A MIDNIGHT'S Trance: Wherein is discoursed of DEATH, the nature of SOULS, and estate of Immortality.  
As it was Written at the desire of a Nobleman, By W. D.  
LONDON, Printed by George Purslow, for john Budge, and are to be sold at the sign of the Greene-Dragon in Paul's Churchyard. 1619.   

A MIDNIGHT'S Trance, wherein is discoursed of Death, The nature of Souls, and estate of Immortality.  
THough it hath been doubted if there be in the Soul of Man such imperious and superexcellent Power, as that it can by the vehement and earnest working of it, deliver knowledge to another without bodily Organs, and by the only conceptions and Ideas of it, produce real effects, yet it hath been ever and of all thought infallible & most certain, that it often (either by outward inspiration, or some secret motion of itself) is augure of its own Misfortunes, and hath shadows of coming Dangers presented unto it, a while before they fall forth. Hence so many strange apparitions and signs, true Visions, Dreams most certain, uncouth languish and drowsiness, of which to seek a reason, unless from the sparkling of GOD in the Soul; or from the Godlike sparkles of the Soul, were to make Reason unreasonable, in reasoning of things transcending her reach.  
Having often and divers times, when I had given myself to rest in the quiet solitariness of the night, found my imagination troubled with a confused fear, no, sorrow, or Horror, which interrupting sleep did confound my senses, and rouse me up all appalled, and transported in a sudden agony and sad amazedness; of such an unaccustomed perturbation and nameless woe, not knowing, nor being able to imagine any apparent cause, carried away with the stream of my (then doubting) thoughts, I was brought to ascribe it to that secret foreknowledge & presageing Power of the Prophetic Mind; and to interpret such an agony to be to the Spirit, as a faintness and universal weariness is to the Body, a token of following sickness, or as the Earthquakes are to great Cities, Harbingers of greater calamities, or as the roaring of the Sea is, in a still calm, a sign of some ensuing tempest.  
Hereupon, not thinking it strange, if whatsoever is human should befall me, knowing how Providence abates grief, and discountenances crosses, and that as we should not despair of evils, which may happen us, we should not trust too much in those goods we enjoy: I began to turn over in my remembrance all that could afflict miserable mortality, and to forecast every thing that with a Mask of Horror could show itself to human eyes, till in the end, as by unities and points, Mathematicians are brought to great numbers and huge greatness, after many fantastical glances of mankind's sorrow, and those encumbrances which follow life, I was brought to think, and with amazement, on the last of human evils, or (as one said) the last of all dreadful and terrible things, Death.  
And why may we not believe that the Soul (though darkly) foreseeing, and having secret intelligence of that sharp divorcement it is to have from the body, should be overgrieved and surprised with an uncouth and unaccustomed sorrow? And at the first encounter examining their near union, long familiarity & friendship, with the great change, pain, and ugliness, which is apprehended to be in Death, it shall not appear to be without reason.  
They had their being together, parts they are of one reasonable Creature, the hurting of the one, is the enfeebling of the working of the other, what dear contentments doth the Soul enjoy by the senses? They are the gates and windows of its knowledge, the Organs of its delight; if it be grievous to an excellent Lutanist to be long without a Lute, how much more must the want of so noble an instrument be painful to the Soul? And if two Pilgrims who have wandered some few miles together, have a heart's grief when they part, what must the sorrow be at the parting of two so loving friends, as is the Soul and Body?  
Death is the violent estranger of acquaintance, the eternal divorcer of Marriage, the ravisher of the Children from the Parents, the stealer of the Parents, from the Children, the intomber of Fame, the only cause of forgetfulness, by which men talk of them that are gone away, as of so many shadows, orageworn Stories. It is not overcome by pride, made meek by flattery, stayed by Time; Wisdom save this, can prevent & help any thing: nor Youth, nor Virtue, nor Beauty, can make it relent and become partial: It is the reasonles breaker off of all actions, by this we enjoy no more the sweet pleasures of Earth, nor behold the stately Vault of Heaven, Sun perpetually setteth, Stars never rise unto us, all strength by this is ta'en away, all comeliness defaced, Glory made ignoble, Honour turned into contempt: This in an hour robbeth us of, what with so great toil and care in many years, we have heaped together: Successions of Lineages by this are cut short; Kingdoms want Heirs, and greatest States remain Orphans. By Death we are exiled from this excellent City of the World, it is no more a world unto us, nor we no more People unto it.  
That Death, naturally is terrible & to be abhorred, it cannot altogether be denied, it being a privation of Life, & a not-being, & every privation being abhorred of nature, and evil of itself, yet I have often thought that even naturally, to a mind by only nature resolved and prepared, it is more terrible in conceit then in verity, and at the first glance, then when well looked upon, & that rather by the weakness of our fantasy, then by what is in it; and that the solemnities and shows of it, did add much more ugliness unto it, than otherwise it hath: to aver which conclusion, when I had gathered my astonished thoughts, I began thus with myself:  
If on the great Theatre of this Earth, amongst the numberless number of Men, this condition were only proper to thee and thine, then undoubtedly, thou hadst reason to repine at so unjust and partial a Law: But since it is a necessity, from the which never an age bypassed hath been exempted, and unto which those which be, and so many as are to come, are thralled, it being as common, as any the most vulgar thing to sense, why shouldst thou in thy peevish opposition take so unevitable and familiar a chance to heart? This is the broad path of mortality, our general home; behold what millions have trod it before thee, what multitudes shall after thee, with them who at that same instant run. In so universal a calamity (if DEATH be one) private complaints cannot be heard, with so many royal Palaces, it is no loss to see thy poor cabin burn. Shall the Heavens stay their ever-roling wheels (for what is the motion of them? but the motion of a swift, and ever-whirling wheel, which twineth forth, and again uproleth our Life,) and hold still time, to prolong thy miserable days? As if they had nothing to do else, but to serve thy humour. Thy Death is a piece of the order of this All, a part of the life of this World: for while the World is the World, some creatures must die, and other take Life. Eternal things are raised far above this Sphere of generation & corruption, where the first matter, like an ever-flowing and ebbing Sea, with diverse waves, but the same water remaineth; what is below in the universality of the kind, not in itself doth abide, Man a long line of years hath been, this Man every hundredth is swept away. This Centre is the sole Region of Death, the Grave where every thing that taketh life, must rot, a Stage of change, only glorious in the unconstancy, and manifold alterations of it, which though many, seem yet to abide one, and being one, are yet ever many. The never agreeing bodies of the Elemental Brethren turn one in another, the Earth changeth her countenance with the Seasons, sometimes looking cold and naked, other times, hot & flowery; nay I cannot tell how, but even the lowest of those heavenly bodies, that mother of Months, and Lady of Seas and moisture, as if she were a mirror of our constant inconstancy, by her too great dearness unto us seemeth to participate of our changes, never seeing us twice with that same face, whiles appearing dark, now pale, sometimes again shining unto us. Death no less than Life, doth here act a part, the taking away of what is old, being the making of a way for what is young. Which since it is so, and must of necessity be so, thou must learn to will, that which he wills, whose very willing giveth being to all that it wills, and rather to reverence the ord'rer, then repine at the order, for we be borne not to give laws to God, and his Lieutenant Nature, but to obey those Laws which they have given.  
If thou dost complain that there shall be a Time, in the which thou shalt not be, why dost thou not too regreat that there was a Time, in the which thou wast not? And so, that thou art not as old as that enlifening Planet of Time? For not to have been a thousand year before this moment, is as much to be deplored, as not to be a thousand after it. We know what Death is by the thought of that Time, and estate of ourselves, which was ere we were. Death is not to be, that will be after us, which long long ere we were, was. Our Nephews have that same reason to vex themselves, that they were not young men in our days, which we have to complain that we shall not be old in theirs; they who forwent us, did make place unto us: and shall we grieve to leave a room to them who come after us? The Violets have their time, though they live not in the cold Winter, and the Gillyflowers keep their season, though they spread not their leaves in the Spring.  
Empires, States, Kingdoms, have by the doom of the supreme Providence their fatal periods, great Cities lie sadly buried in their dust, Arts and Sciences have not only their eclipses, but their wanings and deaths, the ghastly Wonders of the World raised by the Ambition of ages are overthrown, the excellent Fabric of this Universe itself shall one day suffer ruin, or a change like a ruin, and poor Earthlings thus to be handled, complain. Seek now the Assyrian, Median, & Persian Empires: where is the posterity of that great Macedonian? And the terror of this Earth the Roman Caesars?  
But is this life so great a good, that the loss of it should be so dear unto man? If it be? the meanest creatures of nature thus be happy, for they live no less than he: if it be so? how is it esteemed by man himself at so small a rate? that for so small gain, nay, a light word, he will not stand to lose it? what excellency is there in it, for the which Man should desire it perpetually, and repine to return to his great Grandmother Dust? Of what worth are the labours and actions of it, that the interruption and leaving off of them should be bewailed? Is not the entering into life weakness? The continuing sorrow? Man in the one is exposed to all the injuries of the Elements, and like a condemned trespasser (as if it were a fault to come to the light) no sooner born, than bound and manacled; in the other, like a Ball he is uncessantly tossed in the Tennis-court of this World: When he is in the Meridian of his glory, there mistereth nothing to destroy him, but to let him fall his own height, a reflex of the Sun, a blast of wind, nay, the glance of an Eye is sufficient to kill him.  
His Body is but a Mass of discording humours boiled together by the conspiring virtues of the Planets, which though agreeing for a time, yet can never be made uniform and brought to a just proportion. To what sickness is it subject unto, beyond those of the other creatures? no part of it being which is not particularly infected and afflicted by some one, nay every part of it with many; so that not without reason, the life of divers of the meanest creatures of Nature hath been preferred (by the most wise) to the natural life of man.. And we should rather be brought in a maze, how so fragila matter should so long endure, then how so soon decay.  
Are the actions of the most part of men any thing different from those laborious exercises of Spiders, that lie in ambush to pray on the simpler, and eviscerate themselves many days for the weaving of a frail web, which when finished with great toil, a blast of wind carrieth away both the Work and the Worker? Or are they not such indeed as be the toys of little Children? Or to hold them at their highest rate, as is some earnest game at Chess? Every day we rise and lie down, apparel and disapparell ourselves, weary our Bodies, and refresh them, which is a circle of idle travels; sometime we are in a chase after a fading beauty; now we seek to enlarge our bounds, augment our Treasure, feeding poorly to purchase what we must leave (perhaps) to a fool, or (which is not much better) a Prodigal heir: raised again with the wind of Ambition, we court that idle name of Honour, not considering that men in glassy places are but tortured ghosts, wandering in golden Fetters, and glistering Prisons, having fear and danger their unseparable executioners, in the midst of multitudes rather guarded then regarded.  
Those whom inward Melancholy hath made weary of the World's eye, who have withdrawn themselves from the course of earthly affairs, by thoughts curious, sad regrets, idle contemplations, live a life far worse than others, their wit being too quick to give them a true taste of woe, while those of a more shallow and simple conceit, have want of knowledge and ignorance of themselves, for a remedy against every other evil. What Chameleon, what Euripe, what Moon doth change so oft as man? He seemeth not the same person in one and the same Day, by reason of his subjection to his private Passions.  
Young, we scorn our childish conceits, and wading deeper in years (for years are a Sea into which we wade until we drown) we esteem our Youth inconstancy, Folly, Rashness: Old, we begin to pity ourselves, plaining, because we are changed, that the World is changed: Like them in a Ship, which when it is they that launch from the shore, are brought to believe that the shore doth fly from them. When we are freed of evil in our own estate, we begin to grudge and vex ourselves at the happiness and fortunes of others, we are fraught, we care for what is present, with sadness for what is bypassed, with fear for that which is to come, nay, for that which will never come; we deem that pity, which is but weakness, and plunge ourselves in the deepest gulfs of anguish, one day still laying up strife of grief for the next. The Air, the Sea, the Fire, the Beasts be cruel executioners of Man, yet Beasts, Fire, Sea, and Air, be pitiful to Man, in respect of Man; for, more men are destroyed by men, then by them all.  
What wrongs, scorns, contumelies, prisons, poisons, torments, receiveth man of man? What engines and new works of death are daily found forth by man against man? What Laws to thrall his liberty? Fantasies and scarecrows to inveigle his reason? Amongst the Beasts, is there any hath so servile a lot in another's behalf as man? yet neither is content, nor he who reigneth, nor he who serveth.  
The half of our Life is spent in sleep, which (sith it is a release of care, the balm of woe, and indifferent arbiter unto all) must be the best, and yet is but the shadow of Death: and who would not rather than suffer the Slings, and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, the whips and scorns of time, the oppressors wrongs, the proud man's contumelies, sleep ever (that is, die) and end the heartache, and the thousand natural Shocks, that flesh is heir to? Our happiness here, seemeth rather in the wanting of evils, and being free of crosses, then in the enjoying of any great good. What hath the bravest of mortals to glory in? Is it greatness? Who can be great on so small a round as this Earth? and bounded with so short a course of Time? How like is that to castles, or imaginary Cities, builded in the Sky, of chance-meeting Clouds? Or to Giants modeled (for a sport) of Snow, which at the hotter looks of the Sun do melt away? such an impetuous vicissitude so towseth the estates of this World. Is it knowledge? But we have not yet attained a perfect understanding of the smallest flower, and why, the grass should rather be green, then red, the Element of fire is quite put out the Air is but water rarefied, some affirm there is another world of men and creatures, with Cities, and Towers in the Moon, the Sun is lost, for it is but a cloven in the lower Heavens, through which the light of the highest shines: What is all we know, compared with what we know not? It is (perhaps) artificial cunning: how many curiosities be framed by the least creatures of Nature, unto which, the industry of the most curious Artisans doth not attain? Is it Riches? What are they but snares of Liberty, bands to such as have them, possessing, rather than possessed: Metals which Nature hath hid (foreseeing the great evil they should occasion) and the only opinion of Men, hath brought in estimation? When we have gathered the greatest abundance, we ourselves can enjoy no more thereof, then so much as belongs to one man, Rich and great men do their business by others, the lesser do them themselves. Will some talk of our pleasures? It is not (though in the fables) told out of purpose, that Pleasure being called in haste from Earth to Heaven, did here forget her apparel, which Sorrow having thereafter found (to deceive the World) attired herself with; and if we shall confess the truth of most of our joys, we must say that they are but disguised Sorrows, the drams of our honey, are lost in pounds of Gall, Remorse never ensueth our best Delights. Will some Lady's vaunt of their Beauties? That is but skinne-deepe, of two senses only known, short even of Marble Statues and Pictures, dangerous to the beholder, and hurt. full to the possessor, an enemy to Chastity, a thing made to delight others, and not those who have it, a superficial lustre hiding Bones and the Brains, things fearful to be looked upon; growth of years doth take it away, or sickness, or sorrow preventing them; our strength, matched with that of the unreasonable creatures, is but weakness.  
If Death be good, why should it be feared? And if it be the work of Nature, how shall it not be good? And how shall it not be of Nature? Sith what is naturally generate, is subject to corruption, for such a composition cannot ever endure, but must of necessity dissolve. Again, how is not Death good, sith it is the thaw of all those miseries which the frost of life bindeth together? In two or three ages (without Death) what an unpleasant spectacle were the most flourishing Cities in the World? For what should there be to be seen in them, save bodies languishing, and courbing again into the Earth? Pale disfigured faces, Skelitones in stead of Men? And what were there to be heard, but the regrets of the young, and Plaints of the aged, with the pitiful cries of sick and pining persons? there is almost no infirmity worse than age.  
If there be any evil in Death, it would appear to be for that pain and torment, which we apprehend to arise of the breaking of those strait bands which keep the Soul and body together, which (since it is not without great wrestling and motion) seems to prove itself vehement and most extreme. The senses are the only cause of pain, but before that last effect traries, that the worst composed Bodies feel pain least, and by this reason all sick persons should not much feel pain, for if they were not evil composed they would not be sick.  
That the sight, hearing, smelling, taste, leave us without pain, and unawares, we know most certainly, and why should we not believe the same of the feeling? That which is capable of feeling is the vital Spirits, which in a man of good health are spread & extended through the whole Body: And hence is it, that the whole body is capable of pain; but in sick men we see that by degrees those parts which are most removed from the heart, remain cold, and being denuded of natural heat, all the pain that they feel, is that they can feel no pain: now as before the sick be aware, the vital Spirits retire themselves from the whole extension of his body, to assist the heart, (like distressed Citizens, which finding their walls battered run to defend their Citadel) so do they abandon the heart without any sensible touch, as the flame withdraws itself from the wick, the Oil failing. As to those shrinking motions and convulsions of sinews and members, which appear to witness great pain, let one represent to himself the strings of a high-tuned Lute, which being cracked retire to their natural winding, or a piece of Ice which without any outward violence cracks at a Thaw: no other ways do the sinews of the body, finding themselves slack and unbended from the Brain, and that their wont labours and functions do cease, struggle and seem to stir themselves without any pain or sense.  
Now, although Death were an extreme pain, sith it is in an instant, what can it be? Why should we fear it? For while we are, it cometh not, and it being come, we are no more. Nay, though it were most painful, long continuing, and terrible ugly, why should we fear it? Since fear is a foolish passion but where it may preserve, but it cannot preserve us from death. That is ever terrible, which is unknown: so do little children fear to go in the dark, and their fear is increased with tales.  
But that (perhaps) which doth bring thee most anguish, is to leave this painted Scene of the World in the Spring, and most delicious season of thy years; for, though to die be usual, to die young may appear extraordinary. If the present fruition of thes things be foolish, what can a long continuance of them be? Poor and strange Halcyon, why wouldst thou longer nestle amidst these inconstant waves? hast thou not already suffered enough of this world, but thou must yet endure more? But count thy years which are now () & thou shalt find, that whereas ten have overlived thee, thousands have not attained this age. One year is sufficient to behold all the magnificence of Nature, nay even one day and night, for more is but the same brought again.  
This Sun, that Moon, those Stars, the disponsition of the Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, is that very same which the Golden age did see. They which have the longest time lent them to live in, have almost nothing of it at all, setting it either by that which is past, when they were not, or by that which is to come: Why shouldst thou then regard, whether thy days be many or few; which when prolonged to the uttermost, must prove (paralleled with Eternity) as a Tear is to the Ocean? It is hope of long Life, that maketh life seem short. Who will weigh, & advisedly weigh the inconstancy of human affairs, with the backblows of Fortune, shall never lament to die young. Who knoweth what disasters might have befallen him, who dieth young, if he had lived to been old? Haven taketh them whom it loveth, from dangers before they do approach; pure and (if we may say so) virgin Souls carry their bodies with great anguish, and delight not to abide long in them, being ever burnt with a desire to return to the place of their rest; and to be relieved of fleshly uncleanlynesse, that which may fall forth every hour, cannot fall out of time: life is a journey in a dusty way, the furthest home is Death, in this, some go more heavily burdened then others, swift & active Pilgrims come to the end of it in the morning, or at Noon: which slow-paced wretches, clogged with the fragmentall rubbish of this world, scarce with great travel, crawl unto at midnight. Days are not to be numbered after the number of them; but after their goodness, the greatness of a Sphere, addeth nothing to the roundness of it, but a little circle is as round as the most ample; that Musician is not most praiseworthy, who hath longest played, but he in measured accents who hath made sweetest melody; to live long, hath often been a let to live well. Let it suffice that thou hast lived to this time, and (after the course of this world) not for nought, thou hast had some smiles of Fortune, favours of the worthiest, some friends, & thou hast never been disfavoured of the Heaven.  
Yet it is almost impossible, that thou canst want a desire to live, and wishest not thy days a while continued, though not for life itself, at least that thou mayst leave to aftertimes a monument, that once thou wast; for since it is denied us to live long, (said one) let us leave some worthy remembrance of our once here being, and thus extend this span of Life so far as is possible. O poor Ambition! to what I pray thee canst thou concreded it? Arches and stately Temples, which one age doth raise, doth not another raze? Tombs and adopted pillars lie buried with them which were in them buried; hath not avarice defaced that, which Devotion did make glorious? All that the hand of Man can make, is either overturned by the hand of Man, or at length by very standing and continuing consumed; as if there were a secret opposition in Fate, to control all our industry. Possessions are not enduring, children lose their Names, families raised on the highest top of wealth and Honour (like those which are not yet born) leaving off to be, so doth Heaven confound what we labour with Art to distinguish. That renown by Papers, which is though to make men glorious, and which nearest doth approach the Life of those eternal Bodies above, how slender it is, the very word of paper doth import; and what is it when obtained, but a multitude of words which coming Worlds may scorn? How many millions never hear the names of the most famous Writers? And amongst them to whom they are known, how few turn over their pages? And of such as do, how many sport at their conceits, taking the verity for a Fable, and oft a Fable for Verity, or (as we do pleasants) using all for recreation? Then the arising of more famous doth obscure and darken the glory of the former, being esteemed as Garments worn out of fashion. Now when thou hast obtained what praise thou couldst desire, it is but an Echo, a mere sound, a cloud of Air; which seen a far, did appear something, but approached, is found nought; a thing imaginary depending on the opinion of other Men; for it is hard to distinguish virtue and fortune, the most vicious (if prosperous) have ever been praised, the most virtuous (if unprosperous) have still been despised. Applause obtained whilst thou livest, hath ever envy following it, and is brittle, like that Syracusians Sphere of Glass; and borne after thy Death, it may as well be ascribed to some of them that were in the Trojan Horse, or to such as are yet to be borne an hundredth years hereafter, as to thee who nothing knows, and is of all unknown: What can it avail thee to be talked of whilst thou art not? Consider in what bounds our Fame is confined: This Globe which seemeth large to us, in respect of the Universe, is less than little, how much thereof is covered with Waters, how much not at all discovered? How much desert and desolate And how many thousand thousands are they which share the remanent amongst them? & all this is but a point, & in comparison nothing to that wide wide canopy of Heaven. For the Horizon that bounds our sight, bindeth the Heaven as in two halfs, which it could not do if the Earth had any quantity compared to it. More, if it were not as a point, the Stars could not still appear to us of a like greatness in respect of their diurnal motion: for where the Earth raised itself in Mountains (we being more near to Heaven) they would appear more great, and where it were humbled in valleys (we being farther distant) they would seem unto us less.  
But on all sides the Heaven being equally distant from the earth, of necessity we must avouch it to be but a point. Well did one compare it to an Anthill, and men (the Inhabitants) to so many Pismires in the toil and variety of their diversified studies. But let it be granted that Glory and Fame is some great matter, and can reach Heaven itself, since it is often buried with the honoured, and endureth so short a time, what great good can it have in it? How is not Glory temporal, since it increaseth with Time? Then imagine me (for what cannot imagination reach unto?) one could be famous in all times to come, & through the whole World presen, t yet he shall be for ever obscure, and uncouth to those mighty ones, who were only heretofore famous amongst Assyrians, Persians, Greeks', and Romans. Again, the vain affectation of Man is so suppressed, that though his works do abide, the worker is unknown: the huge Aegypttan Pyramids though they have wrestled with time, and worn upon the vast of days, yet their builders be no more known, than it is known by what strange Earthquakes and Deluges Isles were divided from the continent, and Hills bursted forth of the low Valleys. Days, Months, and years run away, and only oblivion remains; of so many ages passed we may well figure to ourselves something, but can affirm little certainty.  
But, Oh my Soul, what ails thee to be thus backward and fearful at the remembrance of Death? sith it doth not reach thee, more than darkness doth those eternal Lamps above: rouse thyself for shame, why shouldst thou fear to be without a body, since thy Maker and those spiritual and supercelestial Inhabitants have no Bodies? Hast thou ever seen any Prisoner who when the jayle-gates were broken up and he enfranchised and set lose, would rather plain and sit still on his fetters, then seek his freedom? If thou rightly think on thyself thou hast no cause of sorrow: for, if there be any resemblance in what is finite of that which is infinite, if thou be not an Image, thou art a shadow of that eternal Trinity, in thy three essential Powers, Understanding Will, Memory, which though three, are in thee but one: and yet abiding one be distinctly three. But in no thing more comest thou near that Sovereign good then in thy Immortality, which who seek to improve, by that same it prove, like them who arguing themselves to be unreasonable, by the very arguing show that they have some. Nothing in this visible world is comparable to thee, thou art so wonderful a beauty, and beautiful a Wonder, that if but once thou couldst be gazed upon by bodily eyes, every heart would be inflamed with thy love, & elevated from their groveling earthly desires. What God is in the World, thou art in the body, abiding on the Earth, thou measurest the Heaven, thou makest the Seas and Winds to serve thee, thou many things foreknowest before they fall forth, thou art not content with the sight of all, within the spacious bounds of this large Cloister of the World, until thou raise thyself to the happy contemplation of that first illuminating intelligence, transcending time, and even reaching Eternity itself, into which thou art transformed: for by receiving, thou (beyond all other things) art made that which thou receivest. By thy three faculties, thou participatest with the three parts of Time; by Memory with that which hath passed, by Understanding with that which is present, & by Will with that which is to come.  
Man by thee is that Hymen of celestial and terrestrial things, without whom the universal frame and great Fabric of this world would remain unperfect. Thou only at once art capable of contraries, thou knowest thyself an immediate master piece of that eternal artisan, & acknowledgest thee so separate, absolute, and diverse an essence from thy Body, that thou disposest of it, as it pleaseth thee: for there is no passion in thee so weak which mastereth not the fear of leaving it. The more thou knowest, the more apt thou art to know, not remaining enfabled by thine object as sense by objects sensible. Thou shouldst be so far from abhorring this separation, that it should be the first of thy desires, it being thy perfection. Thou art here but as in an infected and unclean Inn, or a living Tomb, oppressed with cares, suppressed with ignorance: Most of thy knowledge cometh by thy fine intelligencers of sense, which (being often deceived) deceive thee: small things seem here great unto thee, and great things small: Folly Wisdom, and Wit Folly: freed of thy fleshly care thou shalt rightly know thyself, and have perfect fruition of that full and filling happiness, which is God himself. God and happiness are one, for if God have not happiness, he is not God, because happiness is the highest and soveraignest good: then if God have happiness, it cannot be a thing different from him, for if there were any thing different from him in him, he should be an essence composed, and not simple. More, what is different in any thing, is either an accident, or a part of itself; in God, happiness cannot be an accident, because he is not subject to any accident; if it were a part of him (since the part is before the whole) we should be forced to grant that something was before God. Bedded and bathed in these earthly Ordures, thou canst not come near that sovereign good, nor have so much notice of him, as the Owl hath of the Sun. Think then by Death that thy shell is broke & thou then but even hatched: Why shouldst thoube feare-stroken, and brought under for the parting with this mortal Bride, thy Body? Sith it is but for a time, and such a time as she shall not care for, nor feel any thing in, nor thou have need of her, nay, since thou shalt receive her again more goodly and beautiful, then when thou leftest her? Being made like unto that Indian Crystal, which after some revolutions of ages is turned into purest Diamonds.  
If the Soul be the form of the Body, and the form separated from the matter of it cannot ever remain, but hath a natural appetite and desire to be united thereunto, what can let and hinder this desire, but that one time or other it be accomplished, and have the expected end, adjoining itself to the body? No violent thing can be everlasting, the abiding of the Soul without the body being violent, cannot be everlasting. How is not such a being not violent, since as in a stranger place the faculties of it (which never leave it) are not duly exercised?: this is not contradictory to Nature, much less impossible to God.  
If the body shall not arise, how can the only and sovereign Good be perfectly and infinitely good? For how shall he be Just? Nay, have so much justice as a man, if he suffer the evil and vicious to have a more prosperous and happy life then the followers of Virtue? Which ordinarily useth to fall forth in this life: for the most wicked are lords and gods of this earth, as if it had been made only for them, and the virtuous are but their enuassaled slaves, being subject to all dishonours, shames, wrongs, misery. Sith than he is most good, most just, of necessity there must be appointed by him another time, and another place of retribution, in the place of retribution, in the which there shall be a reward for living well, and a punishment for doing evil, with a life in the which both shall have their due; and not in their Souls only: for, sith both the parts of man did act a part in the right or wrong, it is reason they both be arraigned before that High justice, to receive their own. For man is not a Soul only, but a Soul and Body, to which either guerdon or punishment is due.  
This seemeth to be the voice of Nature in almost all the Religions of the World, this is that universal testimony charactered in the minds of the most barbarous and savage people; for all have had a blind aiming at ages to come, and a misty divining of another life, all appealing to one general judgement Throne. To what else could serve so many expiations, sacrifices, Prayers, solemnities and ceremonies? To what such sumptuous Temples, and such care of the dead? To what all Religion? If not to show that they did look for a more excellent estate of living after the short course of this was outrun: and who doth deny it, must deny that that there is a God, a Providence, and not believe that there is a World or Creatures, and that he himself is not what he is.  
But it is not of Death (perhaps) that we complain, but of Time, which using against us (as against all fragil and caduke things) his adamantine Laws, altereth the constitution of our Bodies, benumbs our senses, and the Organs of our knowledge, of which evils Death relieveth us: So that if we could be transported (oh happy Colony!) to a place where there were no time, it were our only good, and the accomplishment of all our wishes. Death maketh this transplantation, for the last instant of corruption, or leaving off of a thing to be what it was, is the first of generation or being of that which succeed; Death then being the end of this miserable mortal life, of necessity must be the first beginning of that other eternal; and so without reason of a virtuous Soul is it either feared or complained on.  
As those Images were figured in my Mind, (the morningstar now almost arising in the East) I found my thoughts to become calm and appeased, and not long after my senses one by one forgetting their uses, began to give themselves over to rest, leaving me in a still and quiet sleep, if sleep it may be called, where the Mind awaking is carried with free wings from out fleshly bondage? For, heavy lids had no sooner covered their lights, when I thought (nay sure) I was where I might discern all in this great All, the large compass of the rolling Circles, the brightness and continual dances of the twinkling Stars, which (through their distance) here below cannot be perceived, the silver countenance of the silent Moon shining by another's light, the hanging of the Earth (as environed with a Crystal girdle) the Sun enthronized in the midst of the Planets, Eye of the Heavens, Gem of this goodly Ring the World. But whilst with wonder and amazement I gazed on those celestial twins, and the burning Lamps of that glorious Temple, (like some poor Countryman brought from his solitary Mountains and flocks to behold the magnificence of some stately City) there was presented to my sight a Man as in the spring of his years, with that self-same grace, comely feature, and majestic look, which the late (_____) was wont to have: on whom I had no sooner set mine eye, when (like one thunder-stroken) I became all astonished. But he with a mild demeanour approaching, and voice surpassing all human sweetness appeared (me thought) to say:  
What is it doth thus torture thee? is it the memory of Death, the end of all Sorrow and entry to these happy places? is thy fortune below on that darkened Globe (that scarce through the littleness of it here appears) so great, that thou art heartbroken and dejected for the leaving of it? what if thou hadst left behind thee a (_____) so glorious to the world (yet but a mote of dust encircled with a Pond) as that of mine? so loving Parents? such great Hopes? these had been apparent occasions of regrate, and but apparent. Dost thou think that thou leavest life too soon? Death is best young, things fair and excellent are of least endurance, the Rose which is the flower of flowers, that same day that sees it spread in the morning, sees it fade at evening, and lose the leaves, the Spring-time the most amiable Season of the year is the Shortest. Who liveth well, liveth long, those whom GOD loveth best, are soon relieved of mortal miseries.  
Let not man esteem his estate, after his earthly being, which is but a Dream, though he be borne on the earth, he is not borne for the earth, more than the embryon for the Mother's womb: it plaineth to be relieved of its Bands, and to come to the light of this world, and Man mourneth to be loosed from the Chains with which he is fettered in that enchanted valley of vanities, it nothing knoweth whither it is to go, nor ought of the beauty of the sensible world, and the visible works of God, neither do men of the magnificence of this intellectual world above, unto which (as by a Midwife) they are directed by Death.  
Fools, who think that this excellent and admirable Frame, so well ordered, so rightly governed, so wonderfully fair, was by that supreme Wisdom made, that all things in a circulary course should be and not be, arise and dissolve, and thus continue, as if they were so many Shadows caused by the encountering of the Superior Celestial bodies, changing only their fashion and shape; or were dreams which for a morning have their being in the brain: No, no, the eternal Wisdom hath made man an excellent creature, though he feign would unmake himself and turn again to nothing, though he seek his happiness amongst the unreasonable creatures he hath placed above.  
When some Prince or great King on the earth hath builded any stately City, the work being perfected, they were wont to set their Image in the midst of it, to be gazed upon and admired; No otherwise hath the Sovereign of this All, (the fabric of it done) placed Man, (made to his own Image) in the midst of this admirable City. God containeth all in him as the beginning of all, Man containeth all in him as the midst of all, inferior things be in man more nobly than they exist, superior things more basely, celestial things favour him, earthly things are vassaled unto him, he is the band of ●oth, neither is it possible but that both of them have peace with him, if he have peace with him who made the covenant between them and him.  
He was made, that he might know the infinite goodness, power, and glory of him who made him, and knowing love, and loving enjoy him, and to hold the Earth of him as of his Lord Paramount.  
How can it be thought that God should give so long life to Trees, Beasts, and the Birds of the Air, being Creatures inferior to Man, which have less use of it, and deny it to him, unless he had prepared another manner of living for him in a place more excellent?  
But O God (said I) had it not been better that for the good of his native Country so (_____) had yet lived? How long will ye (replied he) like the Aunts think there be no fairer palaces than their hills, and like poorblind Moles there is no greater light, than that little which they shun? As if the master of a Camp knew when to remove a Sentinel, and he who placeth Man on this Earth, did not know how long he had need of him? Every one cometh here to act his part of this tragicomedy called Life, which done, the Curtain is drawn, and he removing from the Stage is said to die.  
Most (_____) then (answered I) Death is not such an evil and pain, as it is of the vulgar esteemed? Death (said he) nor painful is nor evil of itself, except in contemplation of the cause of it, being as indifferent as birth: Yet it cannot be denied, but that the uncouthness of it, with the wrong apprehension of what is unknown in it is noisome. But the Soul sustained by its Maker, prepared and calmly retired in itself, doth find that Death (since it is in a moment of time) is but a short, nay sweet sigh, and is not worthy the remembrance compared with the smallest dram of the infinite happiness of this place.  
Here is the Palace roy all of the Almighty King, in which the incomprehensible comprehensibly manifesteth himself; in place highest, in substance not subject to any corruption or change, for it is above all motion, and solid turneth not; in quantity greatest, for if one Star, one Sphere be so vast, how vast, how great must those bounds be which doth them all contain? In quality purest, Heaven here is all but a Sun, or the Sun all but a Heaven, this is the only and true Olympe.  
If to earthlings the footstool of God seemeth so pleasant, of what worth (if they could see) would they hold his Throne? And if the Throne be so wonderful, what is the sight of him for whom and by whom this All was created? Of whose glory to behold the thousand thousand part, the most pure intelligences are fully content, and with wonder and delight stand amazed; for the beauty of his light and the light of his beauty is incomprehensible.  
Here doth that earnest appetite of the understanding pause itself, not seeking to know any more, for it seethe before it in the vision of the divine essence (a mirror in the which not Images or shadows, but the true and perfect essence of all that is, is most vively and perfectly seen) all that can be known, or understood.  
Here is the will stayed, loving that Sovereign Good in whose fruition all good consisteth, and without which can be none.  
Here is a blessed company, every one rejoicing in another and filled with joy of themselves, the happiness of one is the happiness of the whole, as the happiness of the whole is the happiness of every one: and as the company is innumerable, the joy of each one is incomprehensible.  
No silly Mortal confined on that piece of earth, who hath never seen but sorrow, can rightly think of, or be capable to conceive the happiness of this place.  
So many feathers move not on Birds, so many Birds cleave not the Air, so many leaves tremble not on Trees, so many Trees grow not in the wild Forests, so many waves turn not in the Ocean, so many Sands border not those waves; as this Triumphing Court hath variety of delights, and never loathsome pleasures.  
Ambition, Disdain, Malice, Ignorance, Error, Difference of opinions, do not enter this place, resembling the foggy mists which cover those lists of sublunary things.  
Here is Youth without Age, Strength without Weakness, joy without Sorrow, Light without Darkness, Life Without End, Ages do never here expire, Time did never enter.  
All pleasure paragoned with what is here, is grief, all Mirth mourning, all Beauty deformity, here one days abiding is above the continuing in the most Fortunate estate of the Earth many years, and sufficient to countervail the extremest Torments of Life.  
Amongst all the wonders of the great Creator, not one appeareth to be more strange (replied I) then that the dead should arise, Nature denying a regress from privation to a habit.  
Wonders (said he) in a wonderful cause are no wonders, the Author of Nature is not thralled to the Laws of Nature, but worketh with them or contrary as it pleaseth him, unto whom nothing perisheth.  
This world is as a Cabinet, in which the small things (though hid) are nothing less kept than the great. To him who in an instant brought all this All from nought, to bring again in an instant any thing that ever was in it to what it was once, should not be thought impossible: Where the power is without limitation, the work hath no other limitation than the workers Will; Reason herself finds it more possible for infinite power to deliver from itself a finite World, and restore any thing in this world to what it was first, though decayed and dissolved, then for a finite man, to change the form of matter made to his hand.  
The power of God never brought to knowledge all that it can, for than were his infinite power bounded and finite.  
That time doth approach in which the dead shall live, and the living be changed, and of all actions the guerdon is at hand; then shall there be an End without an End, Time shall finish, and Place be altered, and another World of an age Eternal and unchangeable shall arise: With the which (me thought) he vanished, and I did all astonished awake.  
FINIS.