fiction. But however, there are not many at this Conference, Only two, if two, Man and his Soul: for Tota domus duo sunt: yet two sometimes such strangers, that man may say of his soul, as the Epigrammatist did of his sullen neighbour, In Urbe totâ, nemo tam propè, tam proculque nobis, None lives more near me, nor none farther off: or as Myrrah complained, She could not enjoy her own Father, because he was too much her own: Nunc quia jam Meus est, non est meus, ipsaque damno est mihi proximitas. So because my Soul is mine, therefore it is not mine. Nothing so much as nearness makes us strangers. The truth is, that though Aquinas tells us, That 'tis one of the Prerogatives of the soul, to reflect upon herself; yet the ordinary Glass we use, is rather Diaphonous than Reflexive; We look not in it on ourselves, but through it on others; which hath made some imagine the Soul to be of that nature as Moisture is, which Philosophy concludes to be bounded, facilè alienis terminis, difficilimè suis, with any thing easier than itself.  
But to examine this farther. Why should my soul and I become such strangers? Why like my two eyes? There is not an inch between them, yet one eye never sees the other. It is as Saint Bernard confesseth of himself, Nihil est corde meo fugacius. The heart is a kind of Runagate, harder to be fixed then Quicksilver. So that, if I would I cannot find it out. Or is it, that few of us can look on our Wounded Souls, with that patience, as on the souls of others; Like some Chyrurgians, that (I have seen) faint at a scar of their own, yet could unmoved either fear, or scarify, or lance the flesh of others? Or (to look no farther for it) Are we else in that strait which Bishop Anselme was in his Meditations, when he cries out, Gravis Angustia! Si me inspicio, non tolero meipsum; si non, nescio meipsum; si me considero, terret me facies mea; si non, fallit me damnatio mea: si me video, horror est; si non video, mors. What shall I dye? If I look into myself, I shall not endure myself; if not, I shall not know myself: If I consider what I am, the face of my sins affrights me; if not, my damnation steals upon me: to see myself is horror; not to see myself is death.  
But, what ever the betraying motives are, the effect (I am sure) is dangerous: For he that willingly puts out the Taper of his Conscience, the Candle which God hath set there for him, to see himself by, let him know, that he is passing from that voluntary darkness to a worse; that like an Offender on the Scaffold, he doth but blind his eyes to have his head cut off. But Saint Augustine's Prayer shall go along with me, Noverim me Domine, noverim te: Let me know myself, O God, so shall I know thee. In my Afflictions (what ever become of my other friends) let me have, at least, my Soul to talk to. May Sin never divorce us, nor the Devil never make us strangers; That, when Thou shalt set me up for a mark for all thine Arrows, when thou shalt fill me with bitterness, and cover me with sorrows, I may not then fear to ask, Why art thou cast down O my soul, and why art thou, etc.  
It was a Proverbial speech among the Jews, when they would  an extravagant Busybody, to say of him, Benzoma nunquam est domi, This man is never at home: But God loves no such stragglers; you shall hear him call to his people, by his Prophet Esay, Come my people, enter into your chambers, shut the doors upon you. But Quaenam ista cubicula, saith Saint Augast. nisi ipsa corda? What are these Chambers that God calls us to, but our own hearts? What is it to shut the doors upon us, but to shut out the world? Yea but this is not all: I have heard of men that have barred, and locked, and bolted doors upon themselves, and yet all that while have been playing with a feather, or with some thoughts as light. Therefore in the fourth Psalm, God goes farther, In cubilibus vestris compungimini, as the Old Translation hath it: Or, as our Bible's render it, Examine, or Commune with your own hearts in your chambers.  
Yea, but this is not enough neither; for the fool could do as much, he could commune with his own soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years, Live as ease therefore, eat, drink, and be merry, take thy pleasure. The ambitious man can do as much, he can talk of such an honour, such a preferment, as if he now enjoyed it.  
But this is not the Argument we are to treat on, this is not to shut out the world, to have so much of the world within us. The Roman that Seneca speaks of, had a better way than this, to keep his soul as clean, as good Huswives keep their Plate; for every night he looked into it, wiping off the dust, clearing the spots of it, examining it on several Interrogatories, Quod malum hodie sanasti? cui vitio obstitisti? quâ parte melior es? Tell me, my soul, What sin hast thou this day conquered? what passion hast thou powerfully resisted? how art thou improved since the morning? or how decayed? But when he had done this, when he had made this account with the day, O qualis somnus! quam altus! quam tranquillus! how sweet a sleep did ever follow! how innocent I how untroubled! What think you, beloved? Shall not this Moral Heathen rise up in judgement against them that lie down in their beds, as the beast doth in the Litter, without any such enquiry made upon themselves, nay without so much as bidding their own souls Good night? Or shall he not rise against them, who when God visits them with crosses, have a conceit, they can drown their grief in excess of Wine, or outroar their Conscience with loud Instruments, calling for company, when they should call for Prayers; Businesses, or sport, or any thing, rather than their own souls that troubled them? The Jews had a custom indeed to give them Wine that were to suffer death, that they might less feel their torments, (a custom not yet out-dated in some Foreign Parts, at Executions.) But it is observable, that when they offered our Saviour Wine at his Passion, he received it not; but when they gave him Vinegar, he took it: Not because the Wine was bitter of the Myrrh, as many of the Interpreters conceive; for Vinum Myrrhanum or Myrrhinum, as Plantus calls it, may be sweet Wine, for any thing I find. But the reason rather was, (if we believe Saint chrysostom) that, that Wine being of a stupifying quality, the Son of God that took on him all our sorrows, He would be sensible of every nail that pierced his hands, or feet, of every thorn that ran into his head: And was he sensible of his sorrows, and shall not we be sensible of our sins, that caused those sorrows? Shall we still deal with our souls, as Women when they grow old, deal with their Looking-glasses, turning the wrong side towards them? How comes it else, that we that have the courage to dare to sin, have not the courage to look back on our souls when we have sinned? Had we the least wound in the Body, we should not sleep till we had seen it dressed; But we have Souls all mangled over, ulcerated with Lust, impostumated with Malice, wounded with Temptations; yet as the Levite passed by the wounded man, so every man passeth by his own soul too, not so much as ask bow it came hurt.  
But how shall I move thee wretched and careless finner? Shall I tell thee, that as thy soul is an immortal substance, so the wages of thy sin is as Immortal as thy soul, an immortal and everlasting death: That in the next life thou shalt see thyself with trembling, if in this life thou turnest away thine eye in wilfulness. But I forbear; It is an argument that concerns us all so nearly, that I will not doubt, but it hath already made impression: That there are some here, that by this time, are beginning a Dialogue with their souls, that are resolved to renew their acquaintance with them. You have a Royal Example for it, I am sure, for you have no less than a King that hath led the way; He it is that gins the account, commends the Inquisition to you. If therefore any trouble arise, away every one of you to his own home, discuss examine, common with thyself, Why art thou cast down, O my soul, and why art thou disquieted, etc.  
Having done therefore with the examination in general, the Parties, the Manner, the Necessity; Our next work must be to survey the first interrogatory, Why art thou cast down O my soul?  
Sorrow is Sin's Echo, which made the Prophet say, Peccata nostra responderunt nobis, our sins have answered, and (as it were) echoed to us: But as the Echo answers not the voice so well, as where there are broken walls, and ruined buildings to return it: so neither doth Sorrow answer unto sin, unless reverberated by a broken, a ruined heart: For, I have read of a melancholy man, that could not believe he had an Head, till his Physician having made a Leaden hat for him, with the weight of that, forced him to cry out, O his head! so there are men amongst us, so lost in sensual pleasure, so buried in their flesh, that till mischief, like sheets of lead, be thrown upon them, to squeeze out a Confession, they have much ado to remember, that they have a Soul within them. Not to go farther than this Prophet for an Instance, when almost an whole year (as Cajetan computes the time) he lay asleep in the dregs of his sin, (his foul adultery with Uriahs' Wife) where was his sorrow? or where then was his Soul? well than might he cry out, O his Body, saith S. Augustine, but o! his Soul was clean forgotten; nay, they farther had a conceit, that during all that time, Ipsa anima Davidis transierat in carnem, the very Soul of David was turned into flesh. But no sooner did God begin to shake his rod over him, to punish him with the ravishing of his Daughter, the murder of one Son, the rebellion of another, but instantly we find him, mourning as a Turtle, chattering as a Crane, sitting alone as a Sparrow on the house top. The Devil had given him a Fall, but he felt not that, Sin had given him many, but he felt not them neither; At last God undertook him, he at whose very word the mountains smoke; he threw him down, and this fall only made him feel all the rest; This only made him cry, Why art thou cast down, O my soul?  
It is memorable in Job, that upon the ill news that was brought him, instantly surrexit Job, saith the Text, when one would have thought he would rather have swooned and fallen down for grief, than he arose. But we find our Prophet in another kind of posture, dejected, prostrate, cast down in his more noble part, yet S. Hierome goes not so far, who translates it according to Symmachus, Why art thou bowed down? Affliction is a burden; true, but though it bow us, yet we may stand under it; But sin is a burden that goes beyond the extent of that word, that doth not only bow, but cast us down, which makes Saint Chrisostome say, Nihil est grave nisi peccatum, that nothing is heavy but sin; nothing so heavy, as to cast us down, not poverty, not sickness, not disgrace, nor any thing, that the wit of sullenness, or melancholy can devise. As for such afflictions as those, Know you not, saith Saint Paul, that all ye that are baptised into Jesus Christ, are baptised into his death, that is, saith Saint Hierome, as into his faith, so into his sufferings too: so that it is part of our engagement in our Baptism. Besides, think of it well, and what is there in that Cup of bitterness, which thy Saviour hath not tasted, for prior bibit Medicus, ut bibere non dubitaret aegrotus, saith Saint Augustine: He began to thee in all, to encourage thee to follow him; nay, to thy comfort, Ambrose adds a degree farther, Non tam haec ante te quam pro te sustulit, His sufferings were not only before thee, but for thee. Wouldst not thou think him a strange Physician, who when he came to cure thee of a Fever, should himself drink up the Potion? Yet thus did thy Saviour, Thine was the sickness, but he that was not sick he kept the diet: Thine the fever, but it was he that sweat: Thine the Pleurisy, but 'twas he that bled for it: Who then can consider this without erecting his dejected Soul? at least, without a serious inquisition into the reason of this melancholy? For, be not deceived, God is not always taken with the head that hangs down, with the folded arms, or with the melting eyes: For instance, when God told Ezekiel, that he would show him a strange abomination, what was it but, Behold there sat a Woman weeping for Adonis? for Tammuz faith our translation, for so (according to Saint Hierome) the Hebrews named the Adonis of the Heathen, for as Venus mourned for her lost Adonis, so sinners for their pleasures, when they are either snatched from them, or out-dated. The exhausted Adulterer, whose lust outlives his body, that mourns not for having offended God, but for not being able to offend him longer, he is one of those plangentes. He again that hath his wealth taken from him, the occasion of his riot, that is temperate only because he is needy, and sorry, because he is either; he is another Mourner of the train: so that you see, there may be a kind of wantonness in Grief, an effeminateness of the mind, that melts upon all occasions.  
But consider I beseech you the value of the Soul, that is thus cast down, That your Sights are the breath of Heaven, your Tears are the wine of Angels, your Groans the Echoes of the Holy Ghost, that therefore to employ this sacred Treasure in profane expenses, to lay it out on the trifles of this world, is a Sin no less than Sacrilege; Be therefore more thrifty of your sorrow, for the time may come, when you shall want those sighs, which now so impertinently you throw away; nay, saith Bonaeventure, should the Devil set thee on that Pinnacle where he had our Saviour, should he offer thee all the Kingdoms of the whole world for one Tear, to be spent in his service, O do not give it him, for on thy deathbed, for that One Tear, perhaps thou wouldst give a thousand worlds.  
Think of this, ye that feel the heaviness of your Soul, think of it ye that do not, for ye may feel it. Know there is a sorrow that worketh repentance, not to be repent of; Know again there is a sorrow that worketh Death. Remember there were tears, that got sinful Mary heaven, Remember again, there were tears that could get Esau nothing. For as in Martyrdom it is not the sword, the boiling lead, or fire, not what we suffer, but why, that makes us Sufferers: so in our sorrows, it is not how deep they wound, but why, that justifies them. Let every one therefore, that hath a troubled heart, ask his soul the why, Why art thou cast down? Is it not for thine own sins, or for the sins of others? take either of them, thine eyes will have a large field to water; Is it for that thou hast been a Child of wrath, a Servant of the Devil? Is it for that thou art a Candle set in the wind, blown at by several temptations? or is it for that thou wouldst be freed from them? Woe is me that I dwell in Mesech, that I dwell so long in the tents of Kedar. Art thou troubled, as Saint Augustine was, when he read that the way to Heaven was narrow, the number small, that travailed thither? Or hast thou put on Saint Bernard's resolution, who had made a compact with his Soul, never to joy till he had heard his Saviour call him, Come thou blessed, nor never to leave sorrowing till he had escaped the bitter sentence, Go ye cursed? If any of these be the Why, the ground of thy sorrows, if such thoughts have cast thee down; know, that thy Saviour hath already blessed thee; For, Blessed are they that mourn. The Angels are thy servants, they gather thy tears; God is thy Treasurer, he lays them up in his bottle; the holy Ghost is thy Comforter, he will not leave thee. Fear not then to be thus cast down, fear not to be thus disquieted within thee. Thus having sailed through one sea of bitterness, the Dejection of the soul, we are again to set forth, but in a roughet storm, the Trouble of the Conscience, employed in the next Interrogatory, Why art thou disquieted within me?  
The Conscience is in the soul, but none can tell well, whether a portion of it; none can tell you what, whether it be an Habit, or an Act, or both; whether in the Understanding, or in the Will, or in both; whether Practical, or Theorical, or mixed of both, is still disputed. But Saint Augustine gives me the truer satisfaction, Sentio, quam non Intelligo, I feel thee Conscience, though I do not understand thee. For as they whom Statesmen employ as Spies, though they mingle with all companies, yet keep themselves concealed: so the Conscience which is God's Informer, sent by him, as a Spy into the Soul, mixeth with all our thoughts, as well as actions; and though we know not what the Conscience is, yet what We are, our Conscience knows full well. Yet as I have seen Lines drawn upon a wall with a coal, so far resemble a face, as he that looked on it at least might guess at it: so the Ancient Fathers have ventured at some Expressions of this subtle, spiritual thing, the Conscience.  
First, if we look to the Nature of it, they tell us, that Conscience is an habit of the soul, not acquired, but created with it: That it is an Invisible Instinct, or a Practical Syllogism, by which we conclude what we should do, and what not. If we look farther for the use, for the Office of it, Origen calls it Paedagogum Animae, the busy Paedant of the Soul, varying as our actions vary, now discouraging, strait heartening, approving here, reproving there; Or, if this be not enough, Tertullian shall tell you, that it is Praejudicium Judicii, a kind of Antedated day of Judgement, a domestic Doomsday, or as Saint Basil tells you, that it is Naturale Judicatorium, the very Consistory of the Law of Nature. A strange Court, where (almost against nature) the Plaintiff, the Defendant, the Judge, the Witness, all is but one. For,— Me mihi perside prodit, may every man say, the Conscience against the Conscience, bringing in Evidence; producing the Law, proving the Forfeit, urging the Penalty, giving the Sentence, beginning the Punishment.  
But art thou sensible of this, O my soul? that thou carriest thine Accuser, thy Judge, nay thy Hell, or if not Hell, I am sure, one of the pains of it, about thee in thine own bosom? Dost thou know withal, that it is a Volume which no Jesuit can corrupt, nor no Index Expurgatorius strike a Letter out of it; That it is the only Book of all thy Library that shall go along with thee into the world to come? Art thou verily persuaded, Saint John hath not deceived thee, when he tells thee, in the 20. of the Revel. That on that terrible day of Judgement this Book of thine (though now never so close shut up) shall be then thrown open in the sight of God, in the view of all his Angels: Dost thou not reckon of these things, only as bugbears to affrighten thee? But art thou persuaded thus in earnest? If so, O my soul, wert thou cut out of the rock, or marble, yet these are thoughts would make a way into thee, wert thou as rugged as the Alps, yet this vinegar would cat into thee, no wonder then, that such a Meditation cast thee down, or that thou art disquieted within me.  
They that call the Conscience scintillam Animae, the spark of the Soul, make an enquiry, whether this spark may be put out or no? But the general verdict goes, it never was extinguished, no not in Cain, nor Judas, it never will be not in the most desperate Sinner; for cast this spark into a sea of thy sins, yet it will live there even in that sea: scatter it abroad even in the wilderness of thy thoughts, or cover it with the multitude of thine employments, yet it will live there too: no Cord can strangle it, nor no hand stifle it. Perire nec sine Te, nec Tecum potest, It can neither die with thee, nor without the: yet as the pulse doth not always beat alike, but sometimes is more violent, sometimes more remiss; so neither is this spiritual pulse, the Conscience, always in equal agitation, sometimes it beats, sometimes it intermits, but strait again is recurrent. If it come not so fast, as a Quotidian Ague, yet look for it as a Tertian, or if it forbear thee longer, imagine it a Quartan, or if it observe no time, prepare for it in every piece of Time, for these fits will come again, there is no avoiding them.  
Saint Bernard, a tried Physician of the Conscience, distinguisheth four several habitudes, or states of it; the first, Tranquilla, non Bona, a quiet Conscience, but not a Good: the second, Bona, non Tranquilla, a good Conscience, but not a Quiet: the third, nec Bona, nec Tranquilla, neither Good, nor Quiet: the last, tam Bona, quam Tranquilla, as well Good, as Quiet. The first, seared; the second, wounded; the third, desperate; the fourth, happy. They that are in the first state, go the way of Naball, who when he had slept, (saith the Text) found his heart dead within him. They that are in the second, go the way of David, still blessed with God's protection, yet still complaining of his Anger. They that are in the third, go the way of Cain, with their backs against the Sun, not so much are with a look to Heaven. They that are in the last state, go the way of Saints, with joy above their fellows. Give me leave therefore of these four ways, to make a short description, which when I have done, let every one of you tell his own soul in which of these paths, he now is travelling.  
First, to the most beaten way, Tranquilla, non Bona, the quiet Conscience, not the Good. I may safely say, Hell gets more Passengers by this path, then by any; which makes the Devil so careful in the dressing it, that he will not leave a small pebble in the way, nor an uneven molehill to offend thee, as if he had been once one of those Angels to whom God had given the Charge that thou shouldst not hurt thy foot against a stone. If thou chance to travel on the way, he sings to thee; if to sleep, he sits by thee, whispering as softly, as the Spouse to the Daughters of Jerusalem, (though to a far worse end) I charge you, O you Tormentors of the heart, that you stir not up, nor awake my beloved until he please. Let there be no outcry of sorrow, no noise of fear, no alarm sounded of Repentance, but Peace, peace, Lie down, lie down in peace, with thy warm sins cleaving to thy bosom. This is the opium, these are the charms, by which so many souls are laid asleep, but if ever sleep were the true image of death, this is the sleep. Saint Hierome knew the danger of it, when he made that passionate exclamation, O qualis Tempestas ista Tranquillitas! what storm so cruel as this calm? what rock, what shipwreck? None; Let thy winds rage O God, and the sea roar, let the waves of thy punishments like Mountains fall upon me, split and tear, and sink this vessel of my flesh, rather than ever to let my soul be thus becalmed.  
We read, that the Grecians, had an Hill so high above that region of the air where Winds are bred, that he that had drawn his name in the ashes of the last years sacrifices, might the next year at his return find the same Letters unblown away: but if any one's heart here be so calmly seated, that the Devil may at this instant read in the sluttish dust of it, the sins which long ago he wrote there, if no thunder have cleared the air about thee, nor no wind scattered those guilty Characters; if all be hushed, silence, and rest, and sleep about the Conscience, like the Country of the Sibarites, where not so much as a Cock, the Remembrancer of Saint Peter, was left alive to trouble them; If so, know then, that as long as this soul is thus benumbed, thy God hath given thee over, he will not so much as favour thee with a frown, or bless thee with his anger. It may be true that perhaps thou dost not feel thy misery, but therefore the more wretched, in Saint Augustine's judgement, because thou dost not feel it; for, Quid miserius misero, non miserante seipsum? Cleopatra that had not a mind to feel her death, poisoned herself with Asps, that she might die sleeping; and just so is thy state, thy habitual customary sins, those which thou drinkest down like water, as if they were no sins, these are the Asps that do benumb thy soul, as cold poison doth the brain, that casts thee into a sleep never to be awakened till the Worm that never sleeps awake thee.  
But, shall I leave thee so? As the quartan Ague is called opprobrium Medici, the shame of the Physician; so this dead sleep, this Lethargy of sin may be opprobrium Theologi, the shame of the Divine. I confess, I never liked those that put so much Vinegar in their Sermons, as if their only errand were, to eat out the hearts of their hearers; so much of the Law, as if the Gospel were not yet given; for though bitter pills may be good physic, yet he that should let his Patient eat no other meat than pills, would prove a mad Physician: yet for all this, something of bitterness doth well, there must be a searching of the wound, before there be a skinning. Fear not then thy remedy O my soul, but if thou findest this hardness, this stupidity, this senselessness, within thee, get thee to Mount Ebal, see the Curses that were given there, if they wound not deep enough, add to these some few serious thoughts of Hell, of the utter darkness, the eternal fire, the everlasting Worm. But when thou hast done this, do not dwell there, but be sure to look upward again to thy Saviour, Down with thy knees, though thy heart be stiff, up with thy Hands, at least, to Heaven, though thy soul stir not; hope in thy God against hope, as Abraham did: get out but an ejaculation, a piece, a word of prayer, ever cleaving to the Rock of thy salvation Christ Jesus, till from the clefts of that blessed Rock, thou hear his Mercy answer thee; for so in stead of a quiet conscience, but not a good, God will give thee a good Conscience though for a time unquiet, turning thee out of this sleepy way of Nabal, into the sighing way of David, which gives us the next prospect of the Conscience. Bona, non Tranquilla, a Good, but not a Quiet.  
It is a Maxim in Philosophy, that no Element is heavy in the proper place of it; For should we dive into the bottom of the Sea, we should not feel the weight of all those waves that roll upon us; but out of the Ocean, to carry a small pitcher of that water, would prove a burden. The like experiment we may find in ourselves, as long as we are in the Proper place, the Element of sin, we do not feel the weight of it, but once being out, the easiest sin seems heavy: We then start at a sinful thought, who before would have leapt confidently from that thought, into the action. Or have we gone farther than thought? have we actually offended? Instantly our hearts strike us, we complain, we grieve, we melt into repentance, our very Souls are disquieted within us. But let us take heed we do not always measure God's anger, by this disquiet; for the disquiet may be the means to take away his anger. 'tis true, that there are sins of infirmity that will still creep upon us; there will be a continual fight of the flesh against the spirit: But yet, if with an unfeigned reluctancy we can then but cry, either as this Prophet did: O that I had the wings of a dove, that I might fly away, and be at rest: or as the Apostle did: O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death? assure yourself you shall not die, Sin may hang upon you, as the Viper did upon S. Paul's hand, but poison you it cannot: It may bring a damnability (as the School speaks) but not damnation.  
Yea, but this is not all; Doth not God sometimes would deep the hearts of them he loves? Doth he not leave them in the sense of his bitter wrath? Hath not this Saint of his felt as much, when he was enforced to cry, Will God cast me off for ever? will he be favourable no more? is his mercy clean gone, doth his promise fail for evermore? hath he forgotten to be gracious? hath he shut up his tender mercy in displeasure? Nay, hath not the Son of God felt as much? Were they not his words upon the Cross, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? What then can we vile worms expect? He that could hid his face from thee, O blessed Saviour, how shall he ever turn again his face to us? Yea but saith Saint Bernard, that turning away his face from him, is become the only cause that he will look on thee. Since that time, saith that Father, if God troubles thee, it is, that thou shouldst pray to him; if he flies from thee, it is that thou shouldst find him. Origen knew as much, when he said, Discedit Deus meus, sed expecto iterum; venit, sed elabitur; elapsus redit, sed nondum teneo. My God forsakes me often, but still I wait for him again; he comes, but again he vanisheth; and again I have him, though I cannot hold him. Saint Cyprian knew as much, when he likened the accesses and recesses, these come and go of God, to the quick flashes of Lightning; the entrance and departure sudden: for Heaviness may endure for a night, but as sure as the morning Sun shall arise, so sure shall thy morning joy, for joy comes in the morning. And so from this way we pass unto the third, a way rather to look on, then walk in: for this is cain's way, nec Bona, nec Tranquilla, a Conscience that is neither Good nor Quiet.  
An ill Conscience is a sleeping Lion, as soon as it awakes, it murders; or like a Match laid to fire a train of Powder, it burns dimly on, till at last at one fearful clap it blows up all. For this is the Devil's method, first he makes us senseless, we feel not sin at all; next, he makes us desperate, we feel our sins too much. In the senseless Fit, we live as if there were no Hell; in the desperate Fit, we die as if there were no Heaven. But make haste to get out of this way, all ye that love your souls. Do but conceive of God that he is not such an one, as by any absolute, peremptory decree hath either designed, or ordered, or sealed you to damnation beforehand; nor such a one that necessitates any of you to perdition: but as that communicable, diffusive good, that hath so often proclaimed, he would have All men saved. For though at the Tribunal of your unquiet Consciences, your sins stand up against you as a Cloud of witnesses, though the Evidence be brought in, the Accusation proved, the Sentence given, yet as the condemned Felon at the Bar hath his Book to save him, so God this day reacheth out to every one of you a Book, that learned, unlearned, all may read in; the Leaves of it, the pure flesh of your blessed Saviour; the letters of it drawn in blood; the pens that wrote it, thorns and scourges; the clasps of the Book, Nailes; the binding, the wood of the Cross; and the Title of it, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. Read then, O desperate sinner! Read but in this Book thy Miserere mei: read it with a lively and active faith: and though thy soul be even at the brink of death, the Sentence shall be reversed, thy Accuser shamed, thy Pardon sealed, and thy Conscience quieted. God, I say, shall snatch thee as a brand out of the fire, and pulling thee out of this way, shall direct thee to a better, the way that we are now to speak of, tam Bona, quam Tranquilla, a Conscience as well Good as Quiet.  
As the end of all motion is Rest, so the last of these ways, the end of my Sermon, is the way of rest: where the day is a perpetual Sabbath, the diet a Continual feast, a Conscience Quiet, and Good too. Sure this must needs be the Paradisus sine gladio, which Saint Bernard speaks of, the Paradise without a sword, or Temp●●m Solomonis sine Malleo, the Temple built without the noise of an Hammer. This, none but this, is the spiritual Ark of the Covenant, the Court of God, the Closet of the Holy Ghost, what shall I add? But I have a already said more than Saint Augustine did; for he had but named the Peace of Conscience, to his Auditory, and they were so moved with it, as if in those few words, he had shown them all the joys of Heaven: Beloved, my desire shall be to leave you so affected, to leave you all in love with a good Conscience. So far in love with it, as to prefer it infinitely beyond whatever else in this life is dear unto you.  
But the hearts of Men are in thy hands O God, to thee therefore we turn our prayers, warm us all, we beseech thee with the comfortable beams of thy mercy, inflame our cold affections, raise up our downcast souls, speak in thy soft whispers, to the wounded Conscience, in thy loud thunder to the seared: Make the Good Conscience Quiet, and the Quiet Conscience Good, that thy Judgements may Reclaim the one, thy Mercies may Relieve the other, and thy Everlasting favour Crown us All world without end, Amen, Amen, Lord jesus.  
THE END.