THE CAUSE AND CURE OF A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE; 
 
 TRIANA; OR, A THREEFOLD ROMAKZA. 
 
 *,"> 
 
THE CAUSE AND CURE 
 
 OF 
 
 A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE; 
 
 ALSO 
 
 TRIANA; OR, A THREEFOLD ROMANZA, 
 
 MAEIANA, PADUANA, AND SABINA; 
 ORNITHOLOGIE, OR, THE SPEECH OF BIRDS ; 
 AND ANTHEOLOGIA, OR, THE SPEIJC^ 0'^ FI^WER^ '; '. ' 
 
 THOMAS FULLER, D.D., 
 
 SOME TIME PREBEKDART OF OLD SARDM, 
 
 AND AUTHOR OP 'HISTORY OF THE WORTHIES OF ENGLAND,' 'ABEL BEDIVITPS,' 
 
 ' THE CHtTRCH HISTORY OP BRITAIN,' ETC. ETC. 
 
 LONDON: WILLIAM TEGG. 
 1867. 
 
-r.vJ 
 
 ^ 
 
 c'X C 'c c 
 
 
 unxiAM CLowi.:s and sons, sta^ifohd b-ruEET 
 
 LO-NDON : FEINTED BV ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^_ 
 
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 AND VIRTUOUS LADY 
 
 FRANCES MANNERS, COUNTESS OF RUTLAND. 
 
 Madam, 
 
 By the judicial law of the Jews, if a servant* 
 had children by a wife which was given him by 
 his master, though he himself went forth free in 
 the seventh year, yet his children did remain with 
 his master, as the proper goods of his possession. 
 I ever have been and shall be a servant to that 
 noble family whence your honour is extracted. 
 And of late in that house I have been wedded to 
 the pleasant embraces of a private life, the fittest 
 wife and meetest AeZper that can be provided for 
 a student in troublesome times : and the same 
 hath been bestowed upon me by the bounty of 
 your noble brother, Edward Lord Montague. 
 
 * Exodus xxi. 4. 
 
4 
 
 Wherefore what issue soever shall result from my 
 mind, by his means most happily married to a 
 retked life, must, of due, redound to his Jionour, 
 as the sole proprietary of my pains during my 
 present condition. Now this hooh is my eldest 
 offspring, which had it been a son (I mean, had 
 it been a work of masculine beauty and bigness), 
 it should have waited as a pa^e in dedication to 
 his honour. But finding it to be of the weaker 
 sex, little in strength and low in stature, may it 
 be admitted (madam) to attend on your ladyshij), 
 his honour's sister. 
 
 I need not mind your ladyshi^p how God hath 
 measured outward happiness unto you by the 
 cubit of the sanctuary, of the largest size, so that 
 one would be perplexed to wish more than what 
 your ladyship doth enjoy. My prayer to God 
 shall be, that, shining as a pearl of grace here, 
 you may shiiie as a star in glory hereafter. So 
 resteth 
 
 Your Honour's, 
 
 In all Christian Offices, 
 
 THO. FULLER 
 
 BOUGHTON, 
 
 January 25, 1646. 
 
TO THE CHKISTIAN EEADER. 
 
 As one was not anciently to want a wedding 
 garment at a marriage feast ; so, now-a-days, 
 wilfully to wear gaudy clothes at a funeral, is 
 justly censurable as unsuiting with the occasion. 
 Wherefore, in this sad subject, 1 have endeavoured 
 to decline all light and luxurious expressions ; and 
 if I be found faulty therein, I cry and crave God 
 and the reader pardon. Thus deshing that my 
 pains may prove to the glory of God, thine, and 
 my own edification, I rest, 
 
 Thine in Christ Jesus, 
 
 THO. FULLER. 
 
THE CONTENTS OF THE SEVERAL 
 DIALOGUES. 
 
 PACT! 
 
 Dialogue I. — What a wounded conscience is, wl.erewith the 
 godly and reprobate may he tortured .... 9 
 
 Dialogue II. — What use they are to make thereof, who 
 neither hitherto were (nor haply hereafter shall be) 
 visited with a wounded conscience . . . .13 
 
 DiALOGiE III. — Three solemn seasons when men are sur- 
 prised with wounded consciences . . . . .18 
 
 Dialogue IV. — The great torment of a wounded conscience 
 proved by reasons and examples . . . . .23 
 
 Dl^ogue v.— Sovereign uses to be made of the torment of 
 a wounded conscience . . . . . • .30 
 
 Dialogue VI.— Tl.at in some ca&es more repentance must 
 be preached to a wounded conscience . . . .34 
 
 DoLOGUE VII.— Only Christ is to be applied to souls truly 
 contrite ......••• 39 
 
 Dialogue VIII.— Answers to the objections of a wounded 
 conscience, drawn from the grievousness of his sins . .44 
 
 Dialogue IX.— Answers to the objections of a wounded 
 conscience, drawn from the slightness of his repentance . "sO 
 
 Dialogue X.— Answers to the objections of a wounded con- 
 science, drawn from the feebleness of his faith . . o'.' 
 
 Dlilogue XI.— God alone can satisfy all objections of a 
 wounded conscience .....•• t)'- 
 
 Dialogue XII.— Means to be used by wounded consciences 
 for the recovering of comfort . . . • . bb 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dialogue XIII. — Four wholesome counsels for a wounded 
 conscience to practise 76 
 
 Dialogue XIV. — Comfortable meditations for wounded 
 consciences to muse upon . . . . , .81 
 
 Dialogue XV. — That is not always the greatest sin whereof 
 a man is guilty, wherewith his conscience is most pained 
 for the present . . . . . . . .87 
 
 Dialogue XVI. — Obstructions hindering the speedy flowing 
 of comfort into a troubled soul . . . . .92 
 
 Dialogue XVII. — What is to be conceived of their final 
 estate who die in a wounded conscience without any 
 visible comfort ..... ... 96 
 
 Dialogue XVIII. — Of the different time and manner of the 
 coming of comfort to such who are healed of a wounded 
 conscience . . . . . . . . 103 
 
 Dialogue XIX. — How such who are completely cured of a 
 wounded conscience are to demean themselves . .108 
 
 Dialogue XX. — Wliether one cured of a wounded con- 
 science be subject to a relapse . . . . .113 
 
 Dialogue XXI. — Whether it be lawful to pray for, or to 
 pray against, or to praise God, for a wounded conscience. 117 
 
THE CAUSE AND CURE 
 
 A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 
 
 DIALOGUE I. 
 
 What a wounded Conscience is, whereioith the 
 Godly and Bejprohate may he tortured. 
 
 Timotheus. Seeing tlie best way never to know 
 a wounded conscience by woeful experience, is 
 speedily to know it by a sanctified consideration 
 thereof : give me, I pray you, the description of a 
 wounded conscience, in the highest degree thereof 
 
 Fhilologus. It is a conscience frightened at the 
 sight of sin,* and weight of God's wrath, even 
 unto the despair of all pardon during the present 
 agony. 
 
 Tim. Is there any difference betwixt a hroTien] 
 
 * Psalm xxsviii. G. t Psalm li. 17. 
 
 
 
'40 ^ %/ : Itkk Cause and cuhe of 
 
 • t • * » • 
 
 ' $][ii')iii ^ ^inh', al wp.unclied conscience, in this your 
 
 acception ? 
 
 Phil. Exceeding much : for a IroJcen spirit is 
 to be prayed and laboured for, as the most health- 
 ful and happy temper of the soul, letting in as 
 much comfort as it leaks out sorrow for sin : 
 whereas, a wounded conscience is a miserable 
 malady of the mind, filling it for the present 
 with despair. 
 
 Tim. In this your sense, is not the conscience 
 wounded every time that the soul is smitten with 
 guiltiness for any sin committed ? 
 
 Phil God forbid : otherwise his servants would 
 be in a sad condition, as in the case of David* 
 smitten by his own heart, for being (as he 
 thought) overbold with God's anointed, in cut- 
 ting off the skirt of SauTs garment. Such hurts 
 are presently healed by a plaster of Christ's 
 Hood, applied by faith, and never come to that 
 height to be counted and called wounded eon- 
 sciences. 
 
 Tim. Are the godly, as well as the wicked, 
 subject to the malady ? 
 
 * 1 Sam. xxiv. 5. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 11 
 
 Tliih Yes verily ; vessels of honour as well as 
 vessels of wrath in this world, are subject to the 
 knoclcs and bruises of a wounded conscience. A 
 patient Job, pious David, faithful Paul, may be 
 vexed therewith, no less than a cursed Cain, pei*- 
 fidious Achitophel, or treacherous Judas. 
 
 Tim. What is the difference betwixt a ivounded 
 conscience in the godly, and in the reprobate ? 
 
 Phil. None at all; oft times in the parties' 
 apprehensions, both for the time being, conceiving 
 their estates equally desperate ; little, if any, hi 
 the wideness and anguish of the wound itself, 
 which, for the time, may be as tedious and tor- 
 turing in the godly as in the wiched. 
 
 Tim. How then do they differ ? 
 
 Fhil. Exceeding much in God's intention, 
 gashing the wiched, as malefactors, out of justice, 
 but lancing the godly, out of love, as a surgeon his 
 patients. Likewise they differ in the issue and 
 event of the ivound, which ends in the eternal 
 confusion of the one, but in the correction and 
 amendment of the other. 
 
 Tim, Some have said, that in the midst of 
 their pain, by this marJc they may be distin- 
 
12 THE CAUSE AND CUEE OF 
 
 guished ; because the godly, when wounded, com- 
 plain most of tlieir sins, and the ivicked of their 
 sufferings. 
 
 Phil I have heard as much ; but dare not lay 
 too much stress on this slender sign, (to make it 
 generally true) for fear of failing. For sorrow 
 for sin, and sorrow for suffering, are oft times 
 so twisted and interwoven in the same person, 
 yea in the same sigh and groan, that sometimes 
 it is impossible for the party himself to separate 
 and divide them in his own sense and feeling, as 
 to know which proceeds from the one and which 
 from the other. Only the all-seeing eije of an 
 infinite God is able to discern and distinguish 
 them. 
 
 Tim. Inform me concerning the nature of 
 wounded consciences in the wiched. 
 
 Phil. Excuse me herein : I remember a ^passage 
 in S. Augustine,* who inquired what might be 
 the cause that the fall of the angels is not plainly 
 set down in the Old Testament with the manner 
 
 * Angelicum vulnus verus medicus qualiter factum sit indicare 
 noJuit, dura illud podea curare non desUnavit De Mirab. Scrip, 
 lib. i. c. 2. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 13 
 
 and circumstances thereof, resolves it thus : God, 
 like a ivise surgeon, would not o^en that wound 
 which he never intended to cure. Of whose words, 
 thus far I make use, that as it was not according 
 to God's pleasure to restore the devils ; so, it 
 being above man's power to cure a ivounded 
 conscience in the wicked, I will not meddle with 
 that which I cannot mend : only will insist on a 
 wounded conscience in God's children, where, by 
 God's blessing, one may be the instrument to give 
 some ease and remedy unto their disease. 
 
 DIALOGUE II. 
 
 What use they are to make thereof, who neither 
 hitherto were, nor ha^ly hereafter shall he, visited 
 U'ith a wounded Conscience. 
 
 Tim. Are all God's children, either in their 
 life or at their death, visited with a wounded 
 conscience f 
 
 Phil. no. God invites many with his golden 
 scejptre, whom he never bruises with his rod of 
 iron. Many, neither in their conversion, nor in 
 
14 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 the sequel of tlieir lives, have ever felt that ]pai7i 
 m such a manner and measure as amounts to a 
 ivounded conscience. 
 
 Tim. Must not the jpanc/s in their travail of the 
 oieiv hirth be painful unto them ? 
 
 Phil. Painful, but in different degrees. The 
 Blessed Virgin Mary (most hold) was delivered 
 without any pain ; as well may that child be horn 
 without sorrow, which is conceived without sin. 
 The women of Israel were sprightful and lively, 
 unlike the Egy])tians.^ The former favour, none 
 can have, in their spiritual travail; the latter, 
 some receive, who, though other whiles tasting of 
 legal frights and fears, yet God so preventetk\ 
 them with his hlessings of goodness, that they smart 
 not so deeply therein as other men. 
 
 Tim. Who are those which commonly have 
 such gentle usage in their conversion ? 
 
 Fhil. Generally such who never were notoriously 
 profane, and have had the benefit of godly educa- 
 tion from pious parents. In some corporations, 
 the sons of freemen, bred under their fathers in 
 their profession, may set up and exercise their 
 * Exod. i. 19. t Psalm xxL 3. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 15 
 
 fatliers trade, without ever being bound apprentices 
 thereunto. Such children whose 'parents have 
 been citizens of new Jerusalem,* and have been 
 bred in the mystery of godliness, oftentimes are 
 entered into religion without any spirit of hondage 
 seizing upon them, a great benefit and rare 
 blessing where God in his goodness is pleased to 
 bestow it. 
 
 Tim. What may be the reason of God's dealing 
 so differently with his own servants, that some of 
 them are so deeply, and others not at all afflicted 
 with a ivoimded conscience 9 
 
 Phil Even so, Father, because it pleaseth thee. 
 Yet in humility these reasons may be assigned. 
 1. To show himself a free agent, not confined to 
 follow the same precedent, and to deal with all as 
 he doth with some. 2. To render the prospect of 
 his proceedings the more pleasant to their sight 
 who judiciously survey it, when they meet with 
 so much diversity and variety therein. 3. That 
 men being both ignorant when, and uncertain 
 whether or not God will visit them with ivounded 
 consciences, may wait on him with humble hearts 
 * Gal. iv. 26 ; Eph. ii. 19 ; Heb. xii. 22. 
 
16 THE CAUSE AND CUEE OF 
 
 in the work of their salvation, looMng as the eyes 
 of the servants* to receive orders from the hand 
 of their master ; but what, when, and how, they 
 know not, which quickens their daily expectations 
 and diligent dependence on his pleasure. 
 
 Tim. I am one of those, whom God hitherto 
 hath not humbled with a wounded conscience : give 
 me some instructions for my behaviour. 
 
 Fhil. First, be heartily thankful to God's infinite 
 goodness, who hath not dealt thus with every one. 
 Now because rejpentance hath two parts, mourning 
 and mending, or humiliation and reformation, the 
 more God hath abated thee in the former, out of 
 his gentleness, the more must thou increase in the 
 latter, out of thy gratitude. What thy humiliation 
 hath wanted of other men, in the dej^th thereof, 
 let thy reformation make up in the breadth thereof, 
 spreading into an universal obedience unto all God's 
 commandments. Well may he expect more work 
 to be done by thy hands, who hath laid less weight 
 to be borne on thy shoulders. 
 
 Tim. What other use must I make of God's 
 kindness unto me ? 
 
 * Psalm cxxiii. 2. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 17 
 
 Phil. You are bound the more patiently to bear 
 all God's rods, poverty, sickness, disgrace, caiMvity, 
 ^c, seeing God bath freed thee from the stinging 
 scorpion of a ivounded conscience. 
 
 Tim. How shall I demean myself for the time 
 to come ? 
 
 Fliil. Be not high-minded, but fear ; for thou 
 canst not infallibly infer, that because thou hast 
 not hitherto, hereafter thou shalt not, taste of a 
 wounded conscience. 
 
 Tim. I will therefore for the future, with con- 
 tinual fear, wait for the coming thereof. 
 
 Fhil. Wait not for it with servile fear, but 
 watch ao-ainst it with constant carefulness. There 
 is a slavish fear to be visited with a wounded 
 conscience, which fear is to be avoided, for it is 
 opposite to the free spu'it of grace, derogatoiy to 
 the goodness of God in his gospel, destructive to 
 spiritual joy, which we ought always to have, and 
 dangerous to the soul, wrecking it wit-h anxieties 
 and unworthy suspicions. Thus to fear a wounded 
 conscience, is in part to feel it, antedating one's 
 misery and tormenting himself before the time, 
 seeking for that he would be loth to find : Hke 
 
18 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 the wicked in tlie Gospel,* of whom it is said, mens 
 hearts failing them for fear, and loohing for those 
 things which are coming. Far be such d^fear from 
 thee, and all good Christians. 
 
 Tim. What fear then is it, that you so lately 
 recommended unto me ? 
 
 Fhil. One, consisting in the cautious avoiding 
 of all causes and occasions of a wounded conscience 
 conjoined with a confidence in God's goodness, 
 that he will either preserve us from, or protect us 
 in the torture thereof ; and if he ever sends it, 
 will sanctify it in us, to his glory, and our good. 
 May T, you, and all God's servants, ever have this 
 noble fear (as I may term it) in our hearts. 
 
 DIALOGUE III. 
 
 Three solemn Seasons when Men are surprised 
 with wounded Consciences. 
 
 Tim. What are those times, wherein men most 
 
 commonly are assaulted with wounded consciences ? 
 
 Fhil. So bad a guest may visit a man at any 
 
 * Luke xxi. 26. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 
 
 19 
 
 hour of his life ; for no season is unseasonable for 
 God to be just, Satan to be mischievous, and 
 sinful man to be miserable; yet it happens 
 especially at three principal times. 
 Tim. Of these, which is the first ? 
 Phil In the twilight of a man's conversion, in 
 the very conflict and combat betwixt nature and 
 initial grace. For then he that formerly slept in 
 carnal security, is awakened with his fearful 
 condition. God, as he saith. Psalm 1. 21, setteth Ms 
 sins in order before Ms eyes. Imprimis, the sin of 
 his conception. Item, the sins of his childhood. 
 Item, of his youth. Item, of his man's estate, &c. 
 Or, ImiJrimis, sins against the first table. Item, 
 sins against the second ; so many of ignorance, so 
 many of knowledge, so many of presumption, 
 severally sorted by themselves. He committed 
 sins confusedly, huddling them up in heaps ; but 
 God sets them in order, and methodizes them to 
 his hand. 
 
 Tiw.. Sins thus set in order must needs be a 
 terrible sight. 
 
 Phil. Yes surely, the rather because the meta- 
 phor may seem taken from setting an army in 
 
5^0 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 battle array. At tliis conflict in liis first conver- 
 sion, heliold a troop of sins ccmeth, and when God 
 himself shall marslial them in ranJc and file, what 
 guilty conscience is able to endure the furious 
 charge of so great and well-ordered an army ? 
 
 Tim. Suppose the party dies before he be com- 
 pletely converted, in this twilight condition as you 
 term it, what then becomes of his soul, which may 
 seem too good to dwell in outer darkness with 
 devils, and too bad to go to the God of light ? 
 
 Phil. Your suiDposition is impossible. Eemem- 
 ber our discourse only concerns the godly. Now 
 God never is father to abortive children, but to 
 such who, according to his appointment, shall come 
 to perfection. 
 
 TijTi. Can they not therefore die in this in- 
 terim, before the worJi of grace be wrought in 
 them? 
 
 Phil. No verily. Christ's bones were in them 
 selves breakable, but could not actually be broken 
 by all the violence in the world, because God hath 
 fore-decreed, a hone of him shall not he hrohen. So 
 we confess God's childi-en mortal ; but all the 
 power of devil or man may not, must not, shall 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 21 
 
 not, cannot, kill them before their conversion, 
 according to God's election of them to life, which 
 must be fully accomplished. 
 
 Tim. What is the second solemn time wherein 
 wounded consciences assault men ? 
 
 Fhil. After their conversion completed, and 
 this either upon the committing of a conscience- 
 wasting sin, such as Tertidlian calls loeccatum 
 devoratorium scdutis, or upon the undergoing of 
 some heavy affliction of a bigger standard and 
 proportion, blacker hue and complexion, than 
 what befalls ordinary men, as in the case of Job. 
 
 Tim. Wliich is the third, and last time, when 
 wounded consciences commonly walk abroad ? 
 
 Phil When men lie on their death-beds, Satan 
 must now roar, or else for ever hold his peace : 
 roar he may afterwards with very anger to vex 
 himself, not with any hope to hurt us. There is 
 mention in Scriioture of an evil day, which is most 
 applicable to the time of our death. We read also 
 of an hour of temptation ;* and the prophet t tells 
 us there is a moment, wherein God may seem to 
 forsahe us. Now Satan being no less cunning to 
 * Eev. iii. 10. f Isa. Iviii. 7. 
 
22 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 find out, tliaii careful to make use of his time of 
 advantage, in that moment of that hour of that daij, 
 will put hard for our souls, and we must expect a 
 shrewd parting blow from him. 
 
 Tim. Your doleful prediction disheartens me, 
 for fear I may be foiled in my last encounter. 
 
 Fhil. Be of good comfort: through Christ we 
 shall be victorious, both in dying and in death 
 itself. Kemember God's former favours bestowed 
 upon thee. Indeed wicked men, from the premises 
 of God's power, collect a conclusion of his weak- 
 ness, Fsahn Ixxviii. 20. Beliold he smote the rock, 
 that the waters gushed out, and the streams over- 
 flowed: can he give bread also? can he provide 
 flesh for his 2^eo2^^e ? But God's children * by 
 better logic, from the prepositions of God's former 
 preservations, infer his power and pleasure to 
 protect them for the future. Be assured, that 
 hGod, who hath been the God of the mountains, 
 and made our mountains strong in time of our 
 ^prosperity, will also be the God of the valleys, 
 and lead us safe through the valley of the shadow 
 of death.'\ 
 
 * 1 Sam. xvii 36 ; 2 Cor. i. 10. f Psalm xxxiii. 4. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 23 
 
 DIALOGUE lY. 
 
 The great Torment of a wounded Conscience, proved 
 hy Reasons and Examples. 
 
 Tim. Is the pain of a ivounded conscience so 
 great as is pretended ? 
 
 FliU. God * saith it, we have seen it, and others 
 have felt it, whose complaints savour as little of 
 dissimulation, as their cries in a fit of the cholic do 
 of counterfeiting. 
 
 Tim. Whence comes this wound to be so great 
 and orrievous? 
 
 Phil. Six reasons may be assigned thereof. The 
 first di-awn from the heaviness of the hand which 
 makes the wound; namely, God himself, con- 
 ceived under the notion of an infinite angry judge. 
 In aU other afflictions, man encounters only with 
 man, and in the worst temptations, only with 
 Satan ; but in a ivounded conscience, he enters the 
 lists immediately with God himself. 
 
 Tim. Whence is the second reason brought ? 
 
 Fhil. From the sharpness t of the sword, where- 
 
 * Prov. xviii. 14. t Heb. iv. 12. 
 
24 THE CA.USB AND CURE OP 
 
 with the wound is made, being the word of God, 
 y and the keen threat enings of the law therein con- 
 tained. There is mention, Gen. iii. 24, of a sword 
 ; turning every way : parallel whereto is the word of 
 God in a wounded conscience. Man's heart is full 
 of windings, turnings, and doublings, to shift and 
 shun the stroke thereof if possible ; but this sword 
 meets them wheresoever they move — it fetches 
 and finds them out — it haunts and hunts them, 
 forbidding them, during their agony, any entrance 
 into the paradise of one comfortable thought. 
 Tim. Whence is the third reason derived ? 
 Phil. From the tenderness of the part itself 
 which is wounded ; the conscience being one of the 
 eyes of the soul, sensible of the smallest hurt. And 
 when that callum, schirrus, or incrustation, drawn 
 over it by nature, and hardened by custom in sin, is 
 once flayed off, the conscience becomes so pliant 
 and supple, that the least imaginable touch is 
 painful unto it. 
 
 Tim. What is the fourth reason ? 
 Phil. ThefoUy of the patient : who being stung, 
 hath not the wisdom to look up to Chi'ist, the 
 brazen serpent, but torments himself with his own 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 25 
 
 activity. It was threatened to Pashur* Iivill make 
 thee a terror to^ thyself. So fares it with God's best 
 saint during the fit of his perplexed conscience ; he 
 hears his own voice — he thinks, this is that which 
 so often hath sworn, lied, talked vainly, wantonly, 
 wickedly ; his voice is a terror to himself. He sees 
 his own eyes in a glass^-he presently apprehends, 
 these are those which shot forth so many envious, 
 covetous, amorous glances ; his eyes are a terror to 
 himself. Sheep are observed to fly without cause, 
 scared (as some say) with the sound of their own 
 feet. Their feet knack, because they fly, and they 
 fly, because their feet knack, an emblem of God's 
 children in a wounded conscience, self-fearing, self- 
 frightened. 
 
 Tim. What is the fifth reason which makes the 
 pain so great ? 
 
 Phil. Because Satan rakes his claivs in the reek- 
 ing Hood of a wounded conscience. Beelzebuh, the 
 deviTs name, signifies in Hebrew the Lord of flies ; 
 which excellently intimates his nature and employ- 
 ment : flies take their felicity about sores and 
 galled hacks, to infest and inflame them : So Satan 
 * Jer. XX. 4. 
 
 D 
 
26 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 no sooner discovers (and that hird of prei/ hath 
 qtcick siglit) a soul terror-struck, but thither he 
 hastes, and is busy to keep the ivound raw — there 
 he is in his throne to do mischief. 
 
 Tim. What is the sixth and last reason why a 
 wounded conscience is so great a torment ? 
 
 Fliil. Because of the impotency and invalidity of 
 all earthly receipts to give ease thereunto. For 
 there is such a gulf of disproportion betwixt a 
 mind-malady and body-medicines, that no carnal, 
 corporal comforts can effectually work there- 
 upon. 
 
 Tim. Yet wine in this case is prescribed in scrip- 
 ture. Give wine to the heavy hearted, that they 
 may remember their misery no more.* 
 
 Phil. Indeed if the wound be in the spirits, 
 those cursitors betwixt soul and body, to recover 
 their decay or consumption, wine may usefully be 
 applied: but if the wound be in the spirit, in 
 scripture phrase, all carnal, corporal comforts are 
 utterly in vain. 
 
 Tim. Methinks merry company should do much 
 to 1 afresh him. 
 
 * Prov. xxxi. G. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 27 
 
 Phil. Alas ! a man shall no longer be welcome 
 in merry co7nj)ani/ than he is able to sing his part 
 in their jovial concert. When a hunted deer runs 
 for safeguard amongst the rest of the herd, they 
 will not admit him into their company, but beat 
 beat him off with their horns, out of principles of 
 self-preservation, for fear the hounds, in pursuit of 
 him, fall on them also. So hard it is for man or 
 beast in misery, to find a faithful friend. In like 
 manner, when a set of had-good-feUows perceive 
 one of their society dogged with God's terrors at 
 his heels, they will forsake him as soon as they 
 can, preferring his room, and declining his com- 
 pany, lest his sadness prove infectious to them- 
 selves. And now, if all six reasons be put toge- 
 ther, so heavy a hand, smiting with so sharjp a 
 sword on so tender a part of so foolish a patient, 
 whilst Satan seeJis to widen, and no ivorldly plaster 
 can cure the ivound, it sufficiently proves a wounded 
 conscience to be an exquisite torture. 
 
 Tim. Give me I pray an example hereof. 
 
 Phil. ^Yhen Adam had eaten the forhidden fruit 
 he tarried a time in Paradise, but took no content- 
 ment therein. The sun did shine as hright, tlie 
 
28 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 rivers ran as clear as ever before, hirds sang as 
 siveetly, leasts played as pleasantly, flowers smelled 
 as fragrant, herhs grew as fresh, fruits flourished 
 eiS fair, no punctilio of pleasure was either altered 
 ^ or abated. The ohjects were the same, but Adam's 
 eyes were otherwise, his nakedness stood in his light ; 
 a thorn of guiltiness grew in his heart before any 
 thistles sprang out of the ground ; which made him 
 not to seek for the fairest fruits to fill his hunger, 
 but the higgest leaves to cover his nakedness. Thus 
 a wounded conscience is able to unparadise Paradise 
 itself. 
 
 Tim, Give me another instance. 
 
 Fhil. Christ Jesus our Saviour : he was blinded, 
 buffeted, scourged, scoffed at, had his hands and 
 feet nailed on the cross, and all this while said 
 nothing. But no sooner apprehended he his 
 Father deserting him, groaning under the burthen 
 of the sins of mankind imputed unto him, but pre- 
 sently the Lamh (who hitherto was dumh lefore 
 his shearer, and opened not his mouth) for pain 
 began to bleat. My God, my God, why hast thou 
 forsaken me ? 
 
 Tim. Why is a wounded conscience by David 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 29 
 
 resembled to arrows: thine arrows stich fast in 
 me?* 
 
 Phil Because an arrow, especially if barbed, 
 rakes and rends the flesli the more, the more metal 
 the wounded party hath to strive and struggle with 
 it: and a guiltij conscience pierces the deeper, 
 whilst a stout stomach with might and main seeks 
 to outwrestle it. 
 
 Tim. May not a tvounded conscience also work on 
 the body to hasten and heighten the sickness 
 thereof? 
 
 Phil. Yes verily, so that there may be employ- 
 ment for LuJce, the beloved physician* (if the same 
 person with the Evangelist) to exercise both his 
 professions : but we meddle only with the malady 
 of the mind, abstracted from any bodily indispo- 
 sition. 
 
 * Psalin xxxviii. 2. f Col. iv. 14. 
 
30 . THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 DIALOGUE y. 
 
 Sovereign Uses to he made of the Torment of a 
 wounded Conscience. 
 
 Tim. Seeing the torture of a wounded conscience 
 is so great, what use is to be made thereof? 
 
 Phil. Very much. And first, it may make men 
 sensible of the intolerable pain in hellfre. If the 
 mouth of the fieri/ furnace into which the children 
 were cast, was so hot that it burnt those which 
 approached it, how hot was the furnace itself? If 
 a wounded conscience, the suhurhs of hell, be so 
 painful, oh how extreme is that place, where the 
 ivorm never dieth, and the fire is never quenched ? 
 
 Tim. Did our roaring hoys (as they call them) 
 but seriously consider this, they would not wish 
 God Damn Them, and God Confound Them so 
 frequently as they do. 
 
 Fhil. No verily. I read in Theodoret of the 
 ancient Donatists, that they were so ambitious of 
 martyrdom, (as they ' accounted it) that many of 
 them meeting with a young gentleman requested 
 of him that he would be pleased to kill them. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 31 
 
 He, to confute their folly, condescended to their 
 desire, on condition, that first they would submit 
 to be fast bound: which being done, he gave 
 order that they should be severely scourged, and 
 then saved their lives. In application : When I 
 hear such riotoiis youths wish that God would 
 damn or confound them, I hope God will be more 
 merciful than to take them at their words, and to 
 grant them their wish ; only I heartily desii-e that 
 he would be pleased sharply to scourge them, and 
 soundly to lash them with the frights and terrors 
 of a icounded conscience. And I doubt not^ but 
 that they would so ill like the pain thereof, that 
 they would revoke their wishes, as having little 
 list, and less delight to taste of heU hereafter. 
 
 Tim. What other use is to be made of the pain 
 of a wounded conscience ? 
 
 Phil. To teach us seasonably to prevent what 
 we cannot possibly endure. Let us shun the 
 smallest sin, lest if we slight and neglect it, it by 
 degrees fester and gangrene into a wounded 
 conscience. One of the bravest s;pirits * that ever 
 
 * Sir Thomas Norris, president of Munster, ex levi vulnere 
 neglecto suhlatus. Camden's Elizab. An. 1641. 
 
32 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 England bred, or Ireland buried, lost bis life by a 
 s%ht hurt neglected, as if it bad been beneath 
 bis bigb mind to stoop to the dressing thereof, till 
 it was too late. Let us take heed the stoutest of 
 us be not so served in our souls. If we repent 
 not presently of our sins committed, bat carelessly 
 contemn them, a scratch may quickly prove an 
 ■ulcer ; the rather, because the flesh of our mind, 
 if I may so use the metaphor, is hard to heal, full 
 of choleric and corrupt humours, and very ready 
 to rankle. 
 
 Tim. What else may we gather for our instruc- 
 tion from the torture of a troubled mind ? 
 
 Phil. To confute their cruelty, who out of sport 
 or spite, willingly and wittingly wound weak 
 consciences ; like those uncharitable Corinthians* 
 who so far improve their liberty in things indif- 
 ferent, as thereby to wound the consciences of their 
 weak brethren. 
 
 Tim, Are not those ministers to blame, who, 
 mistaking their message, instead of bringing the 
 gos]^el oi]peace, frighten people with legal terrors 
 into despair ? 
 
 * 1 Cor. viii. 12. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 33 
 
 Phil. I cannot commend their discretion, yet 
 will not. condemn their intention herein. No 
 doubt their desire and design is pious, though they 
 err in the pursuit and prosecution thereof, casting 
 down them whom they cannot raise, and conjuring 
 up the sinrit of honclage which they cannot allay 
 again : wherefore it is our wisest way, to inter- 
 weave promises with threatenings, and not to 
 leave open a pit of despair, but to cover it again 
 with comfort. 
 
 Tim. Kemaineth there not as yet another use 
 of this point ? 
 
 Fhil. Yes, to teach us to pity and pray for 
 those that have afflicted consciences, not like the 
 wicked, who persecute those whom God hath 
 smitten, and talk to the grief of such whom he hath 
 wounded.* 
 
 Tim. Yet Eli was a good man, who notwith- 
 standing censured Hannah,] a woman of a sorrow- 
 ful spirit, to be drunk with wine. 
 
 Phil. Imitate not Mi in committing, but 
 amending his fault. Indeed his dim eyes could 
 see drunkenness in Hannah where it was not, and 
 * Psalm Ixix. 26. t 1 Sam. i. 13, 14. 
 
i 
 
 34 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 could not see sacrilege and adulterij in his own 
 sons, where they were. Thus those who are most 
 indulgent to their owti, are most censorious of 
 other's sins. But Eli afterwards perceiving his 
 error, turned the condemning of Hannah into 
 praying for her. In like manner, if in our passion 
 we have prejudiced, or injured any wounded 
 consciences, in cold blood let us make them the 
 best amends and reparation. 
 
 DIALOGUE VI. 
 
 That in some Cases more Repentance must he 
 l^reached to a wounded Conscience. 
 
 Tim, So much for the malady, now for the 
 remedy. Suppose you come to a wounded con- 
 science, what counsel will you prescribe him ? 
 
 Fhil. If after hearty prayer to God for his 
 direction, he appeareth unto me, as yet, not truly 
 penitent, in the first place I will press a deeper 
 degree of repentance upon him. 
 
 Tim. O miserable comforter ! more sorrow still ! 
 Take heed your eyes be not put out with that 
 

 A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 35 
 
 smoking flax^;^^ seek to quench, and your 
 ngers tvounded with the splinters of that bruised 
 y^eed you go about to break. '- -— 
 
 V .iB^~" understand me, Sir. Better were my 
 
 tongue spit out of my mouth, than to utter a 
 word of grief to drive them to despair, who are 
 truly contrite. But on the other side, I shall 
 betray my trust, and be found an unfaithful dis- 
 penser of divine mysteries, to apply comfort to him 
 who is not ripe and ready for it. 
 Tim. What harm would it do ? 
 Phil. Kaise him for the present, and ruin him, 
 without Gods greater mercy, for the future. For 
 comfort daubed on, on a foul soul, will not stick 
 long upon it : and instead of pouring in, I shall 
 spill the precious oil of God's mercy. Yea, I 
 may justly bring a wounded conscience upon my- 
 self, for dealing deceitful in my steimrdsMjp. 
 
 Tim. Is it possible one may not be soundly 
 humbled, and yet have a wounded conscience. 
 
 Phil. Most possible ; for a ivounded conscience is 
 often inflicted as a punishment for lack of true 
 repentance: great is the difference betwixt a 
 man's being frightened at, and humbled for, his 
 
36 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 sins. One may passively be cast down by God's 
 terrors, and yet not willingly throw himself down 
 as he ought at God's footstool. 
 
 Tim. Seeing his pain is so pitiful as you have 
 formerly proved ; why would you add more grief 
 unto him ? 
 
 Phil. I would not add grief to him, but alter 
 grief in him ; making his sorrow, not greater, but 
 better. I would endeavour to change his dismal, 
 doleftd dejection, his hideous and horrible heavi- 
 ness, his bitter exclamations, which seem to me 
 much mixed in him, with pride, impatience, and 
 impenitence, into a willing submission to God's 
 pleasure, and into a kindly, gentle, tender, gospel 
 repentance, for his sins. 
 
 Tim. But there are some now-a-days who main- 
 tain that a child of God, after his first conversion, 
 needs not any new repentance for sin all the days 
 of his life. 
 
 Fliil. They defend a grievous and dangerous 
 error. Consider what two petitions Christ couples 
 together in his ^prayer. When my body, which 
 every day is hungry, can live without God's giving 
 it daily bread, then and no sooner shall I believe 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 37 
 
 that my soul, which daily siuneth, can spiritually 
 live, without G^odi's forgiving it its tresspasses. 
 
 Tim. But such allege, in proof of their opinion, 
 that a man hath his person justified before God, 
 not by pieces and parcels, but at once and for 
 ever in his conversion. 
 
 FMl. This being granted doth not favour their 
 error. We confess God finished the creation of 
 the world, and all therein in six days, and then 
 rested from that work ; yet so, that his daily pre- 
 serving of all things by his providence, may still 
 be accounted a constant and continued creation. 
 We acknowledge in like manner, a child of God 
 justified at once in his conversion, when he is fully 
 U^nd freely estated in God's favour. And yet, see 
 NJ/ng every daily sin by him committed, is an- 
 aversion from God, and his daily repentance a 
 conversion to God, his justification in this respect 
 may be conceived entirely continued all the days 
 of his life. 
 
 Tim. What is the difference bet^nxt the first 
 repentance, and this renewed repentance ? 
 
 Fliil. The former is as it were the putting of 
 life into a dead man, the latter, the recovering of a 
 
38 THE CAUSE AND CUEE OF 
 
 sick man from a dangerous wound : by the former, 
 sight to the blind is simply restored, and eyes 
 given him ; in the latter, only a film is removed, 
 drawn over the eyes, and hindering their actual 
 sight. By the first, we have a right title to the 
 kingdom of Heaven : by our second repentance, 
 we have a new claim to Heaven, by virtue of our 
 old title. Thus these two kinds of repentance 
 may be differenced and distinguished, though 
 otherwise they meet and agree in general qualities : 
 both having sin for their cause, sorrow for their 
 companion, and pardon for their consequent and 
 effect. 
 
 Tim. But do not Grod's children after com- 
 mitting grievous sins, and before their renewing 
 their repentance, remain still heirs of Heaven, 
 married to Clirist, and citizens of the new Jeru- 
 salem ? 
 
 Phil. Heirs of Heaven they are, but disinheri- 
 table for their misdemeanour. Married still to 
 Christ, but deserving to be divorced for their 
 adulteries. Citizens of Heaven, but yet outlawed, 
 so that they can recover no right, and receive no 
 benefit, till then- outlawry be reversed. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 39 
 
 Tim. Where doth God in Scripture enjoin this 
 second repentance on his own children? 
 
 Phil In several places. He threatens the 
 church of Ejphesus (the best of the seven) with 
 removing the candlesticJc from them, except they 
 repent :* and Christ tells his own disciples, true 
 converts before, but then guilty of ambitious 
 thoughts, that except ye he converted ye shall not 
 enter into the kingdom of Heaven. "t Here is con- 
 version after conversion, being a solemn turning 
 from some particular sin ; in relation to which it 
 is not absurd to say, that there is justification 
 after justification ; the latter as following in time, 
 so flowing from the former. 
 
 DIALOGUE yil. 
 Only Christ is to he applied to Souls truly contrite. 
 
 Tim. But suppose the person in the minister's 
 apprehension heartily humbled for sin, what then 
 is to be done ? 
 
 Phil. No corrosives, all cordials ; no vinegar 
 
 * Kev. ii. 5- f Mat. xviii. 3. 
 
40 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 all oil ; no law, all gospel must be presented unto 
 him. Here, blessed the lips, yea beautiful the feet 
 of him that bringeth the tidings of feace. As 
 EUsha,* when reviving the son of the Shunamite, 
 laid his mouth to the mouth of the child, so the 
 gaping orifice of Christ's wounds must spiritually, 
 by preaching, be put close to the mouth of the 
 wounds of a conscience : happy that skilful architect 
 that can show the sick man that the head stone t 
 of his spiritual building must be laid with shouts, 
 crying, grace, grace. 
 
 Tim. Which do you count the head stone of the 
 building, that which is first or last laid ? 
 
 Phil. The foundation is the head stone in 
 honour, the to'p stone is the head stone in height. 
 The former the head stone in strength, the latter 
 in stature. It seemeth that God's spirit, of set 
 purpose made use of a doubtful word, to show that 
 the whole fabric of our salvation, whether as 
 founded, or as finished, is the only work of God's 
 grace alone. Christ is the al])ha and omega 
 thereof, not excluding all the letters in the alpha- 
 bet interposed. 
 
 * 2 Kings iv. 34. t Zech. iv. 7. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 41 
 
 Tim. How must the minister preach Christ to 
 an afflicted conscience ? 
 
 Phil. He must crucify him before his eyes, 
 lively setting him forth ; naked, to clothe him ; 
 wounded, to cure him ; dying, to save him. He 
 is to expound and explain unto him, the dignity 
 of his person, preciousness of his blood, plenteous- 
 ness of his mercy, in all those loving relations 
 wherein the scripture presents him : a kind /af/ier 
 to a prodigal cliild, a careful hen to a scattered 
 chicken, a good shepherd that bringeth his lost 
 sheep back on his shoulders. 
 
 Tim. Spare me one question, why doth he not 
 drive the sheep before him, especially seeing it 
 was lively enough to lose itself. — 
 
 Fhil. First, because though it had wildness too 
 much to go astray, it had not wisdom enough to go 
 right. Secondly, because probably the silly sheep 
 had tired itself with wandring; Hahahuk ii. 13, 
 " The people shall weary themselves for very vanity^'' 
 and therefore the kind shepherd brings it home 
 on his own shoulders. 
 
 Tim. Pardon my interruption, and proceed, how 
 Christ is to be held forth. 
 
 £ 
 
42 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 Phil. The latitude and extent of his love, his 
 invitation without exception, are powerfully to be 
 pressed ; every one that thirstetJi, all ye that are heavy 
 laden, whosoever helieveth, and the many promises 
 of mercy are effectually to be tendered unto 
 him. 
 
 Tim. Where are those promises in scripture f 
 
 Phil. Or rather, where are they not ? for they 
 are harder to be missed than to be met with. 
 Open the Bible (as he who drew his bow in 
 battle*) at a venture. If thou lightest on an 
 historical jplace, behold precedents ; if on a doc- 
 trinal, promises of comfort. For the latter, ob- 
 serve these particulars; Gen. iii. 15, Exo. xxxiii. 6, 
 Isa. xL 1, Isa. liv. 11, 3Iat. xi. 28, Mat. xii. 20, 
 1 Cor. X. 13, Heh. xiii. 5, &c. 
 
 Tim. Are these more principal places of conso- 
 lation than any other in the Bible 9 
 
 Phil. I know there is no choosing, where all 
 things are choicest. Whosoever shall select some 
 pearls out of such a heap, shall leave behind as 
 precious as any he takes, both in his own and 
 others' judgment : yea, which is more, the same 
 
 * 1 Kings xxii. 34. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 43 
 
 man at several times may in his apprehension 
 prefer several promises as best, formerly most 
 affected with one place, for the present more 
 delighted with another : and afterwards con- 
 ceiving comfort therein not so clear, choose other 
 places as more pregnant and pertinent to his 
 purpose. Thus God orders it, that divers men 
 (and perchance the same man at diffei-ent times) 
 make use of all his promises, gleaning and 
 gathering comfort, not only in one furrow, land, 
 or furlong, but as it is scattered clean through the 
 whole field of the serif hire, 
 
 Tim. Must ministers have variety of several 
 comfortable promises ? 
 
 FJiil. Yes, surely : such masters of the assemhly 
 being to enter and fasten consolation in an afflicted 
 soul, need have matiy nails provided beforehand, 
 that if some, for the present, chance to drive 
 untowardly, as splitting, going awry, turned 
 crooked or blunt, they may have others in the 
 room thereof. 
 
 Tim. But grant Christ held out never so plain- 
 ly, pressed never so powerfully, yet all is in vain, 
 except God inwardly with his spirit persuade the 
 
44 THE CAUSE AND CUBE OF 
 
 wounded conscience to believe the truth of what 
 lie saith. 
 
 Phil. This is an undoubted truth, for one may 
 lay the bread of life on their trencher, and cannot 
 force them to feed on it. One may bring them 
 down to the s]pring of life, but cannot make them 
 drink of the waters thereof : and therefore in the 
 cure of a wounded conscience, God is all in all, only 
 the touch of his hand can heal this king's evil, I 
 Mil and make alive, I wound and I heal, neither is 
 there any that can deliver out of my hand* 
 
 DIALOGUE VIII. 
 
 Ansicers to the ohjections of a wounded Conscience 
 drawn from the grievousness of his sins. 
 
 Tim. Give me leave now, Sir, to personate and 
 represent a wounded conscience, and to allege and 
 enforce such principal objection wherewith gene- 
 rally they are grieved. 
 
 Fhil. With all my heart, and God bless my 
 endeavours in answering them. 
 * Deut. xxxii. 39. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 45 
 
 Tim. But first I would be satisfied how it comes 
 to pass that men in a wounded conscience have 
 their parts so presently improved. The Jews did 
 question concerning om- Saviour, Eoiv Jcnoiveth 
 this man letters heing never learned* But here the 
 doubt and difficulty is greater. How come sim;ple 
 people so subtle on a sudden, to oppose with that 
 advantage and vehemence, that it would puzzle a 
 good and grave divine to answer them. 
 
 Fhil. Two reasons may be rendered thereof. 
 1. Because a man in a distemper is stronger than 
 when he is in his perfect health. What Samsons 
 are some in the fit of a fever f Then their spirits, 
 being raised by the violence of then- disease, push 
 with all their power. So is it in the agony of a 
 distressed soul, every string thereof is strained to 
 the height, and a man becomes more than himself 
 to object against himself in a fit of despair. 
 
 Ti7n. What is the other reason ? 
 
 Phil. Satan himself, that subtle sophister, assists 
 them. He forms their arguments, frames their 
 objections, fits their distinctions, shapes their eva- 
 sions ; and this discom/orter (aping God's spirit, 
 
 * John vii. 15. 
 
46 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 the comforter, John xiv. 26) hringdli all things to 
 their remembrance which they have heard or read, 
 to dishearten them. Need therefore have minis- 
 ters, when they meddle with afflicted men, to call 
 to Heaven aforehand to assist them, being sure 
 they shall have hell itself to oppose them. 
 
 Ti7n. To come now to the objections which 
 afflicted consciences commonly make : they may be 
 reduced to three principal heads; either drawn 
 from the greatness and grievousness of their sins, 
 or from the shghtness and lightness of their re- 
 pentance, or from the faintness and feebleness of 
 their faith ; I begin with the objections of the first 
 form. 
 
 Phil. I approve your method, pray proceed. 
 
 Tim. First, Sir, even since my conversion, I 
 have been guilty of many grievous sins ; and, 
 which is worse, of the same sin many times com- 
 mitted. Happy Judah, who though once com- 
 mitting incest with Thamar, yet the text saith, 
 that afterwards he hnew her again no more.* But 
 1, vile wretch, have often refallen into the same 
 offence. 
 
 * Gen. xxxviii. 36. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 47 
 
 Phil, All this is answered in God's promise in 
 the jproi^het, — Tliough your sins he as scarlet, I will 
 make them as snow* Consider how the Tyrian 
 scarlet was dyed, not superficially dipped, but 
 thoroughly drenched in the liquor that coloui-ed 
 it, as thy soul in custom of sinning. Then was it 
 taken out for a time and dried, put in again, 
 soaked and sodden the second time in the fat; 
 called therefore 8t/5a<^ov, twice dyed ; as thou corn- 
 plainest thou hast been by relapsing into the same 
 sin. Yea, the colour so incorporated into the 
 cloth not drawn over, but diving into the very 
 heart of the wool, that rub a scarlet rag on what is 
 white, and it will bestow a reddish tincture upon 
 it ; as perchance, thy sinful practice and precedent 
 have also infected those which were formerly good, 
 by thy badness. Yet such scarlet sins so solemnly 
 and substantially coloured, are easily washed white 
 in the blood of our Saviour. 
 
 Tim, But, Sir, I have sinned against most 
 serious resolutions, yea against most solemn vows, 
 which I have made to the contrary. 
 
 Phil. Vow-breaking, though a grievous sin, is 
 
 * Isaiah i. 18. 
 
48 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 pardonable on unfeigned repentance. If thou hast 
 broken a vow, tie a hnot on it to make it hold 
 together again. It is spiritual thrift, and no mis- 
 becoming baseness, to piece and join thy neglected 
 promises with fresh ones. So shall thy vow in 
 effect be not broken when new mended : and re- 
 main the same, though not by one entire continua- 
 tion, yet by a constant successive renovation there- 
 of. Thus Jacob renewed his neglected vow of 
 going to BetJiel ;* and this must thou do, reinforce 
 thy broken vows, if of moment and material. 
 
 Tim. What mean you by the addition of that 
 clause, if of moment and material ? 
 
 Phil. To deal plainly, I dislike many vows men 
 make, as of reading just so much, and praying so 
 often every day, of confining themselves to such a 
 strict proportion of meat, drink, sleep, recreation, 
 &c. Many things may be well done, which are ill 
 vowed. Such particular vows men must be very 
 sparing how they make. First, because they 
 savour somewhat of will-worship. Secondly, small 
 glory accrues to God thereby. Thirdly, the dig- 
 nity of vows is disgraced by descending to too 
 * Compare Gen. xxviii. 20, with Gen. xxxv. 1. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 49 
 
 trivial particulars. Fourthly, Satan hath ground 
 given him to throw at us with a more steady aim. 
 Lastly, such vows, instead of being cords to tie us 
 faster to God, prove knots to entangle our con- 
 sciences : hard to be kept, but oh ! how heavy 
 when broken ! Wherefore setting such vows 
 aside, let us be careful, with David, to keep that 
 ^and and general vow; I have sworn, and I 
 wUl 'perform it, that I will Jceep tliy righteous judg- 
 ments.* 
 
 Tim. But, Sir, I have committed the sin against 
 the Soly Ghost, which the Saviour of mankind pro- 
 nounceth unpardonable, and therefore all your 
 counsels and comforts unto me are in vain. 
 
 Fhil. The devil, the father of lies, hath added 
 this lie to those which he hath told before, in 
 persuading thee thou hast committed the sin 
 against the Holy Ghost. For that sin is ever 
 attended with these two s}Tnptoms. First, the 
 party guilty thereof never grieves for it, nor con- 
 ceives the least sorrow in his heart for the sin he 
 hath committed. The second, which followeth on 
 the former, he never wishes or desires any pardon, 
 
 * Psal. cxix. 106. 
 
50 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 but is delighted and pleased with his present con- 
 dition. Now, if thou canst truly say that thy sins 
 are a burden unto thee, that thou dost desire for- 
 giveness, and wouldest give any thing to compass 
 and obtain it, be of good comfort, thou hast not as 
 yet, and, by God's grace, never shalt commit that 
 unpardonable offence. I will not define how near 
 thou hast been unto it. As David said to Jona- 
 than, there is not a hair's breadth hetwixt death and 
 me : so it may be thou hast missed it very narrowly, 
 but assure thyself thou art not as yet guilty there- 
 of. 
 
 DIALOGUE IX. 
 
 Ansivers to the objections of a wounded Conscience 
 drawn from the slightness of his Be^entance. 
 
 Tim. I believe my sins are pardonable in them- 
 selves, but alas, my stony heart is such, that it 
 cannot relent and repent, and therefore no hope 
 of my salvation. 
 
 Phil. Wouidest thou sincerely repent? thou 
 dost repent. The women that came to embalm 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 5t 
 
 Christ, did carefully forecast with themselves, 
 lulio shall roll aivay the stone from the door of the 
 sejmlchreF* Alas, their frail, faint, feeble arms, 
 were unable to remove such a weight. But what 
 follows ? And ivheii they looked, they saiv that the 
 stone ivas rolled away, for it ivas very great. In 
 like manner, when a soul is truly troubled about 
 the mighty burden of his stony heart interposed, 
 hindering him from coming to Clnist ; I say when 
 he is seriously and sincerely solicitous about that 
 impediment, such desiring is a doing, such wishing 
 is a working. Do thou but take care it may be 
 removed, and God will take order it shall be re- 
 moved. 
 
 Tim. But, Sir, I cannot weep for my sins ; my 
 eyes are like the pit wherein Jose]jh was put; 
 there is no water in them, I cannot squeeze one 
 tear out of them. 
 
 Phil. Before I come to answer your objection, 
 I must premise a profitable observation. I have 
 taken notice of a strange opposition betwixt the 
 tongues and eyes of such as have troubled con- 
 sciences. Their tongues some have known (and I 
 
 * Mark xvi. 3. 
 
52 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 have heard) complain that they cannot weep for 
 their sins, when at that instant their eyes have 
 plentifully shed store of tears : not that they spake 
 out of dissimulation, but distraction. So some- 
 times have I smiled at the simplicity of a child, 
 who being amazed, and demanded whether or no 
 he could speak? hath answered, no. If in like 
 manner at the sight of such a contradiction betwixt 
 the words and deeds of one in the agony of a 
 wounded conscience, we should chance to smile, 
 knew us not to jeer, but joy, perceiving the party 
 in a better condition than he conceiveth himself. 
 
 Tim. This your observation may be comfortable 
 to others, but is impertinent to me. For as I told 
 you, I have by nature such dry eyes that they will 
 afford no moisture to bemoan my sins. 
 
 Fliil. Then it is a natural defect, and no moral 
 default, so by consequence a suffering and no sin 
 which God will punish. God doth not expect the 
 pipe should run water, where he put none into the 
 cistern. Know also, their hearts may be fountains 
 whose eyes are flints, and may inwardly bleed who 
 do not outwardly weep. Besides, Christ was 
 sent to ]preacli comfort, not to such only as weep, 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 63 
 
 but mourn in Zion.* Yea, if thou canst squeeze 
 out no liquor, offer to God the empty bottles ; 
 instead of tears, tender and present thine eyes 
 unto him. And though thou are water-bound, be 
 not ^Yind-bound also, sigh where thou canst not 
 sob, and let thy lungs do what thine eyes cannot 
 perform. 
 
 Tim. You say something though I cannot weep, 
 in case I could soundly sorrow for my sins. But 
 alas, for temporal losses and crosses, I am like 
 Bachael, lamenting for her children, and would not 
 he comforted. But my sorrow for my sins is so 
 small that it appears none at all in proportion. 
 
 Phil. In the best saints of God, their sorrow for 
 their sins being measured with the sorrow for their 
 sufferings, in one respect, will fall short of it, in 
 another must equal it, and in a third respect doth 
 exceed and go beyond it. Sorrow for sins falls 
 short of sorrow for sufferings, in loud lamenting or 
 violent uttering itself in outward expressions there- 
 of; as in roaring, wringing the hands, rending the 
 hair, and the like. Secondly, both sorrows are 
 equal in their truth and sincerity, both far from 
 
 * Isaiah li. 3. 
 
54 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 hypocrisy, free from dissimulation, really hearty, 
 cordial, uncounterfeited. Lastly, sorrow for sin 
 exceeds sorrow for suffering, in the continuance 
 and durableness thereof: the other, like a land- 
 flood, quickly come, quickly gone ; this is a con- 
 timial dropping or running river, keeping a con- 
 stant stream. 3Iy sins, saith David, are ever before 
 rue ; so also is the sorrow for sin in the soul of a 
 child of God, morning, evening, day, night, when 
 sick, when sound, feasting, fasting, at home, 
 abroad, ever within him. This grief begins at his 
 conversion, continues all his life, ends only at his 
 death. 
 
 Tim. Proceed I pray in this comfortable point. 
 Phil. It may still be made plainer by comparing 
 two diseases together, the toothache and consump- 
 tion. Such as are troubled with the former, shriek 
 and cry out, troublesome to themselves, and others 
 in the same and next roof : and no wonder, the 
 mouth itself being flaintiff, if setting forth its own 
 grievances to the full. Yet the toothache is known 
 to be no mortal malady, having kept some from 
 their beds, seldom sent them to their graves ; 
 hindered the sleep of many, hastened the death of 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 65 
 
 few. On the other side, he that hath an incurable 
 consumption saith little, cries less, but grieves most 
 of all. Alas, he must be a good husband of the 
 little breath left in his broken lungs, not to spend 
 it in sighing, but in living, he makes no noise, is 
 quiet and silent; yet none will say but that his 
 inward grief is greater than the former. 
 
 Tim. How apply you this comparison to my 
 objection ? 
 
 Phil. In corporal calamities, thou complainest 
 more, like him in the toothache, but thy sorrow for 
 thy sin, like a consummation, which lies at thy heart, 
 hath more solid heaviness therein. Thou dost 
 take in more grief for thy sins, though thou 
 mayest take on more grievously for thy suffer- 
 ings. 
 
 Tim. This were something if my sorrow for sin 
 were sincere, but alas, I am but a hypocrite. 
 There is mention in the prophet of God's lesom 
 of destruction f now the trust of a hypocrite, Job 
 viii. 14, is called a slider's web, here is my case, 
 when God's hesoin meets with the cobwebs of my 
 hypocrisy, I shall be swei)t into hell fire. 
 
 * Isaiah xiv. 23. 
 
56 THE CAUSE AND CUKE OF 
 
 Phil. I answer, first in general: I am glad to 
 hear this objection come from thee, for self-sus- 
 picion of hypocrisy is a hopeful symptom of sin- 
 cerity. It is a David that cries out, as for me 1 
 am ^oor and needy ; but lukewarm Laodieea that 
 brags, I am rich and want nothing. 
 
 Tim. Answer I pray the objection in particular. 
 
 Phil. Presently, when I have premised the great 
 difference, betwixt a man's being a hypocrite, and 
 having some hypocrisy in him. Wicked men are 
 like the apples of Sodom* seemingly fair, but 
 nothing but ashes within. The best of God's ser- 
 vants are like sound apples, lying in a dusty loft 
 (living in a wicked world), gathering much dust 
 about them, so that they must be rubbed or pared 
 before they can be eaten. Such notwithstanding 
 are sincere, and by the following marks may exa- 
 mine themselves. 
 
 Tim. But some in the present day are utter 
 enemies to all marks of sincerity, counting it need- 
 less for preachers to propound, or people to apply 
 them. 
 
 Phil. I know as much ; but it is the worst sign, 
 
 * Solinus PolyMstor in Judea. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 57 
 
 when men of this description hate all signs : but 
 no wonder if the foundered horse cannot abide the 
 smitlis pincers, 
 
 Tim. Proceed I pray in your signs of sincerity. 
 
 Fliil. Art thou careful to order thy very thoughts, 
 because the infinite searcher of the heart doth be- 
 hold them ? Dost thou freely and fully confess 
 thy sins to God, spreading them open in his pre- 
 sence, without any desire or endeavour to deny, 
 dissemble, defend, excuse, or extenuate them ? 
 Dost thou delight in an universal obedience to all 
 God's laws, not thinking, with the superstitious 
 Jews, by over-keeping the fourth commandment to 
 make reparation to God for breaking all the rest. 
 Dost thou love their j)ersons and preaching best, 
 who most clearly discover thine own faults and 
 corruptions unto thee ? Dost thou strive against 
 thy revengeful nature, not only to forgive those 
 who have offended thee, but also to wait an occa- 
 sion with humility to render a suitable favour to 
 them ? Dost thou love grace and goodness even 
 in those who differ from thee in point of opinion 
 and civil controversies ? Canst thou be sorrowful 
 for the sins of others no whit relating unto thee, 
 
 F 
 
58 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 merely because the glory of a good God suffers by 
 their profaneness ? 
 
 Tim. Why do you' make these to be the signs 
 of sincerity ? 
 
 Phil. Because there are but two principles 
 vihioh act in men's hearts, namely, nature and 
 grace ; or, as Christ distinguishes them, flesh and 
 Uood, and our father ivhieh is in Heaven. Now seeing 
 these actions, by us propounded, are either against 
 or above nature, it doth necessarily follow, that 
 where they are found they flow from saving grace. 
 For what is higher than the roof and very pin- 
 nacle, as I may say, of nature, cannot be lower 
 than the bottom and beginning of grace. 
 
 Tim. Perchance, on serious search I may make 
 hard shift to find some one or two of these signs, 
 but not all of them, in my heart. 
 
 Phil. As I will not bow to flatter any, so I will 
 fall down as far as truth will give me leave, to 
 reach comfort to the humble, to whom it is due. 
 Know to thy further consolation, that where some 
 of these signs truly are, there are more, yea all of 
 them, though not so visible and conspicuous, but 
 in a dimmer and darker degree. When we behold 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 59 
 
 violets and primroses fairly to flourish, we conclude 
 the dead of the winter is past, though as yet no 
 roses or July flowers appear, which, long after, lie 
 hid in their leaves or lurk in their roots, but in 
 due time will discover themselves. If some of 
 these vsigns be above ground in thy sight, others 
 are under gTOund in thy heart ; and though the 
 former started first, the other will follow in order, 
 it being plain that thou art passed from death 
 unto life, by this hopeful and happy spring of some 
 signs in thy heart. 
 
 DIALOGUE X. 
 
 Answers to the Objection of a ivounded Conscience, 
 drawn from the feebleness of Ms faith. 
 
 Tim. But faith is that which must apply Christ 
 unto us ; whilst (alas !) the hand of my faith hath 
 not only the shaking, but the dead palsy, it can 
 neither hold nor feel anything. 
 
 Phil. If thou canst not hold God, do but touch 
 him and he shall hold thee, and put feeling into 
 
60 THE CAUSE AND CUEE OF 
 
 thee. Saint Faul saitli,* If that I may a2)prehend 
 that, for which also I am apprehended of Christ 
 Jesus. It is not Paul's apprehending of Christ, 
 but Christ apprehending of Paul, doth the deed. 
 
 Tim. But I am sure my faith is not sound, 
 because it is not attended with assurance of 
 salvation. For I doubt (not to say despair) 
 thereof. Whereas Divines hold, that the Essence 
 of saving faith consists in a certainty to be 
 saved. 
 
 Phil. Such deliver both a false and dangerous 
 doctrine ; as the careless mother! killed her little 
 infant, for slie overlaid it. So this opinion would 
 press many weak faiths to death, by laying a 
 greater weight upon them than they can bear, or 
 God doth impose ; whereas to be assured of salva- 
 tion, is not a part of every true faith, but only an 
 effect of some strong faiths, and that also not 
 always, but at some times. 
 
 Tim. Is not certainty of salvation a part of 
 every true faith ? 
 
 Phil. No verily ; much less is it the life and 
 formality of faith, which consists only in a recum- 
 
 * Phil. iii. 19- t 1 Kings iii. 19. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 61 
 
 bency on God in Christ, with JoVs resolution,* 
 Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him. Such 
 an adherence, without an assurance, is sufficient 
 by God's mercy to save thy soul. Those that say 
 that none have a sincere faith without a certainty 
 of salvation, may \vith as much truth maintain, 
 that none are the King's loyal Subjects but such 
 as are his Favourites. 
 
 Tim. Is then assurance of salvation a peculiar 
 personal favour, indulged by God only to some 
 particular persons ? 
 
 Phil. Yes verily. Though the salvation of all 
 God's servants be sure in itself, yet it is only as- 
 sured to the apprehensions of some select people, 
 and that at some times. For it is too ^nefare for 
 the best man to feed on every day. 
 
 Tim. May they that have this assurance after- 
 wards lose it ? 
 
 Fhil. Undoubtedly they may. God first is 
 gracious to give it them, they for a time careful 
 to keep it ; then negligently lose it, then sorrow- 
 fully seek it. God again is bountiful to restore 
 it, they happy to recover it ; for a while diligent 
 
 * JoL. xiii. 15. 
 
62 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 to regain it, then again foolish to forfeit it ; and 
 so the same changes in one's lifetime, often over 
 and over again. 
 
 Tim. But some will say. If I may be infallibly 
 saved without this Assurance, I will never endea- 
 vour to attain it. 
 
 Phil. I would have covered my flowers if I had 
 suspected such spiders would have sucked them. 
 One may go to heaven without this Assurance, as 
 certainly, but not so cheerfully; and therefore 
 prudence to obtain our own comfort, and piety to 
 obey God's command, obliges us all to ^ive dili- 
 gence to make our calling and election sure, both 
 in itself and in our apprehension. 
 
 DIALOGUE XL 
 
 God alone can satisfy all Objections of a wounded 
 Conscience. 
 
 Tim. But, Sir, these your answers are no whit 
 satisfactory unto me. 
 
 Phil. An answer may be satisfactory to the 
 objection, both in itself and in the judgment of all 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 63 
 
 unprejudiced hearers, and yet not satisfactory to the 
 objector, and that in two cases. First, when he is 
 possessed with the spirit of peevishness and per- 
 verseness. It is lost labour to seek to feed and 
 fill those who have a greedy horseleech of cavilling 
 in their heart, crying, give^ give. 
 
 Tim. T\Tiat is the second case ? 
 
 PhU. When the bitterness of his soul is so great 
 and grievous, that he is like the Israelites * in 
 Egypt, who hearlened not to Moses, for anguish of 
 spirit and for cruel londage. Xow, as those who 
 have meat before them and will not eat, deserve 
 to starve without pity ; so such are much to be 
 bemoaned, who through some impediment in their 
 mouth, throat, or stomach, cannot chew, swallow, 
 or digest, comfort presented unto them. 
 
 Tim, Such is my condition, what then is to be 
 done unto me ? 
 
 Phil. I must change my precepts to thee into 
 prayers for thee, that God would satisfy thee early 
 with his mercy, that thou mayest rejoice.^ Ministers 
 may endeavour it in vain ; whilst they quell one 
 scruple, they start another ; whilst they fill one 
 
 * Exod. vi. 9. t Psalm xc. 
 
64 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 corner of a wounded conscience with comfort* 
 another is empty. Only God can so satisfy the 
 soul, that each chink and cranny therein shall be 
 filled with spiritual joy. 
 
 Tim. What is the difference betwixt God's and 
 mans sjpeahing peace to a troubled spirit. 
 
 Phil. Man can neither make him to whom he 
 speaks, to hear what he says, or believe what he 
 hears. God speaks with autJwrity, and doth both. 
 His words give hearing to the deaf, and faith to 
 the infidel. When, not the mother of Christ, but 
 Christ himself, shall salute a sieh soul with _/jeace 
 he unto thee, it will leap for joy, as John the hahe 
 sprang, though imprisoned in the dark womb 
 of his mother. Thus the offender is not com- 
 forted, though many of the spectators and under 
 officers tell him he shall be pardoned, until he 
 hears the same from the mouth of the Judge 
 himself, who hath power and place to forgive 
 him ; and then his heart revives with comfort. 
 
 Tim. God send me such comfort : in the mean 
 time I am thankful unto you for the answers you 
 have given me. 
 
 Phil. All that I will add is this. The Lace- 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 65 
 
 demonicms had a law, that if a bad man, or one 
 disesteemed of the people, chanced to give good 
 counsel, he was to stand by, and another, against 
 whose person the people had no prejudice, was to 
 speak over the same words which the former had 
 uttered. I am most sensible to myself of my 
 own wickedness, and how justly I am subject to 
 exception. Only my prayer shall be, that whilst 
 I stand by, and am silent, God's spirit, which is 
 free from any fault, and full of all perfection, 
 would be pleased to repeat in thy heart the self- 
 same answers I have given to your objections. 
 And then, what was weak, shallow, and unsatis- 
 fying, as it came from my mouth, shall and will 
 be full, powerful, and satisfactory, as reinforced 
 in thee by God's spirit. 
 
THE CAUSE AND CURE OP 
 
 DIALOGUE XII. 
 
 Means to he used hy wounded Consciences for the 
 recovering of Comfort. 
 
 Tim. Are there any useful means to be pre- 
 scribed, whereby wounded consciences may recover 
 comfort the sooner ? 
 
 Phil. Yes, there are. 
 
 Tim. But now in the present day, some con- 
 demn aU using of means : let grace alone (say they) 
 fully and freely to do its own work, and thereby 
 man's mind will in due time retm^n to a good 
 temper of its own accord : this is the most spiri- 
 tual serving of God, whilst using of means makes 
 but dunces and truants in Christ's school. 
 
 Phil. What they pretend spiritual will prove 
 airy and empty, making lewd and lazy Christians : 
 means may and must be used with these cautions. 
 1. That they be of God's appointment in his word, 
 and not of man's mere invention. 2. That we still 
 remember they are but means, and not the main. 
 For to account of helps more than helps, is the 
 highway to make them hindrances. Lastly, that 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 67 
 
 none rely barely on the deed done, which conceit 
 ^vill undo him that did it, especially if any opinion 
 of merit be fixed therein. 
 
 Tim, What is the first means I must use ; for 
 I reassume to personate a wounded conscience ? 
 
 Phil. Constantly pray to God, that in his due 
 time he would speak peace unto thee. 
 
 Tim. My prayers are better omitted than per- 
 formed : they are so weak they will but bring the 
 greater punishment upon me, and involve me 
 within the Prophefs curse* to those that do the 
 work of the Lord negligenthj. 
 
 Phil. Prayers negligently performed draw a 
 curse, but not prayers weakly performed. The 
 former is when one can do better, and will not ; 
 the latter is, when one would do better, but alas 
 he cannot ; and such failings as they are his sins, 
 so they are his sorrows also : pray therefore faintly, 
 that thou may est pray fervently ; pray weakly, 
 that thou mayest pray strongly. 
 
 Tim. But in the law they were forbidden to 
 offer to God any lame t sacrifice, and such are my 
 prayers. 
 
 * Jer. xlviii. 10. t Dent. xv. 21. 
 
68 THE CAUSE AND CUBE OF 
 
 Fhil. 1. Observe a great difference betwixt the 
 material sacrifice under the law, and spiritual 
 Sacrifices (the calves of the lips) under the Gospel. 
 The former were to be free from all blemish, be- 
 cause they did typify and resemble Christ himself. 
 The latter (not figuratively representing Christ, 
 but heartily presented unto him) must be as good 
 as may be gotten, though many imperfections 
 will cleave to our best performances, which by 
 God's mercy are forgiven. 2. Know that, that in 
 Scrij^ture is accounted lame, which is counterfeit 
 and dissembling, (in which sense hypocrites * are 
 properly called halters) and therefore if thy prayer, 
 though never so weak, be sound, and sincere, it is 
 acceptable with God. 
 
 Tim. What other counsel do you prescribe me ? 
 
 Fhil. Be diligent in reading the word of God, 
 wherein all comfort is contained ; say not that 
 thou art dumpish and indisposed to read, but 
 remember how travellers must eat against their 
 stomach : their journey will digest it ; and though 
 their palate find no pleasure for the present, their 
 whole body will feel strength for the future. Thou 
 
 * 1 Kinars xviii. 21. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 69 
 
 hast a great journey to go, a wounded conscience 
 has far to travel to find comfort, (and though weary, 
 shall be welcome at his journey's end) and there- 
 fore must feed on God's word, even against his 
 own dull disposition, and shall afterwards reap 
 benefit thereby. 
 
 Tim. Proceed in your appointing of whole- 
 some diet for my ivounded conscience to observe. 
 
 Phil. Avoid solitariness, and associate thyself 
 with pious and godli/ comjpany. the blessed fruits 
 thereof! Such as want skill or boldness to begin 
 or set a Psalm, may competently follow tune in 
 concert with others. Many houses in London have 
 such weak walls, and are so slightly and slenderly 
 built, that were they set alone in the fields, pro- 
 bably they would not stand an hour ; which, now 
 ranged in streets, receive support in themselves, 
 and mutually return it to others : so mayest thou 
 in good society, not only be reserved from much 
 mischief, but also be strengthened and confirmed 
 in many godly exercises, which solely thou couldest 
 not perform. 
 
 Tim. What else must I do ? 
 
 Phil. Be industrious in thy calling. I press this 
 
70 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 the more, because some erroneously conceive that 
 a wounded conscience cancels all Indentures of 
 service, and gives them (during their affliction) a 
 dispensation to be idle. The inhabitants of the 
 Bishopric of Durham* pleaded a privilege, that 
 King Edward the First had no power, although 
 on necessary occasion, to _press them to go out of 
 the country, because forsooth, they termed them- 
 selves hohj-worJc-folh, only to be used in defending 
 the holy shrine of St. Cuthhert. Let none in like 
 manner pretend that (during the agony of a 
 wounded conscience) they are to have no other 
 employment than to sit mopins: to brood their 
 melancholy, or else only to attend their devotions ; 
 whereas a good way to divert or assuage their pain 
 within, is to take pains without in their vocation. 
 1 am confident that happy minute which shall 
 put a period to thy misery shall not find thee idle, 
 but employed, as ever some secret good is accruing 
 to such who are diligent in their calling, 
 
 Tim. But though wounded consciences are not 
 to be freed from all work, are they not to be 
 favoured in their work ? 
 
 * Cambd. Brit, in Durham. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 71 
 
 PJiU. Yes verily. Here let me be the advocate 
 to such parents and masters who have sons, 
 servants, or others, under their authority, afflicted 
 with wounded consciences. O! do not with the 
 Egyptian taskmasters, exact of them the full 
 tale of their brick — spare a little till tlieij have 
 recovered some strength. Unreasonable that maimed 
 men should pass on equal duty with such soldiers 
 as are sound. 
 
 Tim. How must I dispose myself on the Lord's 
 day? 
 
 FMl. Avoid all servile work, and expend it only 
 in such actions as tend to the sanctifying thereof. 
 God, the gTeat Landlord of all time, hath let out 
 six days in the iveeh to man to farm them ; the 
 seventh day he reserves as a demesne in his own 
 hand : if therefore we would have quiet possession 
 and comfortable use of what God hath leased out 
 to us, let us not encroach on his demesne. Some 
 popish people* make a superstitious almanack of 
 the Sunday, by the fairness or foulness thereof 
 guessing of the weather all the weeJc after. But I 
 
 * If it rains on Sunday before Mess — it will rain all week 
 more or less. A popish old rhyme. 
 
72 THE CAUSE AND CUEE OF 
 
 dare boldly say, that from our well or ill spending 
 of the Lord's day, a probable conjecture may be 
 made how the following week will be employed. 
 Yea, I conceive, we are bound (as matters now 
 stand in England) to a stricter observation of the 
 Lord's day than ever before. That a time was 
 due to God's service, no Christian in our kingdom 
 ever did deny : that the same was weekly dispersed 
 in the Lord's day, holy days, Wednesdays, Fridays, 
 Saturdatjs, some have earnestly maintained : seeing 
 therefore all the last are generally neglected, the 
 former must be more strictly observed ; it being 
 otherwise impious, that our devotion having a nar- 
 rower channel, should also carry a shallower stream. 
 
 Tim. What other means must I use for expedi- 
 tion of comfort to my wounded conscience f 
 
 Phil, Confess* that sin or sins, which most per- 
 plexes thee, to some godly minister, who by absolu- 
 tion may pronounce, and apply pardon unto thee. 
 
 Tim. This confession is but a device of Divines, 
 thereby to screw themselves into other men's 
 secrets, so to mould and manage them with more 
 ease to their own profit. 
 
 * 2 Sam. xii. 13 ; Matt. iii. 6. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 73 
 
 PhU. God forbid they should have any other 
 design but your safety ; and therefore choose your 
 confessor where you please, to your own content- 
 ment. So that you may find ease, fetch it where 
 you may ; it is not our credit, but your cure we 
 stand upon. 
 
 Tim. But such confession hath been counted 
 rather a rack for sound than a remedy for wounded 
 consciences. 
 
 Phil. It proves so, as abused in the Bomish 
 Church, requiring an enumeration of all mortal 
 sius, therein supposing an error, that some sins are 
 not mortal, and imposing an impossibility, that all 
 can be reckoned up. Thus the conscience is tor- 
 tured, because it can never tread firmly, feeling 
 no bottom, being still uncertain of confession, (and 
 so of absolution) whether or no he hath acknow- 
 ledged all his sins. But where this ordinance is 
 commended as convenient, not commanded as ne- 
 cessary, left free, not forced in cases of extremity, 
 sovereign use may be made, and hath been found 
 thereof, neither magistrate nor minister carrying 
 the sword or the heys in vain. 
 
 Tim. But Sir, I expected some rare inventions 
 
74 THE CAUSE AND CURE OP 
 
 from you for curing wounded consciences : whereas 
 all your receipts hitherto are old, stale, usual, 
 common, and ordinary ; there is nothing new in 
 any of them. 
 
 Phil. I answer, first, if a wounded conscience had 
 been a new disease^ never heard of in God's word 
 before this time, then perchance we must have 
 been forced to find out new remedies. But it is 
 an old malady, and therefore old physio is best 
 applied unto it. Secondly, the receipts indeed are 
 old, because prescribed by him who is the ancient 
 of days.* But the older the better, because war- 
 ranted by experience to be effectual. God's ordi- 
 nances are like the clothes f of the children of 
 Israel : during our wandering in the wilderness of 
 tliis world they never wax old, so as to have their 
 virtue in operation abated or decayed. Thirdly, 
 whereas you call them common, would to God they 
 were so, and as generally practised as they are 
 usually prescribed. Lastly, know we meddle not 
 with curious heads, which are pleased \vith new- 
 fangled rarities, but with wounded consciences, who 
 love solid comfort. Suppose our receipts ordinary 
 * Dan. vii. 9. f Deut. xxix. 5. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 75 
 
 and obvious. If Naaman^ counts the cure too 
 cheap and easy, none will pity him if still he be 
 pained with his leprosy. 
 
 Tim. But your receipts are too loose and large, 
 not fitted and appropriated to my malady alone. 
 For all these {ipray, read, keep good comjpany^ he 
 diligent in thy calling, observe the Sahbath, confess 
 thy sins, ^-c.) may as well be prescribed to one 
 guilty of presumjytion, as to me ready to des- 
 pair. 
 
 Phil. It doth not folio^v that our physic is not 
 proper for one, because it may be profitable for. 
 both. 
 
 Tim. But despair and presumption being con- 
 trary diseases, flowing from contrary causes, must 
 have contrary cures. 
 
 Phil. Though they flow immediately from con- 
 trary causes, yet originally from the common 
 fountain of natm-al corruption ; and therefore such 
 means as I have propounded, tending towards the 
 mortifying of our corrupt nature, may generally, 
 though not equally, be useful to humble the pre- 
 suming and comfort the despairing; but to cut 
 
 * 2 Kinj^-s v. 12, 
 
76 THE CAUSE AND CUEE OF 
 
 off cavils in the next dialogue, we will come closely 
 to peculiar counsels unto thee. 
 
 DIALOGUE XIII. 
 
 Four wholesome Counsels, for a wounded 
 Conscience to practise. 
 
 Tim. Perform your promise : which is the first 
 counsel you commend unto me ? 
 
 FliiL Take heed of ever renouncing thy Jilial 
 interest in God, though thy sins deserve that he 
 should disclaim his jpaternal relation to thee. The 
 prodigal* returning to his father did not say, I 
 am not thj son, but, lam no more worthy to he called 
 thy son. Beware of bastardizing thyself, being as 
 much as Satan desires, and more than he hopes 
 to obtain. Otherwise thy folly would give him 
 more than his fury could get. 
 
 Tim. I conceive this a needful caution. 
 
 Phil, It will appear so if we consider what 
 the Apostle f saith, that we wrestle tvith jprinci- 
 palities and poiuers. Now ivrestlers in the Olymjoian 
 
 * Luke XV. 21. + Ephes. vi. 12. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 77 
 
 games were naked, and anointed with oil to make 
 them sleek and glibbery, so to afford no holdfast 
 to such as strove with them. Let us not gratify 
 the Devil with this advantage against ourselves, 
 at any time to disclaim our son-ship in God ; if 
 the Devil catches us at this lock, he will throw us 
 flat, and hazard the breaking of our necks with 
 final despair. Oh no ! still keep this point ; a 
 prodigal son I am, but a son, no hastard : a lost 
 sheep, but a sheep, no goat : sua. unprofitable servant, 
 but God's servant, and not an absolute slave to 
 Satan. 
 
 Tim. Proceed to your second counsel. 
 
 Phil. Give credit to what grave and godly 
 persons conceive of thy condition, rather than 
 what thy own fear (an incompetent judge) may 
 suggest unto thee. A seared conscience thinks 
 better of itself, a wounded worse, than it ought : 
 the former may account all sin a sport, the latter 
 all sport a sin. Melancholy men, when sick, are 
 ready to conceit any cold to be the cough of the 
 lungs, and an ordinary Pustule no less than the 
 plague sore. So ivounded consciences conceive sins 
 of infirmity to be of presumption, sins of ignorance 
 
(O THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 to be of hnowledge, apprehending their case more 
 dangerous than it is indeed. 
 
 Tim. But it seems unreasonable that I should 
 rather trust another saying than my own sense of 
 myself. 
 
 Fhil. Every man is best judge of his own self, 
 but during the swoon of a wounded conscience T 
 deny thee to be come to thy oivn self : whilst thine 
 eyes are blubbering, and a tear hangs before thy 
 sight, thou canst not see things clearly and truly, 
 because looking through a double medium of air 
 and water ; so whilst this cloud of ^ensiveness is 
 pendent before the eyes of thy soul, thine estate 
 is erroneously represented unto thee. 
 
 Tim. What is your third counsel ? 
 
 Phil. In thy agony of a troubled conscience 
 always look upwards unto a gracious God to keep 
 thy soul steady, for looking downward on thyself 
 thou shalt find nothing but what will increase thy 
 fear, infinite sins, good deeds few, and imperfect : 
 it is not thy faith, but God's faithfulness thou 
 must rely upon ; casting thine eyes downwards 
 on thyself, to behold the great distance betwixt 
 what thou deserveth and what thou desireth, is 
 
A WOUNDED C0^'SC1ENCE. 79 
 
 enough to make thee giddy, stagger, and reel 
 into despair. Ever therefore Lift iij) thine eyes 
 unto the hills* from whence cometh thy help, never 
 viewing the deep dale of thy own un worthiness 
 but to abate thy pride when tempted to presump- 
 tion. 
 
 Tim. Sir, your fourth and last counsel ? 
 
 Phil. Be not disheartened as if comfort would 
 not come at all, because it comes not all at once, 
 but patiently attend God's leisure : they are not 
 styled the swift, but the sure t raercies of David, 
 and the same prophet says, the glory of the Lord 
 shall he thy rereward : this we know comes up last 
 to secure and make good all the rest : be assured, 
 where yrace patiently leads the front, glory at last 
 will be in the rear. Bemember the prodigious 
 patience of Elijalis servant. 
 
 Tim. Wherein was it remarkable ? 
 
 Phil. In obedience to his master : he went 
 several times to the sea ; it is tedious for me to 
 tell what was not troublesome for him to do. 1, 2, 
 o, 4, 5, 6, 7 times sent down steep Carmel,\ with 
 
 * Psalm cxxi. 1. f Isaiah Iv. 3, and Iviii. 8. 
 
 X 1 Eangd xviii. 43. 
 
80 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 danger, and up it again with difficulty, and all to 
 bring news of nothing, till his last journey, which 
 made recompense for all the rest, with the tidings 
 of a cloud arising. So thy thirsty soul, long 
 parched with drought for want of comfort, though 
 late, at last shall be plentifully refreshed with the 
 dew of consolation. 
 
 Tim. I shall be happy if I find it so. 
 
 Phil. Consider the causes why a broken leg is 
 incurable in a horse, and easily curable in a man : 
 the horse is incapable of counsel to submit himself 
 to the farrier, and therefore in case his leg be set, 
 he flings, flounces, and flies out, unjointing it 
 again by his misemployed mettle, counting all 
 binding to be shackles and fetters unto him ; 
 whereas a man willingly resigns himself to be 
 ordered by the surgeon, preferring rather to be a 
 prisoner for some days, than a cripple all his life. 
 Be not like a horse or mule* which have no under- 
 standing ; but let patience t have its perfect work in 
 thee. When God goes about to hind up J the 
 hrohen-hearted, tarry his time, though ease come 
 not at an instant ; yea though it be painful for the 
 * Psalm xxxii. 9. f James i. 3. J Isa, Ixi. 1. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 81 
 
 present, in due time thou slialt certainly receive 
 comfort. 
 
 DIALOGUE XIV. 
 
 Comfortable meditations for wounded consciences 
 to muse upon. 
 
 Tim. Furnish me I pray with some comfortable 
 meditations, whereon I may busy and employ my 
 soul when alone. 
 
 Phil. First consider that our Saviour had not 
 only a notional, but an experimental and meri- 
 torious knowledge of the pains of a wounded con- 
 science when hanging on the Cross. If Paul conceived 
 himself hai^pj being to answer for himself, before 
 King Agrippa, especially because he hieiv him to be 
 expert in all the customs and questions of the Jews, 
 how much more just cause has thy ivoimded con- 
 science of comfort and joy, being in thy prayers 
 to plead before Christ himself, who hath felt thy 
 pain, and deserved that in due time by his stripes 
 thou shouldest be healed ? 
 
 Tim. Proceed I pray in this comfortable sub- 
 ject. 
 
82 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 Phil. Secondly, consider tliat herein, like Elijah, 
 thou needest not complain that thou art left alone, 
 seeing the best of God's saints in all ages have 
 smarted in the same kind — instance in David : 
 indeed sometimes he boasts bow he lay in green * 
 ^pastures, and was led hy still waters ; but after he 
 bemoans that he sinhs in deep t mire, ivhere there 
 was no standing. What is become of those green 
 pastures ? parched up with the drought. Where 
 are those still ivaters ? troubled with the tempest 
 of afHiction. The same David compares himself to 
 an owl,X and in the next Psalm resembles himself 
 to an eagle. Do two fowls fly of more different 
 kind ? The one the scorn, the other the sovereign ; 
 the one the slowest, the otlier the swiftest ; the 
 one the most sharp-sighted, the other the most 
 dim-eyed of all birds. Wonder not, then, to find 
 in thyself sudden and strange alterations. It 
 fared thus with all God's servants, in their agonies 
 of temptation ; and be confident thereof, though 
 now run aground with grief, in due time thou 
 shalt be all afloat with comfort. 
 
 * Psalm xxiii. 2. f Psalm Ixix. 2. 
 
 X Compare Psalm cli. 6, with P.salm cii. 5. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 83 
 
 Tim. I am loth to interrupt you in so welcome 
 a discourse. 
 
 Phil. Thirdly, consider that tliou hast had, 
 though not grace enough to cure thee, yet enough 
 to keep thee, and conclude that he, whose goodness 
 hath so long held thy head above water from 
 drowning, will at last bring thy whole body safely 
 to the shore. The ivife of Manoali had more faith 
 than her husband, and thus she reasoned : If the 
 Lord was pleased to kill us he would not have received 
 a burnt and a meat offering at our hands* Thou 
 may est argue in like manner : if God had intended 
 finally to forsake me, he would never so often 
 have heard and accepted my prayers, in such a 
 measure as to vouchsafe unto me, though not full 
 deliverance from, free preservation in my affliction. 
 Know, Crod hath done great tilings for thee already, 
 and thou mayest conclude, from his grace of sup- 
 portation hitherto, grace of ease and relaxation 
 hereafter. 
 
 Tim. It is pity to disturb you, proceed. 
 
 Fhil. Fourthly, consider that, besides the 
 private stock of thy own, thou tradest on the 
 * Judges xiii. 23. 
 
84 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 public store of all good men's prayers, put up to 
 heaven for tliee. What a mixture of Languages 
 met in Jerusalem at Pentecost* Parthians, Medes, 
 and Elamites, &c. But conceive to thy comfort, 
 what a medley of prayers, in several tongues, daily 
 centre themselves in God's ears in thy behalf, 
 English, Scotch, Irish, French, Butch, &c., inso- 
 much, that perchance thou dost not understand 
 one syllable of their prayers, by whom thou mayest 
 reap benefit. 
 
 Tim, Is it not requisite, to entitle me to the 
 profits of other men's prayers, that I particularly 
 know their persons which pray for me ? 
 
 Phil. Not at all, no more than it is needful 
 that the eye or face must see the backward parts, 
 which is difficult, or the inward parts of the body, 
 which is impossible : without which sight, by 
 sympathy they serve one another. And such is 
 the correspondency by prayers, betwixt the 
 mystical members of Christ's body, corporally un- 
 seen one by another. 
 
 Tim. Proceed to a fifth meditation. 
 
 Phil. Consider, there be five kind of consciences 
 
 * Acts ii. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 85 
 
 on foot in the world : first, an ignorant conscience^ 
 which neither sees nor saith anything, neither 
 beholds the sins in a soul, nor reproves them. 
 Secondly, the flattering! conscie^ice,. ^yhose speech is 
 worse than silence itself, which, though seeing sin, 
 soothes men in the committing thereof. Thirdly, 
 the seared conscience, which hath neither sight, 
 speech, nor sense, in men that are past feeling* 
 Fourthly, a wounded conscience, frighted with sin. 
 The last and best is a quiet and clear conscience, 
 pacified in Christ Jesus. Of these, the fom^th is 
 thy case, incomparably better than the three 
 former, so that a wise man would not take a world 
 to change vdth them. Yea, a wounded conscience 
 is rather painful than sinful, an affliction, no 
 offence, and is in the ready way, at the next re- 
 move, to be turned into a quiet conscience. 
 
 Tim. I hearken unto you with attention and 
 comfort. 
 
 FUl. Lastly, consider the good effects of a 
 
 wounded conscience, privative for the present, and 
 
 positive for the futm-e. First, privative, this 
 
 heaviness of thy heart (for the time being) is a 
 
 * Ephes. iv. 19. 
 
86 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 bridle to thy soul, keeping it from many sins it 
 would otherwise commit. Thou that now sittest 
 sad in thy shop, or walkest pensive in thy parlour, 
 or standest sighing in thy chamber, or liest sobbing 
 on thy bed, mightest perchance at the same time 
 be drunk, or wanton, or worse, if not restrained 
 by this afiQiction. God saith in his prophet to 
 Judali* I will hedge thy way with thorns, namely, 
 to keep Judah from committing spiritual fornica- 
 tion. It is confessed that a ivounded conscience, for 
 the time, is a hedge of thorns (as the messenger of 
 Satan, sent to buffet St. Paul, is termed a thorn * 
 in the flesh). But this thorny fence keeps our 
 wild spirits in the true way, which otherwise would 
 be straggling ; and it is better to be held in the 
 right road with hriars and hramhles, than to 
 wander on beds of roses, in a wrong path, which 
 leads to destruction. 
 
 Tim. What are the positive benefits of a 
 wounded conscience ? 
 
 Phil. Thereby the graces in thy soul will be 
 proved, approved, improved. O, how clear will 
 thy sunshine be when this cloud is blown over ; 
 
 * Hos. ii. 6. * 2 Cor. xii. 7. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 87 
 
 and liere I can hardly hold from envying thy 
 happiness hereafter. that I might have thy 
 future ei'oivn, without thy present cross ; thy 
 triumphs, without thy trial ; thy conquest, without 
 thy combat ! But I recall my wish, as impossible, 
 seeing what God hath Joined together, no man can 
 put asunder. These things are so twisted together, 
 I must have both or neither. 
 
 DIALOGUE XV. 
 
 Tliat is not ahvays the greatest sin ivhereof a man 
 is guilty, ivhereivith his conscience is most pained 
 for the present. 
 
 Tim. Is that the greatest sin in a man's soul, 
 wherewith his ivounded conscience, in the agony 
 thereof, is most perplexed ? 
 
 Phil. It is so commonly, but not constantly. 
 Commonly indeed, that sin most pains and pinches 
 him, which commands as principal in his soul. 
 
 Tim. Have all men's hearts some one para- 
 mount sin, which rules as sovereign over all the 
 rest ? 
 
88 THE CAUSE AND CUEE OF 
 
 Fhil. Most have. Yet as all countries are not 
 3Ionarc]iies, governed by Kings, but some hj free 
 states, where many together have equal power ; so 
 it is possible (though rare) that one man may have 
 two, three, or more sins, which jointly domineer 
 in his heart, without any discernible superiority 
 betwixt them. 
 
 Tim. Which are the sins that most generally 
 wound and afflict a man when his conscience is 
 terrified. 
 
 FJiiL No general rule can exactly be given 
 herein. Sometimes that sin, in acting whereof he 
 took most delight ; it being just, that the sweetness 
 of his corporal pleasure should be sauced with 
 more spiritual sadness. Sometimes that sin which 
 (though not the foulest) is the most frequent in 
 him. Thus his idle words may perplex him more 
 than his oaths or perjury itself. Sometimes that 
 sin, not which is most odious before God, but 
 most scandalous before men, does most afflict him, 
 because drawing greatest disgrace upon his person 
 and profession. Sometimes that sin which he last 
 committed, because all the circumstances thereof 
 are still firm and fresh in his' memory. Some- 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 89 
 
 times that sin. which (thougli long since by him 
 committed) he hath heard very lately powerfully 
 reproved; and no wonder if an old gall, new 
 rubbed over, smart the most. Sometimes that 
 sin, which formerly he most slighted and ne- 
 glected, as so inconsiderably small, that it was 
 unworthy of any sorrow for it, and yet now it 
 may prove the sharpest sting in his conscience. 
 
 Tim. May one who is guilty of very great sins, 
 sometimes have his conscience much troubled 
 only for a small one ? 
 
 FMl. Yes, verily : country patients often com- 
 plain, not of the disease which is most dangerous, 
 but most conspicuous. Yea, sometimes they are 
 more troubled with the symptom of a disease 
 (suppose an ill colour, bad breath, weak stomach) 
 than with the disease itself. So in the soul, the 
 conscience oft-times is most wounded, not with 
 that oifence which is, but appears most, and a sin 
 incomparably small to others, whereof the party 
 is guilty, may most molest for the present, and 
 that for three reasons. 
 
 Tim. Keckon them in order. 
 
 Fhil. First, that God may show in him, that a« 
 
 H 
 
90 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 sins are like the sands in number, so they are far 
 above them in heaviness ; whereof the least crumb 
 taken asunder, and laid on the conscience, by 
 God's hand, in full weight thereof, is enough to 
 drive it to despair. 
 
 Tim. What is the second reason ? 
 
 Fhil. To manifest God's justice, that those should 
 be choked with a gnat-sin, who have swallowed 
 many camel-sins, without the least regret. Thus 
 some may be terrified for not fasting on Friday, 
 because indeed they have been drunk on Sunday : 
 they may be perplexed for their wanton dreams 
 when sleeping, because they were never truly 
 humbled for their wicked deeds when waking. 
 Yea, those who never feared Babylon the Great, 
 may be frightened with Little Zoar ; I mean, such 
 have been faulty in ilat superstition, may be tor- 
 tured for committing or omitting a thing, in its 
 own nature indifferent. 
 
 Tim. What is the third reason ? 
 
 Phil. That this pain for a lesser sin may occa- 
 sion his serious scrutiny into greater offences. 
 Any paltry cur may serve to start and put up the 
 game out of the bushes, whilst fiercer, and fleeter 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 91 
 
 hounds are behind to course and catcli it. God 
 doth make use of a smaller sin, to i*aise and rouse 
 the conscience out of security, and to put it u;p, as 
 we say, to be chased, by the reserve of far greater 
 offences, lurking behind in the soul, unseen, and 
 unsorrowed for. 
 
 Tim. May not the conscience be troubled at 
 that which in very deed is no sin at all, nor 
 hath truly so much as but the appearance of evil 
 in it? 
 
 Phil. It may. Through the error of the under- 
 standing such a mistake may follow in the con- 
 science. 
 
 Tim. What is to be done in such a case ? 
 
 Phil The party's judgment must he rectified, 
 before his conscience can he pacified. Tlien is it 
 the wisest way to persuade him to lay the axe of 
 repentance to the root of corruption in his heart. 
 When real sins in his soul are felled by unfeigned 
 sorrow, causeless scruples will fall of themselves. 
 Till that root be cut down, not only the least 
 houghi and branch of that tree, but the smallest 
 sprig, t'wig, and leaf thereof, yea the very empty 
 shadow of a leaf (mistaken for a sin, and created a 
 
92 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 fault by the jealousy of a misinformed judgment) 
 is sufficient intolerably to torture a wounded con 
 science. 
 
 DIALOGUE XYI. 
 
 Obstructions hindering the speedy floiving of comfort 
 into a troubled souL 
 
 Tim. How comes it to pass, that comfort is so 
 long* in coming to some wounded consciences f 
 
 Phil. It proceeds from several causes, either 
 from God, not yet pleased to give it; or the 
 patient, not yet prepared to receive it ; or tlie 
 minister, not well fitted to deliver it. 
 
 Tim. How from God not yet pleased to give it? 
 
 Phil. His time to bestow consolation is not yet 
 come : now no plummets of the heaviest human 
 importunity can so weigh down God's cloch of time, 
 as to make it strike one minute before his hour 
 be come. Till then, his mother herself could not 
 prevail with Christ* to work a miracle, and turn 
 tvater into wine: and till that minute appointed 
 
 * John ii. 4. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 93 
 
 approach, God will not in a wounded conscience 
 convert the ivater of affliction into that wine of 
 comfort, which maJces glad the heart of the soul. 
 
 Tim. How may the hindrance be in the patient 
 himself? 
 
 FMl. He may as yet not be sufficiently humbled, 
 or else God perchance in his providence foresees 
 that as the prodigal child, when he had received 
 his portion, riotously misspent it, so this sich soul, 
 if comfort were imparted unto him, would prove 
 an unthrift and ill husband upon it, would lose 
 and lavish it. God therefore conceives it most for 
 his glory, and the other's good, to keep the comfort 
 still in his own hand, till the woumded conscience 
 get more wisdom to manage and employ it. 
 
 Tim. May not the sich mans too mean opinion 
 of the minister be a cause why he reaps no more 
 comfort by his counsel ? 
 
 Phil. It may. Perchance the sick man hath 
 formerly slighted and neglected that minister, and 
 God Avill now not make him the instrument for 
 his comfort, who before had been the object of his 
 contempt. But on the other side, we must also 
 know, that perchance the party's over-liigh opinion 
 
94 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 of the minister's parts piety, and corporal presence 
 (as if he cured where he came, and carried ease 
 with him), may hinder the operation of his advice. 
 For God grows jealous of so suspicious an instru- 
 ment, who probably may be mistaken for the 
 principal. Whereas a meaner man, of whose 
 spirituality the patient hath not so high carnal 
 conceits, may prove more effectual in comforting, 
 because not within the compass of suspicion to 
 eclipse God of his glory. 
 
 Tim. How may the obstructions be in the 
 minister himself ? 
 
 FliU. If he comes unprepared by prayer, or 
 possessed with pride, or unskilful in what he 
 undertakes ; wherefore in such cases, a minister 
 may do well to reflect on himself (as the disciples* 
 did when they could not cast out the devil), and to 
 call his heart to account, what may be the cause 
 thereof: particularly whether some unrepented- 
 for sin in himself hath not hindered the effects of 
 his counsel in others. 
 
 Tim. However, you would not have him wholly 
 disheartened with his ill success ? 
 * Matt. xvii. 19. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 95 
 
 Phil Oil no ; but let him comfort himself with 
 these considerations. First, that though the 
 patient gets no benefit by him, he may gain ex- 
 perience by the patient, thereby being enabled 
 more effectually to proceed with some other in the 
 same disease. Secondly, though the sick man 
 refuses comfort for the present, yet what doth not 
 sink on a sudden, may soak in by degrees, and 
 may prove profitable afterwards. Thirdly, his 
 unsucceeding pains may notwithstanding facilitate 
 comfort for another to work in the same body, 
 as Solomon built a temple with most materials 
 formerly provided, and brought thither by David. 
 Lastly, grant his pains altogether lost on the 
 wounded conscience, yet his labour is not in vain 
 in the Lord,"" who, without respect to the event, 
 will reward his endeavours. 
 
 Tim. But what if this minister hath been the 
 means to cast this sick man down, and now cannot 
 comfort him again ? 
 
 Phil. In such a case, he must make this sad 
 accident the more matter for his humiliation, but 
 not for liis dejection. Besides, he is bound, both 
 * 1 Cor. XV. 58. 
 
96 THE CAUSE AND CUEE OP 
 
 in honour and honesty, civility and Christianity, 
 to procure what he cannot perform, calling in the 
 advice of others more able to assist him, not con- 
 ceiving, out of pride or envy, that the discreet 
 craving of the help of others is a disgraceful con- 
 fessing of his own weakness : like those malicious 
 midwives, who had rather that the woman in tra- 
 vail should miscarry, than be safely delivered by 
 the hand of another, more skilful than themselves. 
 
 DIALOGUE XYIL 
 
 WJiat is to he eonceivecl of their fifial estate wlio die 
 in a wounded Conscience without amj visible 
 Comfort. 
 
 Tim. What think you of such, who yield up 
 theii- ghost in the agony of an afflicted s^iritj with- 
 out receiving the least sensible degree of comfort ? 
 
 Phil. Let me be your remembrancer to call to 
 or keep in your mind, what I said before, that our 
 discourse only concerns the children of God : this 
 notion renewed, I answer. It is possible that the 
 sick soul may receive secret solace, though the 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 97 
 
 standers-by do not perceive it. We know how in- 
 sensibly Satan may spirt and inject despair into a 
 heart, and shall we not allow the Lord of heaven 
 to be more dexterous and active with his antidotes 
 than the devil is with his poisons ? 
 
 Tim, Surely, if he had any such comfort, he 
 would show it by words, signs, or some way, were 
 it only but to comfort his sad kindred, and content 
 such sorrowful friends who survive him; were 
 there any hidden fire of consolation kindled in his 
 heart, it would sparkle in his looks and gestures, 
 especially seeing no obligation of secrecy is im- 
 posed on him, as on the blind man,* when healed, 
 to tell none thereof. 
 
 Fliil. It may be he cannot discover the comfort 
 he hath received, and that for two reasons. First, 
 because it comes so late, when he lies in the meshes 
 of life and death, being so weak, that he can nei- 
 ther speak nor make signs with Zechariah ; being 
 at that very instant ivhen the silver cord is readij 
 to he loosed, and the golden howl to he hrohen, and 
 the ^pitcher to he hroken at the fountain, and the 
 tvheel to he hrol'en at the cistern. 
 * Mark viii. 26. 
 
98 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 Tim. What may be the other reason ? 
 Fhil. Because the comfort itself may be incom- 
 municable in its own nature, whicb the party can 
 take, and not tell ; enjoy, and not express ; receive, 
 and not impart: as by the assistance of God's 
 spirit, he sent up groans which cannot he uttered* 
 so the same may from God be returned with com- 
 fort which cannot be uttered ; and as he had many 
 invisible and privy pangs, concealed from the cog- 
 nizance of others, so may God give him secret 
 comfort, known unto himself alone, without any 
 other men's sharing in the notice thereof. The 
 heart knoweth his oivn hitterness : and a stranger 
 doth not intermeddle with his joy.\ So that his 
 comfort may be compared to the new name given 
 to God's servants, which no man hnoweth, save he 
 tlmt receiveth tV.J 
 
 Tim. All this proceeds on what is possible or 
 probable, but amounts to no certainty. 
 
 Phil. Well, then, suppose the worst : this is most 
 
 sure, though he die without tasting of any comfort 
 
 here, he may instantly partake of everlasting joys 
 
 hereafter. Surely many a despairing soul, groan- 
 
 * Kom. viii. 26. t Prov. xiv. 10. % Bev. ii. 17. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 99 
 
 ing out his last breath with fear and thought to 
 sink down to hell, hath presently been counter- 
 manded by God's goodness to eternal happiness. 
 
 Tim, What you say herein, no man alive can 
 conftrm or confute, as being known to God alone, 
 and the soul of the party. Only I must confess, 
 that you have charity on your side. 
 
 Phil. I have more than charity, namely, God's 
 plain and positive promise, hlessed are such as 
 mourn, for they shall he comforted.* Now, though 
 the particular time, when, be not expressed, yet 
 the latest date that can be allowed, must be in the 
 world to come, where such mourners, who have 
 not felt God in his comfort here, shall see him in 
 his glory in Heaven. 
 
 Tim. But some who have led pious and godly 
 lives have departed, pronouncing the sentence of 
 condemnation upon themselves, having one foot 
 already in hell by their own confession. 
 
 Phil. Such confessions are of no validity, where- 
 in their fear hears false ivitness against their faith. 
 The fineness of the whole cloth of their life must 
 not be thought .the worse for a little coarse list at 
 * Matt. V. 4. 
 
100 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 the last. And also their final estate is not to be 
 construed by what was dark, doubtful, and despe- 
 rate at their deaths, but must be expounded by 
 what was plain, clear, and comfortable, in their 
 lives. 
 
 Tim. You, then, are confident that a holy life 
 must have a happy death ? 
 
 Fhil. Most confident. The Logicians hold that, 
 although from false premises a true conclusion 
 may sometimes follow, yet from true propositions 
 nothing but a truth* can be thence inferred ; so 
 though sometimes a bad life may be attended with 
 a good death (namely, by reason of repentance, 
 though slow, sincere, though late, yet unfeigned, 
 being seasonably interposed), but where a godly 
 and gracious life hath gone before, there a good 
 death must of necessity follow; which, though 
 sometimes doleful (for want of apparent comfort) 
 to their surviving friends, can never be dangerous 
 to the party deceased. Kemember what St. Paul 
 saith. Our life is hid with Christ in God.'\ 
 
 Tim. What makes that place to your pur- 
 pose? 
 
 * Ex veris possunt, nil nisi vera sequi. f Col. iii. 3. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCILNC-E. 101 
 
 Fliil. Exceeding mucli. Five cordial observa- 
 tions are couched therein. First, that God sets a 
 high price and valuation on the souls of his ser- 
 vants, in that he is pleased to hide them : none will 
 Jiide toys and trifles but what is counted a trea- 
 sure. Secondly, the word hide, as a relative, im- 
 ports that some seek after our souls, being none 
 other than Satan himself, that roaring lion, who 
 goes about Seeking, whom he mag devour.* But 
 the best is, let him seelc, and seek, and seeh, till his 
 malice be weary (if that be possible) : we cannot be 
 hurt by him whilst we are hid' in God. Thirdly, 
 grant Satan find us there, he cannot fetch us 
 thence : our souls are hound in the bundle of life, 
 with the Lord our God. So that, be it spoken with 
 reverence, God first must be stormed with force 
 or fraud, before the soul of a saint sinner, hid 
 in him, can be surprised. Fourthly, we see the 
 reason why so many are at a loss, in the agony 
 of a ivounded conscience, concerning their spiritual 
 estate. For they look for their life in a wrong 
 place, namely, to find it in their own piety, purity, 
 and inherent righteousness. But though they 
 * 1 Peter v. 8. 
 
102 TjdE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 seek, and search, and dig, and dive never so deep, 
 all in vain. For though Adam's life was hid in 
 himself, and he intrusted with the keeping his 
 own integrity, yet, since Christ's coming, all the 
 original evidences of our salvation are kept in 
 a higher ofiice, namely, hidden in God himself. 
 Lastly, as our English proverb saith, he that 
 hath hid can find ; so God (to whom heloyigs the* 
 issues from death) can infallibly find out that soul 
 that is hidden in him, though it may seem, when 
 dying, even to labour to lose itself in a fit of 
 despair. 
 
 Tim. It is pity, but that so comfortable a doc- 
 trine should be true. 
 
 Phil. It is most true : surely as Joseph -j- and 
 Mary conceived that they had lost Christ in a 
 crowd, and sought him three days sorrowing, till 
 at last they found him beyond their expectation, 
 safe and sound, sitting in the Temple: so many 
 pensive parents, solicitous for the souls of their 
 children, have even given them for gone, and 
 lamented them lost (because dying without visible 
 comfort) and yet, in due time, shall find them to 
 * Psalm Ixviii. 20. f Luke ii. 48. • 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 103 
 
 their joy and comfort, safely possessed of honour 
 and happiness, in the midst of the heavenly tem]jle, 
 and church h'iumphant in glory. 
 
 DIALOGUE XYIIL 
 
 Of the different time and manner of the coming of 
 comfort to such who are healed of a wounded 
 conscience. 
 
 Tim. How long may a servant of God lie under 
 the burden of a wounded conscience P 
 
 Phil. It is not for us to hiow the times and 
 the seasons which the Father hath jput in his own 
 ^ower.* God alone knows whether their grief shall 
 be measured unto them, by hours, or days, or 
 weeks, or months, or many years. 
 
 Tim. How, then, is it that St. Paul saith, that 
 God will give us the issue with the tem])tation,'\ if 
 one may long be visited with this malady ? 
 
 Phil The apostle is not so to be understood, as 
 if the tem;ptation and issue were twins, both borne 
 at the same instant ; for then no affliction could 
 * Acts i. 7. t 1 Oor. x. 13. 
 
104 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 last long, but must be ended as soon as it is begun ; 
 whereas we read how Aneas* truly inoiis was 
 bedridden of the j^alsy eight years : the woman 
 diseased with a hloody issued twelve years; an- 
 other woman howed hy infirmity i eighteen years ; 
 and the man § lame thirty-eight years at the pool 
 of Bethesda. 
 
 Tim. What, then, is the meaning of the Apostle ? 
 
 Phil. God will give the issue with the tempta- 
 tion ; that is, the temptation and the issue bear both 
 the same date in God's decreeing them, though 
 not in his applying them: at the same time, 
 wherein he resolved his servants shall be tempted, 
 he also concluded of the means and manner, how 
 the same persons should infallibly be delivered. 
 Or thus : God will give the issue with the tempta- 
 tion ; that is, as certainly, though not as suddenly. 
 Though they go not abreast, yet they are joined 
 successively, like two links in a chain, where one 
 ends the other begins. Besides there is a twofold 
 is'iue ; one, through a temptation ; another out of 
 a temptation. The former is but mediate, not 
 
 * Acts ix. 33. + Matt. ix. 20. % Liike xiii. 11. 
 
 § John V. 5. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 105 
 
 final; an issue to an issue, only supporting the 
 person tempted for the present, and preserving 
 him for a future full deliverance. Understand the 
 ajpostle thus, and the issue is always both given 
 and applied to God's children, with the temjptation, 
 though the temptation may last long after, before 
 fully removed. 
 
 Tim. I perceive then, that in some a wounded 
 conscience may continue many years. 
 
 Fhil. So it may. I read of a poor tvidow, in 
 the land of Limhurgh*, who had nine children, 
 and for thirteen years together was miserably 
 afflicted in mind, only because she had attended 
 the dressing and feeding of her little ones before 
 going to mass. At last it pleased God to sanctify 
 the endeavours of Franciscus Junius, that learned, 
 godly divine, that upon true information of her 
 judgment she was presently and perfectly com- 
 forted. 
 
 Tim. Doth God give ease to all in such manner 
 on a sudden ? 
 
 Phil. no: some suddenly receive comfort, 
 and in an instant they pass from midnight to bright 
 * Melchior Adamus invita Tbeologorum Extororum, page 198. 
 
 I 
 
106 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 day, without any da'Wmng betwixt. Others receive 
 consolation by degrees, which is not poured, but 
 dropped into them by little and little. 
 
 Tim. Strange, that God's dealing herein should 
 be so different with his servants. 
 
 Fliil. It is to show that as in his proceedings 
 there is no variableness* such as may import him 
 mutable or impotent, so in the same there is very 
 much variety, to prove the fulness of his power 
 and freedom of his pleasure. 
 
 Tim. Why doth not God give them consolation 
 all at once ? 
 
 FTiil. The more to employ their prayers and 
 exercise their patience. One may admire why 
 Boaz\ did not give to Buth a quantity of corn more 
 or less, so sending her home to her mother, but 
 that rather he kept her still to glean ; but this 
 was the reason, because that is the best charity 
 which so relieves another's poverty as still con- 
 tinues their industry. God, in like manner, will 
 not give some consolation all at once ; he will 
 not spoil their (painful but) pious profession of 
 gleaning; still they must pray and gather, and 
 
 * James i. 17. t Ruth ii. 8. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 107 
 
 pray and glean, here an ear, there a handful of 
 comfort, which God scatters in favour unto them. 
 
 Tim. Wliat must the party do when he per- 
 ceives God and his comfort beginning to draw 
 nigh unto him ? 
 
 Fhil. As Martha* when she heard that Christ 
 was coming, stayed not a minute at home, but went 
 out of her house to meet him, so must a sick soul 
 wlien consolation is coming, haste out of himself, 
 and hie to entertain God with his thankfulness. 
 The best way to make an Omer of comfort increase 
 to an Ephah (which is ten times as much j) is to 
 be heartily grateful for what one hath already, that 
 his store may be multiplied. He shall never want 
 more who is thankful for and thrifty with a little : 
 whereas ingi-atitude doth not only stop the flowing 
 of more mercy, but even spills what was formerly 
 received. 
 
 * John si. 20. t Exod. xvi. 36. 
 
108 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 DIALOGUE XIX. 
 
 Sow such ivho are completely cured of a wounded 
 conscience are to demean themselves. 
 
 Tim. Give me leave now to take upon me the 
 person of one recovered out of a wounded con- 
 science. 
 
 FhiL In the first place, I must heartily con- 
 gratulate thy happy condition, and must rejoice 
 at ttiy ujpsitting, whom God hath raised from the 
 bed of despair : welcome David out of the c^eep, 
 Daniel out of the lions den, Jonah from the whales 
 lelly : welcome Joh from the dunghill, restored to 
 health and wealth again. 
 
 Tim. Yea, but when JoVs brethren came to visit 
 him after his recovery, every one gave him a piece 
 of money and an ear-ring of gold :* but the present 
 T expect from you, let it be, I pray, some of your 
 good counsel for my future deportment. 
 
 Phil. I have need to come to thee, and comest thou 
 to mef Fain would I be a Paul sitting at the 
 feet of such a Gamaliel, who hath been cm-ed of a 
 
 * Job xlii, 11. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 109 
 
 wounded conseienee in the height thereof. I would 
 turn my tongue into ears, and listen attentively to 
 what tidings he brings from hell itself. Yea, I 
 should be worse than the brethren of Dives, if 
 I should not believe one risen fi'om the dead, for 
 such in effect I conceive to be his condition. 
 
 Tim. But, waiving these digressions, I pray pro- 
 ceed to give me good advice. 
 
 Phil. First, thankfully own God thy principal 
 restorer and comforter paramount. Eemember 
 that of ten Leioers * one only returned to give 
 thanks, which shows that by nature, without grace 
 over-swaying us, it is ten to one if we be thankful. 
 Omit not also thy thankfulness to good men, not 
 only to such who have been the architects of thy 
 comfort, but even to those who though they have 
 built notliing, have borne burthens towards thy 
 recovery. 
 
 Tim. Go on, I pray, in your good counsel. 
 
 Phil, xissociate thyself with men of afflicted 
 minds, with whom thou may est expend thy time 
 to thine and their best advantage. how excel- 
 lently did Paul comply with Aquila and Priscilla ! 
 * Luke xvii. 17 
 
110 THE CAUSE AND CUBE OF 
 
 As their hearts agreed in the general profession 
 of piety, so their ]iands met in the trade of tent 
 makers f they abode and wrought together, being 
 of the same occupation. Thus I count all wounded 
 consciences of the same company, and may mutually 
 reap comfort one by another: only here is the 
 difference : they (poor souls) are still bound to 
 their hard task and trade, whilst thou (happy 
 man) hast thy indentures cancelled, and being free 
 of that profession, art able to instruct others 
 therein. 
 
 Tim. What instructions must I commend unto 
 them ? 
 
 Fhil. Even the same comfort, tvherewith thou 
 thyself was comforted of God :t v/ith David, tell 
 them tvhat God hath done for thy soul ; and with 
 Peter, being strong, strengthen thy hrethren :J con- 
 ceive thyself, like Josejph, therefore, sent before, 
 and sold into the Egyi^t of a wounded conscience 
 {where thy feet were hurt in the stocks, the irons 
 entered into thy soul), that thou mightest provide 
 food for the famine of others, and especially be a 
 purveyor of comfort for those thy brethren, which 
 
 * Acts xviii. 3. f 2 Cor. i. 4. % Luke xxii. 32. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. Ill 
 
 afterwards shall follow thee down into the same 
 doleful condition. 
 
 Tim. What else must I do for my afflicted 
 brethren ? 
 
 Phil Pray heartily to God in their behalf: 
 when David had prayed, Psalm xxv. 2, my 
 God, I trust in thee, let me not he ashamed ; in the 
 next verse (as if conscious, to himself, that his 
 prayers were too restrictive, narrow, and niggardly) 
 he enlarges the bounds thereof, and builds them 
 on a broader bottom ; tjea, let none that ivait on 
 thee he ashamed. Let charity in thy devotions have 
 Rechohoth, room enough : beware of pent petitions, 
 confined to thy private good, but extend them to 
 all God's servants, but especially all wounded 
 consciences. 
 
 Tim. Must I not also pray for those servants 
 of God which hitherto have not been wounded in 
 conscience ? 
 
 Phil. Yes, verily, that God would keep them 
 from or cure them in the. exquisite torment thereof. 
 Beggars, when they crave an alms, constantly use 
 one main motive, that the person of whom they 
 beg may be preserved from that misery, whereof 
 
112 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 they themselves have had woeful experience. If 
 they be blind, they cry, master, God hless your eye- 
 sight ; if lame, G-od Uess your liinbs ; if undone by 
 casual burning, God Uess you and yours from fire. 
 Christ, though his person be now glorified in 
 heaven, yet he is still subject by sympathy of his 
 saints on earth, to hunger, nakedness, imprison- 
 ment, and a wounded conscience, and so may stand 
 in need of feeding, clothing, visiting, comforting, 
 and curing. Now, when thou prayest to Christ 
 for any favour, it is a good plea to urge, edge, and 
 enforce thy request withal. Lord, grant me such or 
 such a grace, and never mayest thou. Lord, in thy 
 mystical memhers, he tortured and tormented with 
 the agony of a wounded conscience, in the deepest 
 distress thereof. 
 
 Tim. How must I behave myself for the time 
 to come ? 
 
 PhU. Walk humbly before God, and carefully 
 avoid the smallest sin, always remembering 
 Christ's caution ;* behold thou art made whole : sin 
 no more, lest a worse thing come unto thee. 
 
 * John V. 14. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 113 
 
 DIALOGUE XX. 
 
 Whether one Cured of a wounded conscience he 
 subject to a Relapse. 
 
 Tim. May a man, once perfectly healed of a 
 wounded conscience, and for some years in peace- 
 able possession of comfort, afterwards fall back into 
 his former disease ? 
 
 Phil. Nothing appears in Scriptm-e or reason to 
 the contrary, though examples of real relapses are 
 very rare, because God's servants are careful to 
 avoid sin, the cause thereof, and being once burnt 
 therewith, ever after dread the fire of a wounded 
 conscience. 
 
 Tim. Why call you it a relapse ? 
 
 Fhil. To distinguish it from those rela-pses more 
 usual and obvious, whereby such who have snatched 
 comfort before God gave it them, on serious con- 
 sideration that they had usurped that to which 
 they had no right, fall back again into the former 
 pit of despair ; this is improperly termed a relapse, 
 as not being a renewing, but a continuing of their 
 
114 THE CAUSE AKD CURE OF 
 
 former malady, from wliicli, though seemingly, 
 they were never soundly recovered. 
 
 Tim. Is there any intimation in Scripture of 
 the possibility of such a real relapse in God's 
 servants ? 
 
 Fhil. There is; when David saith. Psalm 
 Ixxxv. 8, 1 will hear what God the Lord will s^peak, 
 for he will sj>eah jpeace unto his ^eoj)le, and to his 
 Saints^ hut let them not turn again to folhj : this 
 imports that if his Saints turn again to folly, which 
 by woeful experience we find too frequently done, 
 God may change his voice, and turn his peace, 
 formerly spoken, into a warlike defiance to their 
 conscience. 
 
 Tim. But this, methinks, is a diminution to the 
 majesty of God, that a man, once completely cured 
 of a wounded conscience, should again be pained 
 therewith. Let mountebanks palliate, cures break 
 out again, being never soundly, but superficially 
 healed ; he that is all in all never doth his work 
 by halves, so that it shall be undone afterward. 
 
 Fhil. It is not the same individual wound in 
 number, but the same in kind, and, perchance, a 
 deeper in degree : nor is it any ignorance, or false- 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 115 
 
 hood in the surgeou, but folly and fury in the 
 patient, who by committing fresh sins, causes a 
 new pain in the old place. 
 
 Tim. In such relapses men are only troubled 
 for such sins which they have run on score since 
 their last recovery from a wounded conscience. 
 
 Fhil. Not those alone, but all the sins which 
 they have committed both before and since their 
 conversion may be started up afresh in their minds 
 and memories, and grieve and perplex them with 
 the guiltiness thereof. 
 
 Tim. But those sins were formerly fully forgiven, 
 and the pardon thereof solemnly sealed and as- 
 sured unto them ; and can the guilt of the same 
 recoil again upon their consciences ? 
 
 Phil, I will not dispute what God may do in 
 the strictness of his justice. Such seals, though 
 still standing firm and fast in themselves, may 
 notwithstanding break off and fly open in the 
 feeling of the sick soul : he will be ready to con- 
 ceive with himself that as Shimei* though once 
 forgiven his railing on David, was afterwards 
 executed for the same offence, though upon his 
 
 * 1 Kings ii. 44, 
 
116 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 committing of a new transgression, following his 
 servants to Gath, against the positive command 
 of the Mng, so God, upon his committing of new 
 trespasses, may justly take occasion to punish all 
 former offences ; yea, in his apprehension, the 
 very foundation of his faith may be shaken, all his 
 former title to heaven brought into question, and 
 he tormented with the consideration that he was 
 never a true child of God. 
 
 Tim. What remedies do you commend to such 
 souls in relapses ? 
 
 Fhil. Even the self-same receipts which I first 
 prescribed to wounded consciences, the very same 
 promises, precepts, comforts, counsels, cautions. 
 Only as Jacob, the second time that his sons went 
 down into Egiy^i,* commanded them to carry 
 double money in their hands, so I would advise 
 such to apply the former remedies with double 
 diligence, double watchfulness, double industry, 
 because the malignity of a disease is riveted 
 firmer and deeper in a relapse. 
 
 * Genesis xliii. 12. 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 117 
 
 DIALOGUE XXI. 
 
 Whether it he lawful to pray for, or to pray against, 
 or to praise God for a wounded conscience. 
 
 Tim. Is it lawful for a man to pray to God to 
 visit him with a wounded conscience P 
 
 Phil. He may and must pray to have his high 
 and hard heart truly humbled and bruised with 
 the sight and sense of his sins, and with unfeigned 
 sorrow for the same : but may not explicitly and 
 directly pray for a wounded conscience, in the 
 highest degree and extremity thereof. 
 
 Tim. Why interpose you those terms explicitly 
 and directly f 
 
 Phil. Because implicitly, and by consequence, 
 one may pray for a wounded conscience : namely, 
 when he submits himself to be disposed by God's 
 pleasure, referring the particulars thereof wholly 
 to his infinite wisdom, tendering, as I may say, a 
 blank paper to God in his prayers, and requesting 
 him to write therein what particulars he pleases ; 
 therein generally, and by consequence, he may 
 
118 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 pray for a wounded conscience, in case God sees the 
 same for his own glory and the party's good ; 
 otherwise, directly he may not pray for it. 
 
 Tim. How prove you the same ? 
 
 Fliil. First, because a wounded conscience is a 
 judgment, and one of the sorest, as the resemblance 
 of the torments of hell. Now, it is not congi^uous 
 to nature or grace for a man to be a free and 
 active instrument, purposely to pull down upon 
 himself the greatest evil that can befall him in 
 this world. Secondly, we have neither direction, 
 nor precedent of any saint, recorded in God's word, 
 to justify and warrant such prayers. Lastly, 
 though praying for a wounded conscience may 
 seemingly scent of pretended humility, it doth 
 really and rankly savour of pride, limiting the holy 
 one of Israel; it ill becoming the patient to 
 prescribe to his heavenly physician what kind of 
 physic he shall minister unto him. 
 
 Tim. But we may pray for all means to increase 
 grace in us, and therefore may pray for a wounded 
 conscience, seeing thereby, at last, piety is improved 
 in God's servants. 
 
 Fhil. We may pray for and make use of all 
 
A WOUNDED CONSCIENCE. 119 
 
 means whereby grace is increased : namely, such 
 
 means as by God are appointed for that purpose ; 
 
 and therefore, by virtue of God's institution, have 
 
 both a proportionableness and a tendency in order 
 
 thereunto. But, properly, those things are not 
 
 means, or ordained by God, for the increase of 
 
 piety, which are only accidentally overruled to 
 
 that end by God's power, against the intention and 
 
 inclination of the things themselves. Such is a 
 
 ivQunded conscience, being always actually an evil 
 
 of punishment, and too often occasionally an evil 
 
 of sin, the lias whereof doth bend and bow to 
 
 wickedness ; though, overruled by the aim of 
 
 God's eye and strength of his arm, it may bring 
 
 men to the mark of more grace and goodness. 
 
 God can and will extract light out of darkness, 
 
 good out of evU, order out of confusiofi, and comfort 
 
 out of a wounded conscience : and yet darkness, evil, 
 
 confusion, &c., are not to be prayed for. 
 
 Tim. But a wounded conscience, in God's children, 
 infallibly ends in comfort here or glory hereafter, 
 and therefore is to be desired. 
 
 Fhil. Though the ultimate end of a wounded 
 conscience winds off in comfort, yet it brings with 
 
120 THE CAUSE AND CURE OF 
 
 it many intermediate mischiefs and maladies, 
 especially as managed by human corruption: 
 namely, dulness in divine service, impatience, 
 taking God's name in vain, despair for the time, 
 blasphemy ; which a saint should decline, not 
 desire; shun, not seek; not pursue, but avoid 
 with liis utmost endeavours. 
 
 Tim. Is it lawful positively to pray against a 
 wounded conscience f 
 
 Phil It is, as appears from an argument taken 
 from the lesser to the greater. If a man may pray 
 against pinching poverty, as wise A^ur did,* tlien 
 may he much more against a wounded conscience, 
 as a far heavier judgment. Secondly, if God's 
 servants may pray for ease under their burthens, 
 whereof we see divers particulars in that worthy 
 prayer of Solomon,] I say, if we pray to God to 
 remove a lesser judgment by way of subvention, 
 questionless we may beseech him to deliver us 
 from the great evil of a wounded conscience, by way 
 of prevention. 
 
 Tim. May one lawfully praise God for visitmg 
 him with a wounded conscience P 
 
 * Proverbs xxx. 8. t 1 Kings viii. 33. 
 
A ^YOUNDED CONSCIE^XE. 121 
 
 Phil. Yes, verily. First, because it is agreeable 
 to the will of God* in everything to he thanJcftd : 
 here is a general rule, without limitation. 
 Secondly, because the end why God makes any 
 work is his own glory ; and a tvounded conscience 
 being a work of God, he must be glorified in it, 
 especially seeing God shows much mercy therein, 
 as being a punishment on this side of htll fire, and 
 less than our deserts. As also, because he hath 
 gracious intentions towards the sick soul for the 
 present, and when the malady is over the patient 
 shall freely confess that it is good for him that he 
 was so afflicted. Happy, then, that soul, who in 
 the lucid intervals of a wounded conscience can 
 praise God for the same. Music is sweetest near, 
 or over rivers, where the echo thereof is best re- 
 bounded by the Avater. Praise for pensiveness, 
 thanks for tears, and blessing God over the floods 
 of affliction makes the most melodious music in 
 the ear of heaven. 
 
 * 1 Thes. V. 18 ; Ephes. v. 20 ; Psalm ciii. 22 ; and cxlv. 1 0. 
 
THE CONCLUSION OF THE AUTHOK 
 TO THE EEADEE. 
 
 And now God knows liow soon it may be said 
 unto me, physician,, heal thyself, and how quickly 
 I shall stand in need of these counsels which I 
 have prescribed to others. Herein I say, with Eli 
 to Samuel,^ it is the Lord, let him do ivhat seemeth 
 him good : with David to Zadoek,^ behold here I am, 
 let him do to me as seemeth good unto him. With 
 the Discijples to Paul,X the will of the Lord he done. 
 But oh, how easy it is for the mouth to pronounce 
 or the hand to subscribe these words ! But how 
 hard, yea, without God's grace, how impossible, 
 for the heart to submit thereunto ! Only hereof 
 I am confident, that the making of this treatise 
 shall no ways cause or hasten a ivounded conscience 
 in me, but rather on the contrary (especially if, as 
 * 1 Sam. iii. 18. t 2 Sam. xv. 26. J Acts xxi. 14. 
 
123 
 
 it is written hy me, it were written in me) either 
 prevent it, that it come not at all. or defer it, that 
 it come not so soon, or lighten it, that it fall not 
 so heavy, or shorten it, that it last not so long. 
 And if God shall be pleased hereafter to write 
 hitter things against me,* who have here written 
 the sweetest comforts I 'could for others, let none 
 insult on my sorrows. But whilst my wounded 
 conscience shall lie, like the cripj)Ie,-\ at the ;porch 
 of the temple, may such as pass by be pleased to 
 pity me, and permit this book to beg in my behalf 
 the charitable prayers of well-disposed people ; 
 till divine providence shall send some Peter, some 
 pious minister, perfectly to restore my maimed 
 soul to her former soundness. Amen. 
 
 * Job xiii. 26. t Acts iii. 2. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
T R r A N A ; 
 
 OR. A THREEFOLD 
 
 R O M A N Z A, 
 
 r MARIANA, 
 Of \ PADUANA, 
 I SABINA. 
 
 Onine tulit Puiictam rjui miscuit utile dulci. 
 
 BY THO. FULLER, B.D. 
 
 LONDON ; 
 
 PRINTED FOR JOHN STAFFORD, AND ARE TO BE SOLD 
 
 AT HIS HOUSE AT THE GEORGE, AT 
 
 FLEETBRIDGE. 1664. 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 It is hard to say whether it is worst to be Idle, 
 or ill employed ; whilst I have eschewed the 
 former, I have fallen on the latter, and shall 
 by the severer sort, be censured for misspending 
 my time. 
 
 Let such, I pray hear my Flea, and I dare 
 make my accusers my Judges herein ; that is not 
 lost time, which aims at a good end. Sauce is as 
 lawful as meat, recreation as labour ; it hath pleased 
 me in composing it, I hope it may delight others 
 in perusing it. 
 
 I present not a translation out of the jSjMnish, 
 or from the Italian Original ; this is the common 
 Pander to men's fancy, hoping to vent them under 
 that title, with the more applause. These my 
 
128 TO THE READER. 
 
 play-labours never appeared before, and is an 
 essay of wbat hereafter may be a greater volume. 
 
 Things herein are composed in a general pro- 
 })ortion to truth, and we may justly affirm, Vera 
 si non scrihimus, scrihiinus veri similia. 
 
 I will not be deposed for the exact variety of 
 the gravest passages. In the greatest historian a 
 liberty hath ever been allowed to fancies of this 
 nature, always provided, that they confine them- 
 selves within the bounds of probability. 
 
 Thus wishing every faithful lovei", Felicianos 
 happiness ; every good wife, Facundos love ; every 
 true servant, Gervatws fortune ; every maiden lady, 
 Fidelio's constant affection ; every faithful friend, 
 Vejetds success; ever}^ clownish fool, Insuls 
 mishap ; and every cruel wanton, Nicliolayos de- 
 served punishment, I leave thee to the perusal 
 hereof. Censure not so rigidly, lest you blast a 
 l)udding writer, in the blossoming of his endea- 
 vours. 
 
 Tkiana. 
 
MARIANA 
 
 In the City of Valentia, Metropolis of tlie Kingdom 
 so named, which, with many other Dominions, 
 are the tributary Brooks dischai'ging themselves 
 into the orean of the Spanish Monarchy, dwelt 
 one Don Durio, a merchant of great repute. For 
 as yet, the envious sands had not, (as at this day) 
 obstructed the Haven in Valentia, but that it was 
 the principal port in those parts. 
 
 This Don Durio had advanced an estate, much 
 by Parsimony, more by Rapine, being half a Jew 
 by his extraction, and more than three quarters 
 thereof by his Conditions, being a notorious op- 
 pressor. But grown very aged, and carrying his 
 Eyes in his Pocket, Teeth in liis sheath, and Feet 
 in his Hands, he began with remorse to reflect 
 
130 MARIANA. 
 
 on tlie former part of his Life, with some thoughts 
 of restitution to such whom he had most injured. 
 
 This his intention, he communicated to one 
 Francisco, a Friar, and his Confessor. Francisco 
 was glad to see such a qualm of Religion come 
 over his heart, aiid resolved to improve it to 
 the uttermost. He persuades him that restitu- 
 tion was a thing difficult and almost impossible 
 for one in his condition, so many were the par- 
 ticular persons by him wronged. The shortest 
 and surest way, was for him to consign his only 
 Daughter Mariana, to be a Nun in the Priory 
 of St. Bridget, and to endow that Convent with 
 all his Lan<.ls ; which exemplary piece of his 
 liberality, would not only with the lustre thereof, 
 outshine all his former faults, but also be a direc- 
 tion to posterity, how to regulate their estates 
 on the like occasion. Don Durio, though flinty 
 of himself, yet lately softened with age and sick- 
 ness, entertains the motion, not only with content- 
 ment, but with delight, and will not be a day 
 older, before the same be effected. 
 
 But there was a material person, whose consent 
 herein must be consulted with, even Mariana his 
 
MARIANA. 131 
 
 Daugliter, who had not one ounce of Nun's flesh 
 about her ; as whom nature had intended, not as 
 a dead stake in a hedge, to stand singly in the 
 place, but as a plant, to fructify for posterity. 
 Besides, she had assured herself to one Fidelia, a 
 Gentleman of such merit, that though his virtues 
 started with great disadvantage, clogged with the 
 weight of a necessitous fortune ; yet such the 
 strength and swiftness thereof, that he very 
 speedily came (not being above the years of two 
 and twenty,) to the mark of a public reputation. 
 But these things were carried so closely between 
 them, and all leaks of superstition were so cun- 
 ningly made up, that neither friend nor foe, had 
 gained the least glimpse of their intentions. 
 
 Don Durio, Francisco being in his presence, 
 importunes his Daughter, (a hard task,) to bury 
 her beauty under a veil, and become SiBridgettine.y 
 
 What he propounded with a fatherly bluut- 
 ness, Francisco sharpens with the edge of his 
 wit, heightening the happiness of a secluded Life 
 to the Sky, and above it; a discourse very un- 
 welcome to Mariana's ears, racketted between 
 two dangers on either side. If she surrender her- 
 
132 MARIANA. 
 
 self herein to her Father's will, she is undone : 
 and what she values above herself, Fidelio is 
 ruined. If she deny, she exposeth herself to 
 the just censure of disobedience : yea it puts a 
 light into the hand of her suspicious Father, 
 thereby to discover her intentions, that her affec- 
 tions being pre-engaged, obstructed the acceptance 
 of this motion. No time is allowed her to advise. 
 In a moment, (almost,) she must consult and 
 conclude, and resolved at last to comj^ly with her 
 Father's desires for the joresent, not despairing 
 bat that courteous time, in the process thereof, 
 would tender unto her some advantage, whereby 
 hereafter, she might make a fair evasion. 
 
 But her Father hurries her in her present attire, 
 (as good enough for a mortified mind, without 
 allowing her respite of exchanging,) unto the 
 Convent. Francisco leads the w^ay, Bon Durio 
 follows, and Mariana comes last. Her counte- 
 nance was neither so sad, as to betray any dis- 
 content, nor so blithe and cheerful, as to proclaim 
 any likeness therein ; but so reduced, and mode- 
 rately composed, as of one that well understood 
 both what she was leaving off, and what she 
 
MARIANA. 133 
 
 was entering into. And if the falling of a few 
 tears moistened her cheeks, it was excusable in 
 one now taking her farewell of her former friends ; 
 and her Father beheld the same, as the Argu- 
 ment of good nature in her. 
 
 Einsino; the bell at the Convent Gate, the 
 watchful Porter takes the Alarm, and presently 
 opens; for though it was something difficult for 
 strangers to have access into the Convent, yet 
 the presence of Friar Francisco, was as strong 
 as any Fetarcl, to make the sturdiest gate in the 
 Convent pliable to his admission. Out comes the 
 Lady Abbess, who had now passed sixty winters, 
 and carried the repute of a grave and sancti- 
 monious Matron. A strict discipliner she was, 
 of the least wantonness of any committed to 
 her charge; reputed by most to her virtuous 
 disposition, but ascribed by others to her envy, 
 driving away those delights from others, which 
 formerly had flown away from herself. 
 
 Francisco with a short speech, acquaints her with 
 the cause of their coming, surrenders Mariana 
 to be a Probationer in their house, whom the 
 Ahless welcometh with the largest expressions 
 
134 MARIANA. 
 
 of love to her and thankfulness to her Father; 
 highly commendiDg Don Durio's Devotion, 
 that whereas many Parents, blessed with a nu- 
 merous issue, grudge to bestow the tithe thereof 
 on a Monastical Life, such is his forward zeal, as 
 to part with all his stock and store, not repining 
 to confer his sole daughter and heiress, to a 
 religious retirement. Then taking their leaves 
 each of other, they depart, leaving Mariana with 
 the Ahhess. 
 
 Millicent, a Nun of good esteem and great 
 credit, is assigned by the Abbess to go along 
 with Mariana, and show her all the rooms, 
 walks, and rich utensils of the house; especially 
 she is very careful to read unto her a large 
 Inventory of all the relics therein, with their 
 several miraculous operations. The points of 
 St. BunibalVs Breeches, (among other things,) were 
 there shown, the touching whereof, would make 
 barren women fruitful ; and many other seeming 
 toys of sovereign influence. Passing through 
 by the south-east corner of the Cloister, Mariana 
 cast her eye on an arched vault, enquiring the 
 use thereof, and whither the same did conduct. 
 
MARIANA. 135 
 
 MiUicent answered, that in due time her curiosity 
 therein should be satisfied to her own content- 
 ment; but as yet she was not capable of any 
 intelligence therein, which was one of the mys- 
 teries of the house, not communicated to noWces 
 at theu' first admission, but reserved for such, 
 who afler some convenient time of abode there, 
 had given undoubted testimony of their fidelity to 
 that Order. 
 
 And here we leave Mariana, having more 
 music and less mirth, than she had at home. 
 
 The news hereof was no sooner brought to 
 Fidelio, but it moved a strange impression upon 
 him. Were I assured that the reader hereof, was 
 ever found in love, and that his breast was ever 
 through warmed with chaste fires of a constant 
 mistress, it would spare me some pains to charac- 
 ter Fidelia's sad condition. For then my work is 
 easily done, only, by appealing to the reader's 
 experience; who out of a sympathy, is able to 
 make more tlian a conjecture of Fidelios sad 
 estate, daily languishing for the loss of his Love 
 as dead, (whilst living,) unto him. 
 
 His pensive postures, sad looks, silent sighs, 
 
136 MARIANA.. 
 
 affected solitariness, sequestering liimself from his 
 most familiar friends, was observed by Ardalio, 
 by whom he was entirely beloved. Ardalio using 
 the boldness becoming a friend, examines Fidelio 
 of the cause of his sudden change. Fidelio for a 
 time, fences himself with his own retiredness, 
 and fortifies his soul, with resolutions of secrecy. 
 The other, plants the Ai^tillery of his importunity 
 against him, by the force whereof, Fidelio is beaten 
 out of his hold, and won at last, to unbosom his 
 grievance to Ardalio; who had promised, that 
 Midnight sooner should be found a Tell-tale, and 
 Trust itself become a Traitor, rather than he 
 would discover anything prejudicial unto him. 
 Emboldened wherewith, Fidelio confesseth, that 
 Ma/riana's restraint in a Nunnery, into which she 
 was lately thrust by her parent's power, (as he 
 verily believed,) against her own will, and without 
 his knowledge. 
 
 Had she been taken prisoner by the TurJc, 
 some hope would have been to procure her Liberty 
 by ransom ; had Pirates surprised her, money 
 might have purchased her freedom ; whereas 
 now no hope of enlargement, it being no less 
 
MARIANA. 137 
 
 tliaD Sacrilege accounted, by force, or fraud, to 
 practise her delivery from that Eeligious slavery. 
 
 Be content, (saith Ardalio,) and I will make you 
 master of a project, which without any danger, 
 shall bring your Mistress into your possession. 
 Turn, therefore, all your Soul into ears, and listen 
 to my discourse, which though seemingly tedious 
 in the relating, the same will make your atten- 
 tion, not only a favour, but a gainer by the rich 
 conclusion thereof 
 
 Some twelve years since, when a Friar was 
 buried in the Benedictine Convent, all the School- 
 boys in Valentia, (among whom I assure you I 
 was none of the meanest,) invited themselves to 
 be present at the solemnity. Now, whilst others 
 were crowded into the Chapel, to see the per- 
 formance of the Obsequies, I know not what 
 conceit made me a separatist from the rest of my 
 companions. And as I was walking, in a Corner 
 between the Conduit and the Hall, I happened 
 into an old Koom, which led me into a Vault, 
 lighted only with one squint-eyed Window: 
 going somewhat further therein, my heart began 
 to fail me, with the fresh remembrance of those 
 
138 MAEIANA. 
 
 Tales of Bugbears, wherewitli my Nurse had 
 affrighted my infancy from ponds and places of 
 dangers : however, taking heart, I resolved to 
 discover the issue of that winding Vault. And 
 here, you must forgive me, if I have forgotten 
 some circumstances herein. My memory, which 
 never was very loyal, may be pardoned for be- 
 traying some passages, after twelve years past. 
 Let it suffice, that I remember so much, as will 
 make you happy if wisely prosecuted. This was 
 the result of my adventure, — that, as our Eiver 
 Anas is reported to run some miles under ground, 
 and afterwards spring up again, so I, drowned 
 under dry earth, (if you will allow the expression,) 
 was boiled up again in the Nunnery of the 
 Bridgetines. You will hardly believe with what 
 amazement the Nuns beheld me, who had entered 
 their Cloister that unusual way, never as yet, (as 
 it seems,) traced with boys' feet, but by those of 
 more maturity, whose company might be more 
 acceptable unto them. They loaded me with 
 kisses and sweetmeats, for, believe me (Fidelio), 
 how mean opinion so ever you may now have of 
 my handsomeness, if my picture then taken, and 
 
MARIANA. 139 
 
 tlie report of my Mother may be believed, I was 
 not unhandsome. In fine, they flattered and 
 threatened me, not to discover which way I came 
 thither ; which if once I made known, thousands of 
 Devils would torment. From which day to this, 
 it never came into my head : my memoiy having 
 now made some amends for its former forgetful- 
 ness by this seasonable suggestion thereof unto 
 me, when it may befriend your occasions. If 
 therefore, you can convey yourself by this passage 
 into the Nunnery, I leave the rest to be stewarded 
 by your own Ingenuity. 
 
 But which way (said Fidelio) shall I contrive 
 my undiscovered coming thither r Show me but 
 a way presenting but half the face, yea, but a 
 quarter face of probability, and I shall kiss that, 
 and thank you for the same. 
 
 I will furnish you with all requisites for the 
 Adventure. I have an uncle living at Lisbon, 
 provincial of the Benedictines in Spain : his hand, 
 when a boy, I have often counterfeited (for harm- 
 less cheats level with my age), so livelily, that I 
 have persuaded him to confess it his own; and 
 great the familiarity between my Uncle and 
 
140 " MARIANA. 
 
 Francisco, who liere is tlie Benedictine Abbot. I 
 will provide all things for you, and fit you with 
 the habit of their Order, leaving the rest still to be 
 improved, by your own Art and Industry. For 
 where a friend tenders one hand to draw you out 
 of the Mire, if you assist not to make up the rest 
 by vour own Endeavours, even lie there still, to 
 your own shame, and with no pity of mine. 
 
 They depart, resolving" next morrow to meet, 
 when all necessaries should be provided. In the 
 mean time Fidelio goes to the Convent of the 
 Bridcjetines, and walks under a Window thereof, 
 the which (as he was informed, and his intelligence 
 therein not untrue), belonged to the Chamber of 
 Mariana. Slie discovers him there, and pre- 
 sently rends out of her legend the first white 
 leaf which had not blushed (as the rest), for the 
 lies and impudences which were written therein ; 
 wdiich Paper she employs for a Letter^ and looking 
 out of the window, casts the letter down unto him 
 who stood ready beneath, to receive the same ; and 
 surely, had the Letter been but balanced with any 
 competent weight put therein, it had not missed 
 his hands for whom it was intended. 
 
MARIANA. 141 
 
 What a pity was it, that Molus was never in 
 love, or that the Winds are too boisterous or too 
 cold to be melted by Affection, except any will 
 say that a Gale of wind was ambitious to kiss 
 the letter of so fair a hand, and overacted its part 
 therein. 
 
 Sure it is, that a small blast thereof, blew this 
 Letter over into the Garden of the Ahhess, where 
 she was viewing of her Bees. Her Ladyship be- 
 takes herself to her glass eyes, and peruseth the 
 following contents thereof. 
 
 FiDELIO, 
 
 Help me with thy imaginations, and know me 
 here more miserable than I can express ; here is 
 nothing less than that which is pretended, a chaste 
 mistress which in due time may be a chaste wife, 
 may stock a hundred Nuns with Virginity ; work 
 my deliverance, if thy affections be unfeigned, or 
 1 am undone. 
 
 Mariana. 
 
 Short and sweet, said the Ahhess, the least 
 Toads have the greatest Poison. And then up she 
 
142 MARIANA. 
 
 flies, winged with anger, (whicli otherwise could 
 scarce crawl,) to Marianas Chamber, where she 
 so rails on her, that a Purgatory hereafter, might 
 have been spared for having one here. 
 
 And because she had defamed the whole Con- 
 vent, the heaviest penance must be enjoined unto 
 her, to be stripped naked to the middle, in the Eall 
 at dinner time, where she was only to be feasted 
 with lashes, each Nun inflicting one upon her, 
 and then, the Ahless to conclude sans number, as 
 many as her own discretion was pleased to lay on 
 her. 
 
 But Mariana, partly with grief, and partly 
 with fear, fell so terribly sick, that that night her 
 life came into despair ; the only reason (as I take 
 it)j why her penance \\as put off to another time, 
 till she might be the more able object of their 
 cruelty. For the Ahhess resolved, that what was 
 deferred should not be taken away ; being so 
 far from abating the principal, she intended 
 Mariana should pay it with interest, and give 
 satisfaction for the forbearance of this Discipline, 
 when in any tolerable strength to undergo it. 
 
 By this time Ardalio had completed Fidelio 
 
MARIANA. 143 
 
 with all necessaries in the habit of a Friar, who 
 thus accoutred, advanceth in his formality to the 
 Convent, where he is presently brought to Fran- 
 Cisco, to whom he delivered this ensuing Letter. 
 
 Dear Brother, 
 
 I send you here myself in my friend, who, 
 was he as well known to you as to me, his virtues 
 would command your affection, if not admiration. 
 Our Convent hath this last hundred years, (since 
 the first foundation therof,) been essaying and 
 endeavouring to make up a complete man, which 
 now in some measure it had effected in the bearer 
 hereof; when behold, envious death, repining at 
 our happiness, had laboui-ed to frustrate the same ; 
 so that this peerless piece of devotion was scarce 
 bestowed on us, when almost taken away from us 
 by a violent sickness, whose abated fury termi- 
 nated at last in a long and languishing quartan 
 ague, which his hollow eyes and thin cheeks do 
 too plainly express. Exchange of Air is com- 
 mended unto us, for the best, if not only Physic. 
 Let him want nothing, I pray, your house can 
 afford, and burthen him with as few questions as 
 
144 MARIANA. 
 
 may be, it being tedious to him to talk, and his 
 infirmity hath much disabled his intellectuals; 
 and know that your meritorious kindness therein 
 shall not only oblige me to a requital, but put 
 an engagement on all Lovers of virtue, to whom 
 this our Brother Festueas worth is or hereafter 
 may be known. 
 
 Your loving Friend, 
 
 Pedro di Ronca. 
 
 Francisco embraceth him with all dearness ; 
 the viands of the house are set before him, 
 whereof Fidelio took a moderate repast ; all the 
 Monks of the house severally salute him, and 
 demanded of him several particulars of their 
 Convent at Lisbon, as of the Situation, Endow- 
 ment, Number, Names, and punctual observances 
 therein. 
 
 To all these Fidelio returned general answers, 
 under the cover whereof he might the easier 
 conceal his own ignorance : as for the endowment 
 of the house, he professed himself a mere stranger 
 thereunto, and that he affected ignorance therein, 
 as conceiving it resented too much of worldly 
 
MARIANA. 145 
 
 employment, whereas his desire was, that better 
 things should engross his soul. This excuse was 
 heard with admiration, increasing the opinion 
 they had preconceived of his holiness. When 
 they ask him such questions to which he could 
 retm-n no answer at all, he would fall into a 
 seeming trance, darting his eyes, and moving 
 his lips as in pious ejaculations, as not listening 
 to what was said unto him ; whilst the others, out 
 of mannerly devotion, let fall their questions, and 
 would press them no farther, as loth to interrupt 
 his soul in more serious and sacred employment. 
 Besides, Francisco gave a strict command, that 
 none should disturb him with needless questions, 
 but leave him to the full employment of his own 
 meditations. 
 
 Some six days after, Fidelio, observing the 
 directions of Ardalio his friend, finds out the 
 aforesaid vault, and accordingly went forward 
 therein, till at last he came to a Great Iron Gate, 
 which was shut, and obstructed the way. This 
 Gate was either not set up, or not shut up, when 
 Ardalio made his passage this way. Fidelio falls 
 a musing, finds all his hopes prove abortive, with 
 
146 MARIANA. 
 
 no possibility of further proceeding, when look- 
 ing seriously on the Gate, which was enlightened 
 through a small hole, presenting but twilight at 
 noonday, he discovered an inscription thereon, 
 which he read to himself, with a voice one degree 
 above whispering. 
 
 Fair Portress of this privy Gate, 
 If any Sister want a Mate, 
 Lift up the Bar and let me in, 
 It shall be but a venial sin. 
 
 Instantly the Gate flew open, and Fidelio is left 
 to wonder what secret Spell and hidden Magic 
 were contained in those verses, that so im- 
 mediately they should procure his admittance. 
 But presently the Eiddle is unfolded, finding a 
 Nun behind the door, where she kept her constant 
 attendance, and to whom these verses were the 
 wonted watch-word to open the Gate. Re-collect- 
 ing his spirit, he accosted the Sister, desiring to 
 be conducted to Mariana, whom he understood 
 (for the fame thereof had gotten out of the 
 Convent), was very sick, and he, sent from Father 
 Francisco, to provide some Ghostly counsel for her, 
 and what else her present condition should require. 
 
MARIANA. 147 
 
 He is carried unto her Chamber, who being at 
 the present asleep, he entertained himself in the 
 next room by looking on a Picture. Herein, 
 Saint De7iis was set forth, beheaded by Fagan 
 Tyrants, and afterwards carrying his head nnder 
 his arm, seven miles from Faris to Saint Denis, 
 Fiddio, smiling thereat to himself, thought, that 
 Saint Denis in that posture, had an excellent 
 opportunity to pick his teeth. 
 
 Mariana is awaked, Fidelio called in, who, 
 claiming the privilege of privacy, as proper for 
 a Confessor, all avoid the room ; then putting off 
 his disguise, he briefly telleth her what dangers 
 he had undergone for her deliverance, informeth 
 her that next morning he would be ready with 
 horses and servants, at such a corner of the 
 Garden, where, without any danger, they had 
 contrived a way for her escape. Fidelia's presence 
 is better than any Cordial. Mariana recovereth 
 her spirits, is apprehensive of the motion, pro- 
 miseth to observe time and place, they are thrifty 
 in their language, speak much in little, lavish no 
 minutes in compliments, but are perfectly in- 
 structed in each other's designs. 
 
148 MARIANA. 
 
 Presently, in comes the Ahhess. Fidel io (having 
 first recovered his cowl), proceeds in a set dis- 
 course, of the praise of patience, commending it 
 to Mariana as the most necessary virtue in her 
 condition ; and after some general salutes to the 
 Abbess, recommendeth his Patient to her care, 
 and takes his own opportunity to depart, return- 
 ing to the Convent of the Benedictines as undis- 
 covered as he came thence. 
 
 That night, befriended with the dark, under 
 the mantle thereof, Fidelio gets out of the 
 Convent, repairs to liis friend Ardalio, reports all 
 the particulars of his success, triumphs in the 
 hopes of his approaching happiness, counts the 
 time (which we generally complain doth fly), a 
 Cripple that crawls, so long each minute seems 
 unto him, until ten of the clock next morning 
 should be accomplished. 
 
 Next day Mariana riseth from her bed, craves 
 leave of the Ahhess to go into the Garden ; which 
 is granted her, so that Millieent, a prime Nun, 
 were to attend her. Millieent adviseth her to 
 wrap herself warm for fear of a relapse, for the 
 Air (saith she) is piercing, and your body weak. 
 
MARIANA. 149 
 
 ludeerl, (quotli Mariana), I am sensible of much 
 strength in a sliort time, and believe myself able 
 to run a race with you, who shall first come to 
 yonder corner. Done, said MilUcent, and let the 
 lag that comes last to the place, say over her 
 Beads for us both. They start together. 
 
 Have you ever heard the Poet's fiction of 
 Atalantas running, when only her covetousness 
 to get the golden Ball made her lose the race ? 
 Alas ! her swiftness was nothing in comparison 
 of Mariana's. It seems that Cupid, who had shot 
 the piles of his arrows into her heart, had tied 
 the feathers or wings thereof unto her feet. 
 
 The wall of the Nunnery was on the one side 
 filled up with Earth ; on the outside there was a 
 descent of some four yards. Fidelio stood ready to 
 entertain her. What ivill not fright and love do ? 
 Mariana consults not any danger, nor did she 
 carry a scale in her eye to measure the depth 
 of the wall ; but crossing the Proverb, she leaps 
 hefore she holes, Fidelio saveth her almost half the 
 way of her journey, by catching of her in his 
 arms, and before the succeeding minute had sup- 
 planted its Predecessor, she is mounted by his 
 
150 MARIANA. 
 
 servant behind Fidelio, and all speed tliey make 
 to a Chapel, which might serve for an Hospital, 
 for it was blind, and the Priest dumb, yet had 
 tongue enough to tie that knot which none of 
 them was able to undo. 
 
 But tired Millicent, with much panting, had re- 
 covered the corner, and seeing Marianas escape, 
 cried out, she is gone, she is gone. This gave an 
 Alarm to the Abbess^ who instantly conceived her 
 in a swoon. It is, said she, the just reward of 
 her adventure, that contrary to my Counsel went 
 abroad. Out comes the whole Regiment of Nuns, 
 with hot waters and Cordials, to tempt her soul, 
 if not too far departed, to return to her body. 
 They are soon sensible of their mistake, and 
 behold her almost got out of sight, so that the 
 longer they looked the less they saw her, till 
 distance at last made her vanish away. Many a 
 JVun a Spectator hereof, wished themselves an 
 Actor upon the same terms, commending her 
 adventure in their hearts, who condemned her 
 most in their discourse. 
 
 Fidelio, with Mariana his wife, returned to a 
 private house in Lisbon, prepared for this purpose. 
 
MARIANA. 151 
 
 But oh ! the quick intelligence that Friars have ! 
 Sure their souls are all scent, all Eyes and Ears, 
 that discover things so soon, so far off. They were 
 just ready to sit down to supper, only expecting 
 the coming of his dear friend Ardalio, when in 
 comes a man, or a Tiger (shall I say). Nature 
 might seem to intend him for the latter, such his 
 fierce aspect and hairy face, the terribleness 
 whereof, was increased with his affected antic 
 attire. By his place, he was the Jailor of the house 
 of Inquisition, and presently he showed a cast of 
 his office, by seizing them both his Prisoners. Yet, 
 might they have had the happiness to have been 
 sent to the same Prison, it would have afforded 
 some mitigation of their misery. This would not 
 be granted, though Mariana with importunate 
 tears requested it; but they were disposed into 
 several Jails, where neither of them was sensible 
 of their own condition, being totally taken up 
 with the mutual bemoaning the one, of the other. 
 This is one commendable quality in the 
 Spaniards ; prisoners are not long delayed to rot 
 in the Jail, where is life worse than death itself, 
 but are brought to a speedy trial, either to be 
 
152 MARIANA. 
 
 condemned or acquitted. Next day, they both are 
 brought before the Judges, and condemned to die ; 
 he, for Sacrilege, for soliciting a votary out of the 
 house; she, for carrying away a golden Medal, 
 wherein was the Picture of Saint Bridget, which 
 she casually borrowed, having no felonious inten- 
 tion, as meaning to restore it, but surprised on a 
 sudden, had no leisure to make restitution. All 
 conceived that the rigours was extended unto 
 them, and by Francisco the Friar, though not 
 visibly appearing. 
 
 Don Durio hearing that his Daughter was to 
 be executed, his Paternal affections retreated to 
 his heart, and there made a Stand, projecting with 
 himself how to prevent this mischief. And here 
 I must trouble the Keader to go back in reporting 
 an accident that happened twenty years ago. 
 
 It chanced that Philip the second, (always 
 wealthy and always wanting,) was forced cm a 
 sudden, to send forth a great Fleet against the 
 Turk. He borrowed a considerable sum of money 
 of Bon Durio, for the payment whereof, Bon Burio 
 was a daily suppliant to the Court, as constant at 
 tho gate as the Porter, plying the King with im- 
 
MARIANA. 153 
 
 portunate Petitions, all which ended in delays, 
 which Don Durio rightly expounded to be denials. 
 Once the Treasurer told him that it was honour 
 enough for the gi-eatest Monarch in Christendom 
 to borrow money of him, though he never receive 
 it again. Don Durio, to make a virtue of neces- 
 sity, turned his despair into a frolic ; and being 
 admitted by friends into the King's presence on a 
 Winter's morning, cast into the fire his obligations, 
 which were parcelled up in a pretty bundle, 
 desiring the King to heat his hands thereat. His 
 3Iajesty was highly pleased with the Conceit, and 
 the rather, because it was more than a conceit ; 
 saying it was the best Faggot he ever saw% and 
 wished the State of Senua would make him the 
 like Bonfire ; swearing by Saint James, (his usual 
 Oath), that if ever Don Durio had need of a Court 
 favour at a dead lift, he should not fail in his 
 expectation. 
 
 The dead lift, (or at least the dying lift), was 
 now come. Don Durio posts to Madrid, where 
 the Spanish Court was kept, and findeth the King 
 hunting of a stag The old man attends the sport 
 for a time. The stag wearied with long hunting 
 
 M 
 
154 MARIANA. 
 
 took foil, and ran into a great Pond or dwarf 
 Lake. He recruited his strength, as old (Eson did 
 in the Bath of Medea, and came forth as fair and 
 as fresh, as when roused in the morning ; then set- 
 ting his Haunches against the Park pale, (Reader, 
 if a Forester, pardon my language if improper), 
 he dared the Bogs to set upon him. Whilst the 
 hounds stood disputing with themselves, (for the 
 King's dogs we know can make syllogisms), whether 
 the honour, or the danger were the greater to ad- 
 venture their Foe, and whilst they stood declining 
 the hazard one to the other, out steps a cowardly 
 keeper, and with a brace of bullets killeth the 
 Stag dead in the place ; who, could he have bor- 
 rowed a tongue from the standers by, first he 
 would have cursed that Friar of Mentz, for first 
 finding out the hellish invention of Gunpowder, 
 and then, he would have bequeathed himself to 
 have been coffined in paste, whilst the King and 
 his Courtiers should be merry at the solemnizing 
 of his Funeral. 
 
 The sport being ended, the King returned and 
 retired to his chamber. Bon Burio makes his 
 address to his Majesty, who at the first had 
 
MARIANA. 155 
 
 forgotten him, till his memory was quickened 
 with the effectual token of the Bonds he burnt. 
 Welcome Woodmonger, said the King, thy suit 
 is granted in the asking of it; and presently a 
 large pardon was signed and sealed, which with 
 all possible speed he carried along with him to 
 Lisbon. 
 
 But so short the day, so long the way, so bad 
 the weather, that he could not make such speed 
 as he deshed and his friends expected. 
 
 The day of execution being come, Fidelio is 
 brought to act his part orx death's Theatre. Mari- 
 ana, though disjoined from him in Prison, to her 
 great grief, was now, to her greater grief, con- 
 joined with him at the Scaffold. Fidelio begins 
 with a long speech, which seems no whit tedious 
 to the Auditors, because done out of a design to 
 gain time, in expectation of a pardon, which 
 all understood was procured. All Lovers there 
 present could have wished each vowel long in 
 his speech, the effect whereof was to advise young 
 persons to confine their affections within some 
 probable compass of their deserts, not to wander 
 with then- extravagant love above the proportion 
 
156 MAEIANA. 
 
 of tlieir merits. He bemoaneth himself much, 
 Mariana more, taking on himself the guilt of 
 the whole Action, and protested that she died 
 Love's true Martyr. 
 
 Mariana seconded him in this sad discourse, 
 the purport whereof was to teach obedience to 
 Children, that they should take heed how they 
 concealed their Love from their Parents, in whose 
 mere disposal they were; and not to conceive 
 that Age superannuated them, or gave them 
 an acquittance from that debt to which nature 
 engaged them. 
 
 A Fost winds his horn; all hear it and wel- 
 come, conceiving what indeed it was, the preface 
 to a pardon. Don Durio follows the Post all in 
 a sweat, it being almost a wonder that his dried 
 corpse could contribute so much moisture. The 
 pardon is presented to the Su;preme Officer, with 
 much joy and acclamation of the beholders. 
 
 Who would think that Eeraelitus could be so 
 soon turned into Democritus f Who could suppose 
 that so great an Army of people could in an 
 instant Face about ? It was hard before to find 
 one merry, now impossible to find one sad ; as 
 
MARIANA. 157 
 
 if by sympathy they had been condemned with 
 Fidelio, and accordingly pardoned \vith him. 
 
 The pardon is read: it was large parchment, 
 in character, but apprehended too narrow in ex- 
 pression, as only for the life of Mariana, whose 
 Father, Don Durio, neither desired nor endea- 
 voured the life of the other, whom he perfectly 
 bated, as conceiving his love a disparagement. 
 
 Writers were in a sad condition if sometimes 
 they might not take upon trust from their readers 
 more than they are able to pay themselves ; how 
 short would he fall, who would undertake in 
 language, to express the general sadness of the 
 Company, but especially of Mariana, for this 
 unexpected accident. The Executioner proceeds 
 to his work, a handkerchief being tied about 
 Fidelio s face, as one better prepared to feel, than 
 see death ; he is readily provided for the fatal 
 stroke. 
 
 In vain did Mariana with much Khetoric (grief 
 making her eloquent), plead that the pardons 
 of Prinees are not to be taken in restrictive 
 senses; that in all things which are doubtful, 
 men are rather to enlarge it with favour, tlian 
 
158 MARIANA. 
 
 contract it with cruelty ; that though her pardon 
 alone was expressed, doubtless both were in- 
 tended ; that man and wife were but one, the guilt 
 but one, committed by both ; and appeals to the 
 judges present, if any spark of mercy were alive 
 in their breasts (Judges always for the greater 
 solemnity being present at Executions), to improve 
 the same on so just, so conscientious, so honour- 
 able an occasion. But as soon misrht a Child have 
 
 o 
 
 persuaded the Tide at full sea to retreat, when 
 enraged also with the wind, as her request find 
 any entertainment. 
 
 Ardalio was present thereat, standing close to 
 Father Francisco, the great Actor herein, who 
 spurred on the Judges (whom charity otherwise 
 believed inclined to mercy, to the greatest and 
 speediest extremity), and he desired a private 
 word with Francisco. What was whispered between 
 them was unknown, and men's Fancies variously 
 commented on their discourse, but the truth was, 
 he spake to this effect. 
 
 Sir, you have been the grand Engineer of this 
 man's death, whose blood you have sought, being 
 yourself guilty of greater offences. A word from 
 
MARIANA. 159 
 
 your mouth may respite the execution, and re- 
 prieve the Prisoner. I protest revenge of my 
 friend's blood, if you do not quickly improve your 
 utmost : three minutes is all the time I allow you 
 to think, or do, after I have ended my speech. 
 Know you. Sir, a Vault and a Door, between your 
 Convent and the Nuns', contrary to Canons and 
 Laws Ecclesiastical and Civil. These things shall 
 be heightened against you, with as much earnest- 
 ness as my wit and wealth can improve it, in- 
 tending to bury my estate in the prosecution of 
 the death of my friend. These things he uttered 
 with that seriousness which protests no passion, 
 but a calm soul, and such people are truest to 
 their resolutions. 
 
 Francisco went to the prime Officer, and re- 
 quested him (Friars' requests in such cases being 
 commands), to put off the execution for one month, 
 until his Majesty's pleasure therein was more 
 perfectly known; for Ardalio had given him 
 private information, that the intention of the 
 King was larger than his expression in the pardon ; 
 and the officer complied with him in his desire, 
 and all the Company were dissolved, none being 
 
160 MARIANA. 
 
 sad at so strange but unexpected an altera- 
 tion. 
 
 All matters were huslied and stopped ; Ardalio 
 embraced and feasted by Francisco, who bribed 
 his tongue to silence, which the other as ingenu- 
 ously professed and faithfully performed. The 
 reprieve of Fidelio ended in a full pardon, and 
 old Bon Burio, seeing it to be in vain to forbid 
 that match which providence had made, was con- 
 tented that his Daughter was enjointred in a true 
 affection, and consented unto their Marriage. 
 Both which lived long, and were blessed with a 
 happy posterity. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA 
 
 In the City of Venice there flourished a Merchant 
 as large in estate, as narrow in heart, {Mellito 
 Bondi by name), of a Family more ancient than 
 numerous, and yet more numerous than rich, 
 until Mellito gave the lustre thereunto with the 
 vastness of his estate. One daughter alone he 
 had, Paduana, (from the neighbouring place of 
 her birth and breeding), courted by all the lUus- 
 trissimos and Clarissimos of that State, as well 
 she might, having the portion of a Princess in 
 expectation. Yet her wealth was the meanest 
 thing about her, whose virtues and beauty were 
 such, that fame, commonly a Liar in the excess, 
 was here a liar in the defect, her large report 
 falling short of the Lady's due deserts. 
 
162 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 Paduana, solicited to marriage, denied all 
 suitors, charging all upon the account of her 
 steadfast resolutions on virginity ; whereas, this 
 was but a Uind more covertly to conceal her 
 affections, and that exchange of hearts, which had 
 passed between her and Felieiano, a sojourner in 
 the house of her Father. 
 
 This Feliciano was a proper Gentleman, com- 
 pletely educated, whose enemies allowed this to 
 be his worst fault, that he had a prodigal to his 
 Father, who had wasted the large estate of his 
 Ancestors ; yet let not old Andrea (for so was his 
 Father termed) be wholly condemned for an un- 
 thrift, (the partial cause of his ruin), seeing that 
 losses at Sea, and ill debtors at land, contributed 
 to his speedier undoing ; besides, our aforesaid 
 Bondi, if strictly examined, could not deny his 
 concurrence thereunto, who by usurious contracts 
 and sinister advantages, spurred him on to des- 
 truction, who was running too fast of himself. 
 Hereupon, in some commiseration, he kept Feli- 
 ciano, his son, as a gentle Almsman, exhibiting 
 diet and some slender accommodations unto him. 
 
 The best was, the scant measure of Bondis 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 163 
 
 allowance was enlarged by his daughter's bounty, 
 maintaining him in a fashionable eqiiiioage. Thus 
 for a time we leave them to their embraces, so 
 much the sweeter because the secreter, waiting 
 the leisure of every opportunity, and warily 
 stealing the same. 
 
 It happened about this time, that the President 
 of Dalmatia languished on a desperate sickness, 
 his death being daily expected. Tliis was an 
 office of great honour and expense, which could 
 not be creditably discharged without the annual 
 expending of so many ducats, which amount to 
 three thousand pounds sterling of our English 
 money ; for though the aforesaid President had 
 a pension from the State, and a certain Intrado 
 from the Galleys and Garrisons, with some con- 
 siderable revenues from the demesnes annexed 
 to the place, yet all his perquisites and emolu- 
 ments audited, the aforesaid sum was requisite to 
 carry it forth with any reputation, except some 
 sordid soul was careless of his credit, and would 
 sacrifice the same to public obloquy. 
 
 Mellito Bondi was designed by the Duke and 
 Senate of Venice successor in this Presidentship of 
 
164 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 Dalmatia. Indeed, in Seniority it belonged unto 
 him ; and as it was accounted an injury to balk so 
 good ground, and pass over a man of merit, 
 should the State decline his election ; so, on the 
 other side, it would have left an indelible shame 
 to Mellito if he should have waived the acceptance 
 thereof. 
 
 Mellito quakes for fear to be advanced down- 
 ward to so chargeable a preferment ; his covetous- 
 ness is above his ambition, and he almost dies 
 for fear, to hear that the President of Dalmatici 
 is dying. The news of the arriving of a wealthy 
 Ship from Cairo, or Constantinople, would be far 
 more acceptable unto him than such burthensome 
 honour. 
 
 Now, he had a confidant, part Friend, part 
 servant, Gervatio by name, whose secrecy he had 
 bought, and whose tongue he had locked up with 
 many favours bestowed upon him. To him he 
 presumes to impart his grievance in manner 
 following. 
 
 Gervatio, I rank my servants in a threefold 
 Order, of Slaves, Servants, and Friends : of the 
 former I have many fit for servile labour, no 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 165 
 
 ingenious employment ; of the middle sort I want 
 none, but these love mine rather than me ; of 
 « friends-servants thou art the chief. I make thy 
 o^\Tl ingenuity my judge, whether my carriage 
 unto thee hath not rather spoke me a Father 
 to a Child, rather than a Master to a Servant. 
 Thankful natures (among whom I shall account 
 you, till discerning the contrary), will study to 
 deserve favours bestowed upon them, which be- 
 getteth in me a confidence that I may not only 
 safely trust thee with an important secret, but 
 also, crave thy advice therein for my further 
 direction. 
 
 Gervatto made a short, but serious protest of his 
 fidelity herein, professing himself highly advanced 
 in this trust committed unto him, withal much 
 commending BondVs ability to advise himself; 
 bemoaning withal his own insufficiency, who 
 could not harbour so presumptuous a thought, 
 as if the scant measure of his weak judgment 
 could supply anything wanting in the rich 
 Treasury of his Master's experience. However, 
 he promised that his heart should make recom- 
 pense for his head, and the sincerity of his endea- 
 
166 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 vours make some amends for his other failings 
 and infirmities. 
 
 From compliments, I fall to the matter in 
 hand. Bondi tells him his great desire to decline 
 the costly Presidentshi]? of Balmatia, which by 
 succession, when vacant, was certain to descend 
 upon him ; he voweth that he accounted it ill 
 husbandry to sell rich lands, therewith to buy 
 empty air and honourable titles, which vanish 
 with the wearer thereof, whilst his lasting wealth 
 might probably descend to his posterity, and 
 desireth Gervatio to mind him of some fair con- 
 trivance, which might not leave the blur of any 
 suspicion behind it (much less come within the 
 reach of probable detection), whereby he might 
 waive that expensive place, though but for a time, 
 until some other should be settled in the same. 
 
 Presently Gervatio s better genius prompted 
 him, that any person how rich soever, if totally 
 deprived of any of his senses, was by the funda- 
 mental Laws of that State rendered incapable of 
 the aforesaid Presidentship. On this undoubted 
 founda i(m, being a most certain and well-known 
 truth, he bottomed his design, persuading Bondi 
 
TKIANA AND PADUANA. 167 
 
 to counterfeit himself stark blind; that this in- 
 firmity, cunningly dissembled and generally be- 
 lieved, would secure him out of the distance of 
 the danger he feared, being not eligible to the 
 place while visited with so great a defect. 
 
 The plot takes with Bondi, who puts it in 
 present execution. On the morrow an entertain- 
 ment is made, some friends invited to celebrate 
 the anniversary of his birthday, and Bondi proves 
 himself a perfect Miser by his over- plentiful cheer. 
 In the midst of their mirth he complains the 
 Koom is dark; commands the windows to be 
 opened, which was done accordingly. Bondi per- 
 severes in his complaint, that he sees no more 
 than he did before, (which in some sense was not 
 untrue). At last, all means used to recover light 
 unto him prove in vain, so that Justice is not 
 fancied more blind by the P]uloso]phers, nor Cuspid 
 feigned more eyeless by the Poets, than Bondi 
 was then believed to be. 
 
 This accident produced different effects, as men 
 stood variously affected unto him. Narrow the 
 number of such who truly loved him, and those 
 few did really pity and bemoan him ; more his 
 
168 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 foes, who rejoiced thereat, and made uncharitable 
 constructions thereof, as if some secret wanton in- 
 temperance had deprived him of his sight : none 
 suspected any fraud or collusion therein. And to 
 make all the surer, Bondi confessed that this was 
 a just punishment inflicted upon him for his pride 
 and ambition, because he so greedily had desired 
 the Presidentship of Dalmatia. He acknowledged 
 that he had been no better than a murderer in 
 his own heart, having often killed the old Presi- 
 dent of Dalmatia in his wishes and desire, the 
 sooner to pave the way to his own preferment, 
 and ennoble his posterity with the addition of so 
 honourable employment. 
 
 Hitherto Feliciana and Paduana had managed 
 their affections with all secrecy, suffering none 
 to be privy thereunto ; but henceforward, being 
 ignorant of her Father's dissimulation, they abstain 
 not in his presence to pass kisses and courtesies, 
 as confident that he perceived nothing ; whereat 
 the other was enraged above measure. Should 
 his daughter, being a fit match for a Prince, for 
 Parts, Portion, and Pedigree, be cast away on the 
 son of a Bankrupt, all whose maintenance pro- 
 
TEIANA AND PADUANA. 169 
 
 ceeded out of liis own purse ? He resolved rather 
 to disinherit Paduana than endure this afiront, 
 though for the present in silence he digested the 
 same. 
 
 The long-languishing President of Dalmatia 
 puts an end of people's expectations by his death, 
 and made room for one to succeed him in his 
 office. The election leaves over Bondi, by his 
 blindness unqualified for that place ; the con- 
 cernment whereof, required one who should be 
 an Argus both for body and mind, such is the 
 need of his constant wariness and circumspection. 
 Martino Carnatio is by general suffrages reputed 
 for the place, legally chosen, and solemnly settled 
 therein, and conducted to Spolato by the Galleys 
 of the state, where he began his residence, and we 
 meet with no further mention of him. 
 
 Soon after th<e Duhe of Venice comes to give 
 Bondi a visit, bringing along with him a Chirur- 
 geon, whose skill as it w^as diffused over all sores, 
 so his masterpiece was in being an expert oculist. 
 Indeed the eye is a small volume, but many the 
 leaves (I mean the tunicles), thereof, and much 
 written therein, the eye alone being subject to 
 
170 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 more distempers and diseases than any other part 
 of the Body, so many and so small the contriv- 
 ances therein, and no wonder if little Watches be 
 quickly out of order. 
 
 This Oculist (being indeed one of more fame 
 than skill, of more skill than honesty), at the 
 Biikes desire, made an accurate inspection of 
 Bondis eyes, and pretended that he discovered in 
 both of them a little speck hindering the sight 
 thereof, which with a small Instrument might 
 easily be cut out, with very little pain ; and here 
 he scattered a multitude of hard and long Latin 
 words, which would serve for the titles of the 
 Gallipots of an Apothecary's shop, which much 
 amused his hearers therewith. I spare the pains 
 to relate them, because questioning the reader's 
 skill in understanding thereof, the rather because 
 I question the Oculist, whether he understood him- 
 self in them. 
 
 Bondi was now put to it, fearing some violence 
 should be offered to his eyes, where a touch is a 
 wound, such the tenderness thereof He thanks 
 the Chirurgeon much, and the Dul^e more, for 
 their care and kindness unto him ; but is resolved 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 171 
 
 patiently to bear the affliction laid upon him, 
 which he confesses himself did justly deserve for 
 his pride and ambition : he hopes his soul should 
 be the better for the blindness of his body, and 
 in no case would consent that any experiment 
 should be tried on liim for his recovery. 
 
 Here the Buhe interposed his power and flat 
 command. Signor Boncli, said he, you are not 
 so in your own full and free dispose, but you may 
 and must be overruled by others for yotu* own 
 good. We take notice of that worth in you which 
 your modesty will not own in yourself, and 
 therefore will not lose the benefit of so useful a 
 patriot. You are a self murderer, if refusing 
 those lawful means whereby Art may befriend 
 Nature against your infirmity. As your friend, 
 therefore, I desire you, as your Prince I command 
 you, as both I enjoin you, without further dispute 
 to submit yourself to this Ai'tist, not doubting but 
 that his learned endeavours will be crowned with 
 welcome success. 
 
 Wit works in extremity. Kow or never Bondi 
 play thy prizes. With a composed countenance, 
 he returns. 
 
172 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 My Lord, I am ready with all thankfulness to 
 embrace your counsel, and much admire the 
 extensiveness of your goodness and largeness of 
 your spirit, that amidst the multiplicity of your 
 state employments, your ability is such, and your 
 goodness so great, as you will reflect on so incon- 
 siderable a thing as myself. But give me leave 
 to acquaint your grace, I have lately made a vow 
 to my particular Saint, whose aid I have implored 
 (and whose name for some reasons I crave leave 
 as yet to conceal), and have received some assur- 
 ance from him in a dream, that shortly I shall be 
 bettered by his goodness. I call it a dream, but 
 surely it was not such, wherein Fancy commands 
 in the absence of reason ; but certainly, my Lord, 
 such was the impression thereof in my soul, that 
 it carrieth with it the presage of somewhat more 
 than ordinary. Favour me then only to expect the 
 issue thereof, and if my dream be but a dream, I 
 shall yield myself wholly up to be ordered by 
 your grace's pleasure, and thankfully accept what 
 course soever shall be prescribed unto me. Here- 
 of the Duke was contented, and after the exchange 
 at some compliments, the company departed. ^ 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 173 
 
 Next day Bondi calls Feliciano, and sends him 
 to the shrine of Saint Sylvester in Ancona, de- 
 siring that such as attended thereon would intrust 
 him with any parcel of that Saint's relics, and if 
 Beggars might be permitted to be choosers, with 
 his hair-girdle which he did wear next his skin ; 
 giving commission to Feliciano to be bound to 
 what proportion should be required, or to procure 
 security in the City for the restitution of the said 
 relics in ten days ; and to send along with it some 
 Priest eminent for his devotion, upon assured con- 
 fidence, that the virtue of the relic meeting with 
 his prayer, should produce some strange effects 
 towards his recovery. 
 
 Feliciano is proud of his employment, hoping 
 hereby to ingratiate himself He makes all pos- 
 sible speed he can to his journey ; but first a saint 
 of his must be saluted, and the fair hand of 
 Paduana kissed, which done, he sets forth with 
 such alacrity, as resolved, that expedition and 
 faithfulness should contend in him, which of 
 them two should share the greatest part in per- 
 formances of Bondi' s commands. 
 
 The day after his departure. Monsieur Insuls, a 
 
174 TEIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 Frenclimaii, arrives at Venice, son and lieir to 
 Monsieur Opulent, the rich merchant of Marseilles. 
 He had purchased three French Counts out of 
 their Lands, beside a vast bank of money in 
 Venice and elsewhere. The old men some months 
 since, by letters, had concluded the match between 
 the two sole children and heirs. 
 
 Insuls then comes now, not so much to woo as 
 to wed. Portion and Dowry are both agreed on, 
 and nothing wanting save that, without which all 
 was nothing, the afiections of Paduana. This 
 Insuls was a Poetical fool, an admirer of his 
 own rhymes, rather than verses, being but one 
 degree above Ballads. 
 
 Yet to give him his due, sometimes he would 
 stumble upon expressions which might have be- 
 come a wiser and more learned man. And although 
 herein he was generally condemned for a Thief, 
 that he had stolen them from others (his memory 
 being better than his fancy), and then confidently 
 vented them for his own ; yet others w^ere so 
 charitable that he wore not the Periwig of other 
 men's wits, but was the true Author of his verses ; 
 for he that shoots often at random may sometimes 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 175 
 
 unawares hit the mark, and it is impossible that 
 in a million of blanks one prize should not hap- 
 pen at last. Besides who knows not, tliat the 
 veriest of fools have not their wise intervals ; 
 sometimes he w^ould utter himself in convenient 
 language and quick conceit. 
 
 To be brief; it was a great question whether 
 Paduana more perfectly hated him, or more 
 entirely loved Feliciano. But her Tyrannical 
 Father, driving that affection which he should 
 draw, and forcing what he should persuade, vowed 
 by Saint Sylvester, his usual oath, that he would 
 disinherit her of all his estate, and leave the same 
 to Georgio Bondi his Nephew, in case she made 
 the least refusal herein. 
 
 In this distress Paduana makes her addresses 
 to Gervatio in this manner. 
 
 Gervatio, you cannot but be sensible of recipro- 
 cal love between me and Feliciano; for though 
 my Father be blind, you enjoy the benefit of your 
 eyes, nor can we pretend to so much secrecy but 
 that one as yourself, constantly with us, will ob- 
 serve smoke in a sigh, and sparkles in an eye 
 which have passed between us. My humble re- 
 
176 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 quest to you is (and do not Mistresses command 
 when they request), that you would invent some 
 way to free me from the torture of this Clown, 
 fool Insuls, and promote my affections where 
 they are bestowed and deserved. 
 
 AVho would worship the setting Sun when 
 the rising Sun doth court him ? My Father's 
 decaying age carries in it a despair of Long life, 
 whilst my tender years promise a longer continu- 
 ance ; build not therefore but on that foundation 
 which in probability appears the firmest. How- 
 ever, I would not disoblige thee from my Father ; 
 make your own ends upon him, gain of him what 
 you can, and I will confirm it: and over and 
 above I will assure thee (so far as my condition 
 is capable to give assurance) to gratify your en- 
 deavours to a higher proportion than you can 
 expect. Is not the house in the suburbs of Padua, 
 where I was born, a pretty pile of building ? Do 
 not forty acres of ground impartially embrace it 
 on every side ? Is not the Oil in Lonibarcly 
 known to grow there ? Know, Gervatio. that all 
 these are thine to the reward of thy fidelity: 
 besides I conceal something to myself, intending 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 177 
 
 to surprise thee with that, which in my judgment 
 will be considerable in itself, and worthy of thy 
 acceptance. 
 
 Gervatio hereby is made a perfect Convert. 
 He will hold with Bondi but run with Paduana ; 
 he will look towards the Father, but will row with 
 the Daughter ; and professed his future fidelity 
 unto her with such oaths and imprecations as 
 commanded her belief. 
 
 It happened at this time, a scurrilous, scandal- 
 ous Libel, made in verse, was cast in the Piazza 
 in Venice, other copies scattered in Saint Mark's, 
 and other public places of the City. Herein the 
 DuJce and Senate were basely abused, and some 
 small wit being showed in the close thereof (as 
 who cannot be ingenious to abuse), spies are set 
 to apprehend the person, with promises of two 
 hundred Ducats for their service. 
 
 Gervatio, whose brains now beat about nothing 
 but Padiianas happiness, accosteth Monsieur 
 Insuls, who ever was inquisitive of news, asking 
 him what was the tidings of the day. Strange 
 news, saith Gervatio : an admirable piece of Poetry 
 (but a little salt and bitter) is found scattered 
 
178 TRIANA AM) PADUANA. 
 
 before the Dukes Palace, and strange it is, that 
 he who had the wit to make it, had not the 
 wisdom to ajffix his name to it. 
 
 That is no strange thing (saith Insuh), for 
 generally the most witty are the most modest. 
 How many hundred nameless copies of mine fly 
 about in France and Italy, and others perchance 
 claim the credit thereof: it is a passage wherein 
 I have taken special contentment, to see the 
 impudence and ignorance of those who will father 
 the issues of another man's brain. 
 
 Gervatio returned, that some hundred Ducats 
 were promised to the Author, and he believed 
 that he should be Foet Laureate for the State 
 of Venice, and wishing that he any way might 
 be instrumental in discovering the composer 
 thereof; and Monsieur hisuls, give me leave to 
 be plain with you, I have a great suspicion (but 
 to recall the word, for suspicion is only for things 
 that are bad, and therefore improper at present), 
 I have a strong surmise that you are the Author 
 thereof. Insuh laughed with an affected guilti- 
 ness, and said nothing. 
 
 And Sir (returned the other), I know you, and 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 179 
 
 Done else, could do the same. First, I compare 
 the style and language is like that wherein last 
 night you courted my mistress ; always full, but 
 not swelling, sometimes humble, but not flat, the 
 rhyme good, but not affected, teaching it the true 
 distance thei-eof, that it must be the vassal, not 
 the IMaster of the Poet. It is neither Virc/iTs strain, 
 nor OvicVs, but both ; it comes off with a spring in 
 the close, and commonly the two last verses of 
 the Stanza contain the total sum of the par- 
 ticulars going before ; certainly a vast sum of 
 money would be bestowed on him who was the 
 composer thereof. 
 
 What talkest thou to me of money ? (replied 
 Insuls) my Father hath the three best seats in 
 all Provence. Crassuss and Croesus were both 
 of them beggars unto him. I only take up this 
 vein of Poetry for my recreation, and to confute 
 the common observation, that all Poets are 
 Beo^o^ars. I am a rich Poet. 
 
 After the exchange of some discourse, Insuls 
 showed himself to brook his name, and barely 
 confessed himself to be the Author of the Foem ; 
 adding withal, that he had made five hundred 
 
180 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 better in his days. But seeing no one drinks 
 alike of Helicon at all times, a constant tenure 
 cannot be expected in wits. I was, saith he, 
 at the penning thereof, not ascending but declin- 
 ing Parnassus ; and good Gervatio, make not con- 
 jecture of my parts on such disadvantages, but 
 that I am able to exceed it on the least occasion. 
 I confess, Mustard is nothing worth unless it 
 bite ; I put in little sharpnesses to give it a hogo 
 to the palate of the men of these times. 
 
 Out springs two invisible witnesses, whom Ger- 
 vatio had planted within the reach of their words, 
 and presently seize Insuls, condemned by his own 
 witness. These informers, the necessary evils 
 in a State, were encouraged in Venice by the 
 greatest politicians, conforming themselves to all 
 companies, having a patent to be knaves, that 
 they might discover fools; seeing no wise men, 
 though dissenting from the present power, will 
 lie at so open a Guard as to carry their hearts in 
 their tongues. 
 
 Insuls is presently hurried to prison, and it 
 is strange to see the sudden alteration this 
 accident made upon him. He who at best was 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 181 
 
 but half a man, was now less considerable than a 
 beast, senseless and stupid, scarce able to write 
 bis condition to bis Father; so that had not 
 some Frenchmen by accident visited him, he had 
 certainly died in prison. 
 
 Monsieur Opulent hearing of his son's restraint, 
 posts from France to Venice, the depth of whose 
 judgment could only fathom profit; he was 
 Sapiens quoad hoc, wise only in the point of 
 wealth, so that by long living and great sparing 
 he had accumulated much wealth ; but take him 
 out of his own Element of bargaining, he was 
 so simple, that he seemed the true original of 
 his son, as his son the true transcript of his 
 Father. 
 
 To Venice he comes, and with large gifts buys 
 his son's enlargement : the truth was, his son's 
 simpleness best befriended him, who upon exami- 
 nation appeared incapable to be author of the 
 Libel; and in the judgment of all deserved 
 rather to be whipped for a liar (assuming to him- 
 self what was none of his own) than to have any 
 severer punishment inflicted upon him. 
 
 Young Insuls now at liberty, backed with his 
 
182 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 Father's presence, renews his suit to Faduanas 
 Jointure, and a good estate are the invincible 
 arguments whicli Mellito Bondi cannot resist. He 
 engageth so far at tlie matter, that only three 
 days' respite is allowed to his daughter, in which 
 time she must be Lisuls' wife, or else no heir to 
 her father. 
 
 In this juncture of time home comes Feliciano, 
 bringing with him the Girdle of St. Sylvester, 
 antique for the shape and fashion thereof, as having 
 steel buckles, and a rowel at the end tliereof. It 
 was generally believed that this was used by 
 Sylvester in the way of disciplining himself; and 
 Father Adrian, exemplary in that Convent for 
 sanctity, was sent along with the same, seeing 
 so rich a treasure was not to be trusted in any 
 lay hand. 
 
 A solemn entertainment is made in MeUito's 
 house, and most of the Magnificoes of the State 
 invited thereunto ; but this feast had been ushered 
 with three foregoing Fasts kept in the family 
 of Bondi and his allies, for the better success 
 and more effectual working of their intended 
 design. After dinner Father Adrian mumbles 
 
TRIANA AND PADUAXA. 183 
 
 as many prayers (it being well if he understood 
 them himself, as coniident that none else did 
 in the room), and then ceremoniously the Girdle 
 is applied to MeUito, but especially the rowel 
 thereof (wherein njost sacredness was conceived 
 to consist) several times rubbed upon his eyes, 
 to so good purpose, that within three hours he 
 so recovered his sight as to discern and dis- 
 tinguish the faces of all present. 
 
 Some of the beholders began to suspect some 
 fraud in the matter, only on this account, because 
 the miracle was not instantly done, but successively 
 and by degrees. Let Drugs, and Herbs, and 
 Minerals, which have a natural virtue placed 
 in them, proceed softly and slowly to effect cures ; 
 whereas miracles ride Post, and the same moment 
 which begins, doth perfect extraordinary opera- 
 tions. This I say put jealousy in the heads of 
 some present, to doubt the reality of the cure, 
 and suspect some deceit in the matter. 
 
 But they being but few in themselves, were 
 quickly overpowered by the number and gravity 
 of those on the contrary opinion; for some of 
 them argued that the rule is not universally true. 
 
184 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 tliat all miracles spring in a moment, seeing some 
 of them have been of slower growth, and the same 
 pace hath not always been observed in miraculous 
 motions; and seeing the effects conduced much 
 to the honour of Saint Sylvester, every one was 
 suspected for an Infidel that did not presently 
 believe : yea, to doubt the truth thereof, was to 
 discover a little Heretic in his bosom that owned 
 the suspicion. 
 
 Presently Bells and Bonfires proclaim the cure 
 all over the City. Persons flocked from all places 
 to behold this girdle, the making and fashion 
 whereof being out of the road of common Girdles, 
 caught and kept the fancies of fond people ; some 
 admiring at the matter of it, being, they said, 
 of a Seal-skin; others at the form, as at the 
 weight and greatness thereof, being almost as 
 big as one could well lift. Hence some inferred 
 Saint Sylvester to be of a Giant-l^kQ proportion, 
 above the standard of other men ; others collected 
 the general greatness of men in former ages, 
 complaining of the decay of nature, and diminu- 
 tion of men in these days; but the more wiser 
 sort resolved it upon a point of religion, that the 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 185 
 
 aforesaid girdle was worn by way of penance, not 
 so much to strengthen and adorn, as to load and 
 mortify the wearer thereof. 
 
 As for Bondi, in a large oration he expressed 
 his thankfulness before the company to his titular 
 Saint, whose speech is here too large to insert ; 
 only this by the way, to elaborate, not flowing 
 from him freely on the present emergency, but 
 wrought, studied, and premeditated, which again 
 brought new fuel to their jealousy, which sus- 
 pected some fraud, as if this had been composed 
 on purpose, and conned by heart beforehand, and 
 so the scene of the design solemnly laid. However 
 their budding suspicion was quickly blasted and 
 beaten do\Aai with the general congratulation of 
 all people, so that now his recovery was universally 
 believed, so that this miracle gave a supersede 
 as to all other discourses in Italy for a month, and 
 commonly was the third course at all great Tables, 
 whereon the persons present took their repast. 
 
 Next day were the Kuptials of Insuls and 
 Paduana to be solemnized, had not the season- 
 able interposing of Gervatio prevented the matter. 
 Presently, by his appointment, in comes two Co7i- 
 
 
 
186 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 fidents of Feliciano's (both disguised iu the habits 
 of Friars), and boldly press into the Parlour and 
 chambers of Bondi, looking so scornfully on all 
 accosting them, as if they carried written in their 
 faces a Patent for their own presumption, and knew 
 themselves to be empowered with an authority 
 above control. Bondi no sooner recovered him- 
 self out of his amazement which seized him at 
 first, but that he resolutely demanded of them 
 the cause of their coming and intrusion at so 
 unseasonable an hour (it being late at night). 
 
 They seemed careless to satisfy his demands, 
 a thing beneath them, being employed in matters 
 of higher concernment ; and proceed without any 
 interruption to draw up an Inventory of the 
 several goods and utensils in his house. 
 
 Imprimis, in double gilt plate, 500 ounces. 
 Item in white plate, 1200 ounces. Item in &c. 
 
 Then command they him without delay to 
 surrender the keys of his Chests and Coffers, 
 which the other refused to do, summoning Gervatio, 
 Feliciano, and all his servants to his assistance, 
 which presently repaired unto him ; and though 
 the two former were privy to the plot, yet they so 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 187 
 
 cunningly concealed it in their carriage, that no 
 Tell-tale smile or hlah-look of mirth betrayed the 
 least suspicion of their privity thereunto, but com- 
 posed their faces, with reduced countenances, 
 speaking much anxiety and suspense, to attend 
 the issue and event of so strange an accident. 
 Then the elder Friar began. Dismiss your ser- 
 vants presently, and let them attend in an out- 
 ward room : it is a favour we have afforded out of 
 the respect to your place, though not deserved by 
 your person, that hitherto we have been tender of 
 your reputation (so far as a crime of this nature 
 was capable thereof), and would not willingly have 
 you sacrifice the small remains of your credit 
 to ignominy and disgrace; we honour the silver 
 crown of age on your head, though it deserved 
 to be placed on better Temples. Bondi is sur- 
 prised with horror and palsy-struck with fear, 
 being guilty to himself of deceit, causeth the 
 room to be voided of all company, and meekly 
 and calmly requesteth them to impart unto him 
 his offence, and their commission. 
 
 The other proceedeth. Crimes, though tho 
 same in themselves, are not the same when com- 
 
188 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 mitted by several offenders, but they commence, 
 and take degrees of heinousness from the circum- 
 stances of time, place, and person. A concurrence 
 of all these have conspired to aggravate and 
 inflame your guilt ; you have a large and plentiful 
 estate, and cannot pretend poverty to yourself 
 (that engine which forceth ingenuous natures to 
 disingenuous actions) prompted you to so unworthy 
 a practice. The Duke and State have reflected 
 on you in a great proportion, so that no neglect 
 or discontent received from them could spur 
 you forward to so dishonest a design. Charity 
 itself must turn just against you, and the best 
 rhetoric so far from defending, that it cannot 
 excuse your offence. What ? to counterfeit your- 
 self blind, and at the same time to give a lie both 
 to Heaven and Earth, abusing both in one act by 
 an offence, that as former ages will not find an 
 example, so future will scarce afford belief 
 thereof. 
 
 But how hard is it to commit one fault, and but 
 one fault : as virtues are not single Stars, but con- 
 stellations, so vices straggle not alone, but go in 
 companies and grow in clusters. This ground- 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 189 
 
 platform of your ^dissembling must have outward 
 outworks and redoubts, to flank, fortify, and defend 
 the same. This mother lie, how fruitful hath it 
 been in a numerous issue of Oaths, and perjuries, 
 as if you intended to scale the Throne of justice 
 with a series of sins, and draw down revenge on 
 yourself. At last, to close and conclude your 
 villainy, you have fathered the same on miraculous 
 recovery, and have abused your titulary Saint, by 
 pretending liis relics the immediate cause of 
 your restored sight; but this Saint being rich 
 enough in himself in real miracles, disdaineth 
 the addition of your sophisticated actions, and 
 will not be dishonoured with false honour, which 
 you hypocritically have fastened upon him ; yet in 
 detestation of your dissimulation, and to manifest 
 how zealously he disavoweth all falsehood and 
 forgery, he hath been heard at several times in 
 the night in his shrine with a shrill voice to make 
 discovery of your falsehood. And now we expect 
 to obtain from his Holiness and this State a con- 
 fiscation of your goods; in order whereunto we 
 are employed by our superiors to take an exact 
 list and account of your estate, both in Lands and 
 
190 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 movables, till we shall be further informed how 
 the same shall be disposed of. 
 
 Bondi looked as pale as ashes, having scarce 
 life enough left to act his limbs with motion ; his 
 guilty conscience was not at leisure to enquire 
 into the particulars, but took all for granted, and 
 now expected nothing less but loss of goods and 
 perpetual imprisonment. For that night the 
 Friars are contented to repose themselves, and 
 defer the rest of their work till the next morning. 
 
 Mean time Bondi and Gervatio passed a sleep- 
 less night, and it would swell a volume to in- 
 ventory the particulars of their discourse. 
 
 Bondi sometimes is silent, and his tears drown 
 his tongue. Gervatio desires to make his coun- 
 tenance to attend his Master's in all motions, first 
 readeth and writeth in his face sorrow and silence 
 alternately, as directed by his pattern. At last 
 Bondi breaketh forth into the following expres- 
 sions. 
 
 Listen, faithful Gervatio, to the Testament of 
 thy dying Master, for I am resolved not to outlive 
 the funeral of my own credit and estate. I be- 
 hold myself only as a shadow, stripped out of all 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. I9l 
 
 estate, wliereof already I have made the forfeiture ; 
 yet it grievetli me not for myself, whose decayed 
 age hath rendered me incapable of much wordly 
 pleasure. It is not considerable with a solvable 
 man wlio hath it by him to pay a due debt, which 
 will be required a month or two before the exact 
 date wherein it is due. I behold long life, as the 
 playing out of a desperate game at Tables, lost, at 
 the first remove: only it giieveth me for my 
 daughter Faduana, whose youth might entitle her 
 to much happiness, and her virtues deserve no 
 less ; poor heart, she must now become the scorn 
 and shame of the City, and as an overgrown 
 flower, wither on the stalk whereon she grew, for 
 want of a hand to gather, a Husband to marry 
 her. 
 
 Gervatio rejoined, I am utterly unable to give 
 Physic to your other maladies, but possibly may 
 apply a remedy to tins, if servants may take the 
 boldness to teach their IMasters, and to reprove 
 them too, wherein they conceive them faulty: 
 refuse not an humble reprehension from him, 
 whose good intention and heart may make out 
 what is wanting in his tongue and expressions. I 
 
192 • TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 conceive all this misfortune justly befallen you 
 for undervaluing the merits of Feliciano, and 
 crossing the affections of your daughter ; true it 
 is, his wealth is not considerable, but his extraction, 
 abilities, and accomplishments, doth recompense 
 all his other defects ; besides, what loving Parent 
 would stop the affections of his daughter in the 
 full speed and career thereof, except she had 
 bestowed them so unworthily as to entail shame 
 and disgrace on his Family ? Now, Sir, make a 
 virtue of necessity, and before the matter be 
 publicly known of the confiscation of your for- 
 tunes, comply with her affections, and please him 
 in seeing the marriage between them consummated. 
 You may also by my hands derive unto your 
 daughter so much of your invisible estate as is 
 contrivable in a small room, and may escape the 
 hands of these Harpies. It will be safe in all 
 tempests to have a secure place for anchorage, 
 nor can you have any assurance of a better, than 
 with your dear and dutiful daughter. For sup- 
 pose (and would it were but a supposition, for the 
 case is too plain and pitiful) that all your estate 
 become a prey to their hands, who never let go 
 
TRIANA AND PADUANA. 193 
 
 what once they lay hold upon. Yet I presume 
 your wealth will be a ransom for your life and 
 liberty, and that you may be permitted freely to 
 breathe the Venetian air the short remainder of 
 your days. 
 
 Bondi consented to all, as no wonder, for grief 
 had so mollified his heart, it was capable of any 
 impression which bore with it the least probability 
 of comfort ; and as a sinking man made an Oak of 
 an Osier, caught at anything to support him from 
 present sinking. The Priest was sent for that 
 night, and though the hour was uncanonical for 
 marriage (long after sun-set), yet the sun of golden 
 chicqueenes will make the other sun rise at pleasure ; 
 and Feliciano, with a largess to the Priest, bought 
 off all irregularity. 
 
 Then Gervatio took the boldness to make 
 another motion. Sir, I humbly conceive that as 
 yet you are not legally convicted, and that there 
 is still inherent in you a power to make over your 
 estate, for the world as yet takes no notice of 
 these clandestine transactions ; you are innocent, 
 till such time as you are made to be otiierwise by 
 public conviction. I confess myself as unskilled in 
 
194 TRIANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 any science as ignorant in Law ; but Law being 
 founded upon reason, methinks I speak proportion- 
 able thereunto : beside, my former Master was a 
 chief Advocate, and if my memory, or misapplica- 
 tion thereof, fail not, such fragments of his coun- 
 sel still remain in my brains, which he often gave 
 to guilty persons in this case before theh public 
 condemnation. 
 
 Gervatio's counsel passed for oracles with Bondi, 
 who in this ecstasy of fear suspected all his o^vn 
 actions, and relied on any man's advice, who would 
 favour him so far, as to bestow it on one so des- 
 picable and forlorn as he conceived himself to be. 
 A notary is sent for, to make a deed of gift of his 
 estate as fast and firm as his skill would give him 
 leave, and now the same is settled on Feliciano. 
 
 Feliciano next morning repairs to the two pre- 
 tended Friars, bringing Bondi along with him, 
 and desires to know, whether or no it were possible 
 to sopite and suppress the infamy of this action, 
 and to buy off the slander with a round sum of 
 money instantly deposited. The Friars confessed 
 the fault great ; but because their Convent had 
 been formerly beholden to the bounty of Bondi, 
 
TRIANA AND PADU.VNA. 195 
 
 and because they beheld the fact as of human 
 frailty and infirmity, to which all men are subject, 
 it was hitherto their desire and design to conceal 
 the same ; so that, their Fi^ior and Superior ex- 
 cepted, none beside themselves were privy there- 
 unto, who gave their attendance when the aforesaid 
 voice made the discovery. They would therefore 
 endeavour their utmost, and nothing should be 
 wanting in them to stop the further proceedings 
 thereof, and doubted not but their pains would 
 take the desired effect, which accordingly in few 
 days was performed. 
 
 A Banquet is made, to which many of the 
 Venetian Magnificoes were invited, but Monsieur 
 Opulent, and Monsieur Insuls, his son, because 
 strangers, were by the courtesy of Itali/ preferred 
 to have a prime place among them. There leave 
 we them, feasting themselves with such variety of 
 dainties, that tlie appetite of many stood long 
 time neuter, not knowing where to fix itself, 
 courted with equality cf variety. 
 
 As for Paduana, it is pity to disturb her any 
 more with our tedious discourse, leaving her in 
 the embraces of her dear and virtuous Feliciano, 
 
196 TMANA AND PADUANA. 
 
 whose name, as it hath in it some tincture of 
 happiness, so took it not its true effect till this 
 time, who was now possessed of a large and rich 
 estate. And Bondi, who formerly starved in wealth 
 through the narrowness of his heart, fed better a 
 Boarder than a houselceeper, having a son and 
 daughter to provide plentifully for him what his 
 covetousness denied to himself, who formerly 
 possessed, but now began to enjoy his estate. Let 
 Insuh then return into France, and court the 
 Madames there, whilst Paduana rejoiceth in her 
 choice, and is so far from measuring her pro- 
 mises to G-ervatio with a restrictive hand, that she 
 outdid his expectations. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 In the City of Barcelona, in Spain, liyed a civil 
 Lawyer of great repute, with a name fitting his 
 profession, Bon Facundo Osorio, whose office was 
 parallel to a City Recorder in England. He had 
 a wife whom he highly affected, and well might 
 she have merited the same, had the Jewel 
 answered the Casket, and her conditions borne pro- 
 portion to the rest of her corporeal perfections; 
 but there being some disparity in their ages 
 (earth rather than heaven making the marriage 
 between them for worldly respects), her green 
 youth answered not his gray hairs with suitable 
 return of affection. 
 
 The truth was, she was rather cunning than 
 chaste, and the same was discovered by the friends 
 
198 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 of lier husband ; ^vhereof some took the boldness 
 to advertise him, that hereafter he mioht order 
 her with a stricter hand. But I know not by 
 what fate it cometh to pass, that oftentimes their 
 ears and eyes who have least cause are open to 
 jealousy, wliilst those are shut thereunto who 
 have just cause to entertain it. His friends reap 
 nothing but frowns for their faithful counsel. 
 Facujido will not believe his wife was otherwise 
 than she should be, measuring her honesty by his 
 own ; yet some score this, his good opinion, rather 
 on his policy than charity, knowing what he a\ ould 
 not acknowledge, lest it should be a disparagement 
 to his reputation ; he saw, but was pleased to 
 wink at his wife's miscarriages ; and, because he 
 made the match against the advice of his friends, 
 of his own wilful inclination, he would maintain 
 the ground-work, and own no error therein, lest 
 thereby he should bring his own discretion into 
 question. 
 
 One principal friend, Vejeto, had his house look- 
 ing into the garden of Don Nicholayo, a great 
 Lord of that City, who bore unto him no good- 
 will, because his window hindered his privacy, and 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 199 
 
 was able to tell tales of such passages which he 
 would have transacted in darkness, without any 
 witness. He informs Facundo that he had seen 
 some gestures more bold tlian civil betNveen the 
 Lord and his wife ; but Facundo still persists in 
 his infidelity, and either believes his wife to be 
 honest, or else acteth the belief thereof so lively, 
 that none could perceive in him the least suspicion 
 of her loyalty. 
 
 Sahina, Facundo's wife, falls now seemingly 
 sick, and personateth a dying woman to the life. 
 Her old Nurse, who conveyed intelligence between 
 her and the Lord, had instructed her for her 
 behaviour in a design. Strange it is how she 
 dissembled herein, so that had Fsculapius himself 
 beheld her (provided he neither felt her pulse, 
 nor consulted with her urine), he might have 
 mistook this his patient to be sick: indeed her 
 husband plies her with Physicians and Physic, all 
 to no purpose, her malady rather increasing, and 
 the fire of her distemper growing the hotter for 
 those cooling juleps which were tendered unto 
 her. 
 
 Don Xicholayo repairs unto her, to give her a 
 
200 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 visit. Many good counsels he lavishetli upon her 
 in a long and tedious discourse, and the more 
 tedious because her husband was in the presence, 
 and they two not alone by themselves; but at 
 last he recommended unto her a noted Mounte- 
 hanh, who had commenced Doctor in the mouths 
 of the vulgar, and had gained to himself much 
 esteem for several palliated cures performed by 
 him ; avowing, that if she ever expected health 
 that must be the happy hand to reach it unto her. 
 This Quacksalver had reaped the credit of many 
 learned men's labours, and leaped into esteem by 
 the advantage of their endeavours ; for when, by 
 their learned receipts, some able Physicians in 
 Barcelona had brought their patients to the point 
 of amendment, and reduced their diseases to 
 terms of easy composition, this fellow would 
 interpose, and insinuating himself into the sick 
 men's acquaintance, would prescribe unto them 
 some of his own medicines, more remarkable for 
 their hard and strange names than any other 
 virtue therein : thus carried he away the credit of 
 many cures, and was cried up by the credulous 
 people for eminency in his art ; and although the 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 201 
 
 Spaniards generally are admirers of themselves, 
 and sligliters of strangers, yet this Mountebanh, 
 being an Italian by nation, had gained among 
 them a great reputation, beholden therein, not 
 so much to his own learning as the others' 
 ignorance. 
 
 Seignor Giovanni was his name, who is pre- 
 sently sent for. He comes, views his patient, and 
 after some short discourse, affirms her disease 
 mortal, except one herb procured for her, which 
 grew but in one place of Italy, and must be cere- 
 moniously gathered, by his, or her, hand which 
 bare the truest or deepest affection to the sick 
 body. 
 
 Bon Facundo her husband desires the Mounte- 
 hanJc to enlarge himself concerning the name 
 and nature of the aforesaid herb, protesting he 
 would expend the half of his Estate for liis wife's 
 whole recovery. 
 
 The other, putting on the vizor of a starched 
 countenance by pretended gravity, to procure the 
 greater respect to himself and credit to his words, 
 proceedeth as foUoweth. 
 
 Many men are infected with this singular error, 
 
 p 
 
202 TEIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 that they will believe no vhtue in drugs further 
 than they themselves are able to render the 
 reason thereof; whereas nature is rich in many 
 secret qualities, wliich produce occult effects. 
 The herb Lunaria may be an instance, which is 
 the greatest picklock in the world ; for let it be 
 gathered on Midsummer eve, just at one of the 
 clock, by one looking South-eastward, and some 
 other essential circumstances, locked up in the 
 breasts of artists, it will make any Iron bolt to 
 fly open. The herb Strellaria cometh not short 
 thereof in virtue, as useful for those diseases 
 which proceed from hot and dry causes. This 
 groweth but in one part of Italy, some leagues 
 from Lucca, and I can give infallible directions 
 for the finding thereof. If therefore the Gentle- 
 woman (feigning himself ignorant that she had 
 a husband) had any confiding friend, which will 
 follow my signature in finding and gathering 
 the same (right just at this instant of the year), 
 this, and this alone will restore her to her former 
 health, and I will pawn my credit on the same. 
 ^ Know by the way, that this Mountebanh was 
 secretly bribed by Bon Nicholayo hy this design 
 
TKIANA AND SABINA. 203 
 
 to put her liiisbaud to run on one of these two 
 rocks; either to be censared for want of true 
 affection to his wife, if denying to do anything 
 in order to her recovery, or else, with great hazard 
 to undertake a long and tedious voyage, by Sea 
 and Land, to seek her a new nothing ; whilst his 
 wife all the while intended to prostitute herself 
 to the amorous embraces of this Lord, who had 
 made a mine in her heart, and had supplanted 
 her husband in her affections. 
 
 Facundo, that he might be exemplary to all 
 husbands, and that her kindred, who were many 
 and rich, might the more favourably reflect upon 
 him, from whom he had a fair expectancy of a 
 further fortune, willingly undertakes the voyage ; 
 desiring to be furnished with perfect instructions 
 from Giovanni for the finding of the herb, who 
 delivers him a parchment be-charactered with bar- 
 barous figures (Nets, first to raise, and then to 
 catch the fancy of fools) and some other infor- 
 mations, which should be as so many signs and 
 tokens, \vhereby he should make the hue and cry 
 to attach and apprehend that guilty herb, which 
 havino^ so much worth and virtue in itself, w^ould 
 
204 TKIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 ratber peevislily wither in a private cave than 
 spend itself for the public good. 
 
 Facundo was some miles forward on his journey, 
 when Vejeto, his former friend, posted after him, 
 and persuaded him to return, for he had urged 
 such unanswerable arguments, and infallible de- 
 monstrations drawn from what he himself had 
 seen out of his own window, that at last he pre- 
 vailed on the belief of Facundo, that all was not 
 fair between his wife and Nicholayo. Indeed when 
 many scattered circumstances were carefully put 
 together, and seriously perused, there needed no 
 CEedir)us to read this riddle, which did interpret 
 itself; that Facundo must be sent a pilgrimage 
 into Italy, to the shrine of an unknown herb (the 
 man in the Moon having eaten Strellaria long 
 before), that so, in the vacancy of his bed, the other 
 midit be made the incumbent thereof. 
 
 At last Vejeto adviseth Facundo to return home 
 in a disguise, and pretend himself to be a brother 
 of his, long since employed in the Low-Country 
 wars, and now at last, laden with wounds and 
 wants, returned to bequeath his aged body to his 
 native Country. Facundo consents, hoping by the 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 205 
 
 well management of this project either to prevent 
 or else to discover his wife's unfaithfulness. 
 
 Now whilst Vejeto is accommodating his friend 
 Facundo with all necessaries (the badges of an old 
 Soldier), all essentials thereunto could not be so 
 conveniently procured but that Infido, Vejetds 
 servant, was employed in completing his pro- 
 visions, a crafty fellow^ who could steal light from 
 a small cranny, and light a candle at a little spark, 
 knowing how thriftily to improve a small discovery 
 to the greatest advantage. Don Nicholayo paid a 
 yearly pension to this Infido, to furnish him with 
 intelligence against his Master, who now revealed 
 all the design unto him, for wdiich he received a 
 considerable reward; and Sahina is thoroughly 
 instructed to behave herself in the prosecution 
 of the matter. Facundo comes to his own house 
 metamorphosed to a Beformado, his clothes having 
 so many rents in them, as presumed to cover more 
 wounds under them ; a sword by his side which 
 had contracted rust since the last truce. Knock- 
 ing at the door, his wife sends forth a lamentable 
 shriek, to evidence the continuance of her sick- 
 ness not dissembled, and Facundo (a man of more 
 
206 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 eloquence than valour) begins to quake, and con- 
 demns his own return ; but now he was engaged 
 so far, past hope of retreating, that he must 
 either march forward with confidence, or return 
 with shame. Being entered into the house, where 
 he acquaints the servant that he was Strenuo, the 
 Brother of Facundo, and is conducted by his wife's 
 command to her bedside. 
 
 I understand (said she) by my Maid, that you 
 are my Brother Strenuo, w^hom fame long since 
 liad reported dead, but w^e will pardon her that 
 good lie which is better than a truth. I am heartily 
 sorry at your brother's absence, and more, that 
 my indisposition is the cause thereof; never was 
 poor w^oman more rich in the affections of a loving 
 husband. Though hitherto I have lived his wife, 
 I shall hereafter demean myself as his servant, 
 to deserve some part of his pains in my behalf; 
 no dangers at Land, no tempests at Sea, have de- 
 terred him from undertaking a long journey into 
 Italy, thence to fetch necessaries for my recovery ; 
 but assure yourself (and here she gave so great a 
 groan as broke off the entireness of her discourse, 
 till after the taking of a Cordial she began again) 
 
TRIANA AND SABIXA. 207 
 
 Pardon, good brother, my unmannerliness in 
 my abrupt discourse ; sickness carrieth with it its 
 own dispensatory for such incivilities. I have 
 almost forgotten what I said last, but shall never 
 forget the lasting love of my husband unto me, 
 nor have I any better way to express my affection 
 in his absence, than by using you with all the 
 respect my present condition can afford. You are 
 too noble to measure your welcome by your 
 entertainment, and know full well, servants will 
 not be found where the Mistress is sick. If they 
 fail of my desire, their duty, or your deserts, in 
 their attendance on you, it is in yom' power either 
 to pardon or punish them, to whose sole disposal 
 I commit the family, and command the keys of 
 all the rooms to be tendered unto you. And now 
 indeed. Sir, the more I look on you the more I love 
 you; your mother never wronged your father I 
 dare boldly affirm, so like you are in stature and 
 complexion unto my husband, that were it not for 
 the diJBference of your habit I should believe you 
 to be the same. 
 
 Alas, Sister (said he), I am two years older than 
 your kusband by age, ten years by infirmity : read 
 
210 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 wars, I made a solemn vow witli myself never 
 to learn or speak a word of that language ; for 
 I conceive it a degrading of my tongue to bow 
 to their low expressions, and I admire that any 
 S])aniard will offer to dishonour himself by con- 
 descending thereunto. Conquerors ought to 
 impose a language on a country, and not to 
 receive it thence : the valiant Komans never 
 learned the GauVs tongue or the Punic language : 
 this consideration hardened me in my resolution, 
 that my tongue should be dumb in Butch, a 
 tongue wherein there is such confluence of con- 
 sonants, so long, so hard, and so harsh, that it 
 seemeth to me rather made for conjuring than 
 convolve, and fitter for Devils than men to dis- 
 course therein. 
 
 Bon Olanzo civilly declined more Butch, and 
 proceeded in his own tongue to sift Facundo, 
 desiring him to proceed in the present character 
 of the country. 
 
 For Ostend, saith Facundo, the only matter of 
 moment, the siege still continueth. We have built 
 three half moons, and a Eedoubt, between the 
 windmill and the quay, but the trench from Saint 
 
TRIAJS'A AND SABINA. 211 
 
 Dominies to the counter-gate is not yet per- 
 fected. The English out of the town, exerciseth 
 us with daily saUies, and behave themselves 
 very valiantly : the worst can be said of them they 
 are our enemies. Meat beginneth to fail them 
 much, and munition, as we are credibly informed 
 by the fugitives which daily repair to us out of the 
 Town. The Count of Aremhiirg is daily expected 
 with a recruit of two thousand foot, the Pioneers 
 out of LucMand are daily expected, and then, 
 have at a new mine for the Castle, where all our 
 forces are completed, we shall put it to a des- 
 perate assault. 
 
 Don Olanzo, not contented with these general 
 heads, wherewith a man might furnish himself out 
 of the weekly news-books, began to press him 
 to the particular description of some places in 
 Brahant and Flanders. Now though Facundo 
 was well book-learned, so far as maps could 
 instruct him, yet was it impossible that they could 
 inform him in all particulars of places and build- 
 ings. Facundo begins to falter ; the other pro- 
 secuted him with the cruelty of a prevailing 
 coward, and at length breaking into some 
 
212 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 choler and passion, caught hold of his beard, 
 which having no better title to his face than 
 glue could afford it, presently fell off, and dis- 
 covered him to be what he was. 
 
 Sahina all this while lay in her bed listening 
 to their discourse, which sometimes she disturbs 
 with her groans and sighs ; but now her husband's 
 deceit being laid open, Faeundo, laden with grief 
 and guiltiness, falleth down on his knees, and 
 craves pardon of his wife. 
 
 Strange it is to see how poor spirits descend 
 beneath themselves. But upon his submission 
 and acknowledgment of his fault, a pardon is 
 signed and sealed unto him, upon condition he 
 should resume his journey, which next day 
 with all possible speed he imdertoak; and we 
 leave him making what speed he might to the 
 place for which he was bound. 
 
 The next day Sahina falleth truly and really 
 sick. It is ill jesting with edge-tools ; that which 
 we play with in sport may wound us in earnest. 
 Don Nicholayo repairs unto her, with full intent to 
 enjoy his pleasure, and that nothing but his own 
 moderation should set bounds thereunto, when 
 
TRIAXA AND SABINA. 213 
 
 he meets with an unexpected repulse ; Sahina 
 complaining of the intolerable torture, which 
 disposed her rather for a Coffin than amorous 
 embraces. 
 
 I confess, saith Don NichoJayo, were I not privy 
 unto this dissembling, yea the prime procurer 
 and contriver thereof, I should myself verily 
 believe thee really sick. how far your sex 
 transcends ours in dissimulation : we do it so dully, 
 so improperly, that we are liable to discovery: 
 3^ou exceed yourselves in what you please. 
 
 But, Sir, returns Sahina, mistake me not. 1 
 cannot say by the faith of a loyal wife (having 
 to my shame and grief forfeited that title), but 
 by whatever can be true and dear unto me, I vow 
 and protest myself so sick, that nature scarce 
 affordeth me ability to express my own sick- 
 ness. 
 
 You will always be a woman, saith NicJwJayo, 
 who generally overdo or underdo what they 
 undertake, hardly hitting on a mean, whose souls 
 are either empty or over slow ; it is high time 
 now to put off your vizor, and be what you are. 
 And with that he offered a familiar violence unto 
 
214 TRIANA AND SABINA . 
 
 her, as supposing she expected some acceptable 
 force, to be seemingly pressed to what she 
 desired. 
 
 Content yourself, said Sahina, or my shrieks 
 shall give an Alarm to the Family. Know, Sir, 
 I never loved you so much as now I loathe your 
 looks, and detest the sight of you. Too much, to 
 my shame and grief, hath formerly passed between 
 us, but now I am resolved not to proceed in that 
 vicious course ; but as much as penitency can make 
 a harlot honest, to unstain my soul from my 
 former offences. My time is short, depart the 
 room, and prevent my sending you away. 
 
 Do7i Nicholaijo standeth amazed. Who could 
 expect that the wind could blow at such a point of 
 the compass ? a cold wind indeed to nip the 
 heat of his lust ; yet he seeth no remedy but to 
 comply witli the present occasion, and goes home 
 with a soul divided between grief, anger, and 
 wonder ; though the latter may seem to claim 
 the greatest share in him at so strange and unex- 
 pected an accident. Sahina presently dispatcheth 
 a Servant to overtake her husband, requesting him 
 by all Loves to return with all possible speed, 
 
TRIAXA AND SABIXA. 215 
 
 for slie had some important secrets to unbosom to 
 him, nor could quietly depart this world before 
 the imparting thereof unto him. 
 
 Faciuido, fearing some fraud in the matter, 
 refuseth to return. Indeed the servant accosted 
 him with his Message in that very minute wherein 
 he was taking Ship, tlie wind serving fair, and 
 most of his goods shipped already. At last the 
 servant gave such assurance of .his mistress's 
 sickness, and so importunately pressed him with 
 those arguments borrowed from her, that Pacundo 
 returns that night home. The room is voided, 
 when Sabina begins, with tears in her eyes, 
 moistenins: her words as she uttered them. 
 
 What term shall I call you by? husband, I 
 am ashamed to style you, the mention whereof 
 woundeth my own heart with the memory of my 
 un worthiness ; friend is too familiar a title ; 
 Lord and Master too terrible to me, a false, 
 deceitful servant ; style yourself, Sir, what you 
 please ; I am your wretched vassal, and want words 
 to express the foulness of my offence against 
 you. I am ashamed to speak what I blushed not 
 to do, who have lived in a course of inconstancy 
 
216 THIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 for many years witli Don Nicholayo, and with 
 my dissembling have put you to much trouble 
 and pains. Pardon is too great for me to ask, 
 but not for you to give. I confess they that 
 once have bankrupt their own credit can give no 
 security for the future that they will be respon- 
 sible to such as trust them. However, Sir, know 
 I place more hope of speeding in my request in 
 your goodness than the Equity of my Petition. 
 If life be lent me, which in my own apprehension 
 (and every one is best sensible of their own con- 
 dition) is utterly unlikely, I shall utterly deserve 
 some part of your kindness. Sir, can you not see 
 through the chinks of my broken body, my very 
 
 heart inditing my words; assure yourself 
 
 and there she fainted. 
 
 •' Servants were called in, and much ado with 
 Aqua vitse. They courted and wooed her soul not to 
 depart her body, which was so sullen that it would 
 hardly be persuaded to stay, though at last pre- 
 vailed upon. 
 
 Although the Passages between Faeundo and 
 Sabina w'ere transacted with all possible secrecy ; 
 yet they could not be so privately carried, but that 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 217 
 
 some ill the house overhearing it, it crept tlirough 
 the Family, and went through the City of Bar- 
 celona, and at last through the whole Province of 
 Catalonia. And now Vejeto is found a true friend, 
 and begins to flourish, being formerly so depressed 
 by the greatness of Nicholayo, that he took no 
 comfort in himself, and had abandoned his City 
 house, and retired into the country ; but now he 
 retm-ns to Barcelona again, falls a building and 
 repairing his house, to outface his neighbour 
 Nicholayo, making the same both larger beneath 
 with Vaults, and higher above with magnificent 
 superstructures. 
 
 Don Nicholayo, enraged in his mind with the 
 discovery which Sahina had made, and seeing 
 himself slighted in his reputation, and fearing 
 lest the king of Sjpain (the Court having gotten 
 intelligence thereof) should disseize him of his 
 Governor's place of Barcelona, which his Ancestors 
 had for three descents possessed, almost to make 
 the honour hereditary, resolves on a design, which 
 present passion prompted unto him, and thus he 
 effected it. Facundo was late at night drawing 
 up some conveyances for Land (which the City 
 
 Q 
 
218 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 exchanged with the Crown) in the Town house, 
 and the employment was certain to engross 
 him until the next morning, which was the last 
 day of the term assigned for the completing 
 thereof. All Sahinas servants were by her Nurse 
 (that Pander to her former wantonness, and 
 still an active instrument for Don Nicholayo) sent 
 upon several errands to places of some distance, 
 and she alone left to attend her Mistress. In 
 springs Nicholayo with two robustuous servants, 
 and with violence carries away Sahina muffled in 
 carpets (threatening her with present death at the 
 least resistance or noise) to the house of Nicliolayo. 
 Yet had he now no design of lust upon her, whose 
 revenge had banished his wantonness ; and bring- 
 ing her into his Hall about midnight, a stone 
 there is taken up, and she tumbled down into a 
 vault, which I know not whether to call a Dun- 
 geon or a Charnel-house (many innocents having 
 formerly been despatched in the same place), 
 Nicholayo conceiving, that either she would be 
 killed with the fall, or else starved to death in the 
 place. 
 
 Now there was in Barcelona, an Abbot of a 
 
TRIANA AND SABIXA. 219 
 
 Church, Jago Domingo, preferred to that place 
 by Nicliolayo, rather by the other's favour than his 
 deserts, tor guilt had made Patron and Chai^lain 
 mutually great together ; they being both often 
 complicated in the same act of baseness, wherein 
 they served each the turn of the other. They 
 were nailed together with necessary secrecy, so 
 tliat what friendship did act in others, fear acted 
 in them, to contribute their reciprocal assistance 
 in all designs, seeing the lender to-day was the 
 borrower to-morrow. These two plot together, 
 and lay the scene of the ensuing project. At 
 ikfa^m-seryice, when their Convent was singing 
 together in the Abbot's Church, suddenly their 
 harmony was disturbed by an obstreperous voice, 
 which seemed to proceed from a wall above the 
 Choir; the voice spake horror, and grief, and 
 pain, shrieking out shrill, and then the noise of 
 rattling of chains and the chinking of Irons was 
 alternately heard. Which indeed was nothing 
 else but an instructed Novice, placed there by the 
 Abbot in a concealed concavity to play his part, 
 according to his received directions. The Friars 
 for fear, shorten their service, and betake them- 
 
220 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 selves to their Cells in amazement, as utterly 
 ignorant of the fraud ; the Ahhot, his Novice, and 
 Don Nicliolayo being only privy thereunto. 
 
 Next day, the Friars meeting at Matins, the 
 same noise was heard again, but louder tlian 
 before, with a clashing and gnashing, speaking 
 and mixture of pain and indignation ; the Friars 
 hardly held out their service, wherein wonder so 
 spoiled their devotion, that as at other times the 
 lay People knew not what they said, so now for 
 fear they scarce understood themselves. 
 
 The next day was a public Festival, wherein 
 all the Gentry of Barcelona met there (save 
 Facundo, who went not out of his house, being 
 transported with grief and amazement what 
 should become of his invisible wife), the spirit 
 proceeding as formerly in shrieks. An Exorcist 
 was provided, who by the virtue of holy water 
 and other trinkets, took upon him to catechise 
 and examine the spirit what he was, conjuring it 
 by the power of his spells to answer the truth, 
 and all the truth, at its own peril, if conceaKng 
 any part thereof. 
 
 I am {said the voice in the wall) the soul of 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 221 
 
 Sahina justly tormented in Purgatory, as for my 
 many faults, so chiefly for raising a damnable 
 and notorious lie on Doji Nicholayo, as if he had 
 conversed dishonestly with me. I had been 
 hurried to a worse place, as having nothing to 
 plead in my own behalf, but that I alleged that 
 this scandal was never raised by my own inven- 
 tion, but put into my mouth by Vejeto, and he 
 the Parent, I only the Nurse thereof. And 
 here I am condemned to intolerable torment 
 without all possibility of release, until some 
 signal punishment be laid on Vejeto, it being 
 the method of this Court that the accessory 
 cannot be released until the principal first be 
 punished. I am also enjoined to make public 
 confession of my fault, and to request Bon 
 Nicholayo freely to forgive me, without which 
 my enlargement cannot be procured. And there- 
 fore I humbly request the Convent, for sanctity 
 most highly prized, to join with me in my Petition, 
 that that honourable and worthy Lord would be. 
 pleased freely to remit my fault herein. I am 
 also to desire you to entreat my husband Facundo 
 that he would be pleased to confer on this Convent 
 
222 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 Ill's Vineyard, lying on the East side of the City, 
 between the gate and the Kiver Bioduica, that so 
 by the daily intercession of their suffrages I may 
 be freed from my torture. 
 
 The Exorcist pressed this she spirit to more 
 particulars, as to know whether her husband 
 Facunclo did not concur with Vejeto to advance 
 the defamation. 
 
 The spirit answers, that never woman was 
 happier in a better husband, and that she would 
 not add to her fault and pains to belie him : he 
 was utterly ignorant thereof, and had ever retained 
 a true opinion of her unfaithfuhiess, had not 
 Vejeto s malice rooted it out, with constant and 
 causeless suggestions. 
 
 The Exorcist proceeded to demand what was 
 become of her body, seeing the report had filled 
 the City that it was nowhere to be found, and a 
 suspicion was raised that her husband or her 
 sei'vants were guilty of conveying it away after 
 they had offered some violence to her person. 
 
 Let me not (said she) wilfully heap punishments 
 on myself. I must acquit my husband as altogether 
 innocent, nor can I charge my servants (all whose 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 223 
 
 prayers I humbly desire for the assoiling of my 
 soul) for the least wrong offered unto me ; the 
 truth is, an evil spirit violently took me away, 
 both soul and body, that my punishment might 
 be exemplary and unusual, as my fault was above 
 the proportion of common offenders. 
 
 The Exorcist demanded of her whether any 
 other besides Vejeto, had with him joined in that 
 bad advice. 
 
 To which she returned that the time allotted 
 for her imprisonment was now exphed, being 
 assigned but three hours of three several days, 
 for the begging of the votes of mankind to help 
 her in her extremity ; that now she must return 
 as Prisoner, carrying fetters about her to the 
 place of her restraint, never more to appear or be 
 beard more in tliis world ; and with that giving a 
 hideous shriek, and rattling her fetters, she took a 
 sad farewell of the place, leaving all that heard it 
 to admiration. 
 
 It is strange to conceive how the female sex of 
 Barcelona were affected hereat ; all concluded that 
 Facundo was bound in honour and conscience to 
 satisfy her request. And some of her kindred 
 
224 TEIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 brought Abbot Jago Domingo unto his house, to 
 move him in conformity to his wife's desire, to 
 settle the Vineyard on tlieir Convent as a reward 
 of their meritorious prayers for his wife's enlarge- 
 ment. 
 
 Long had the Ahhot cast a covetous eye upon 
 this Vineyard as a little Paradise, for the pleasure 
 and situation thereof: it might for the distance 
 from Barcelona, be termed the City in the Country, 
 or the Country in the City. It lay on the side of 
 a Bill, which knew its own distance to ascend 
 above the level, yet was not overproud to aspire 
 to a barren height. It beheld the rising Sun, 
 which is apprehended the most cordial, when 
 the Yii'gin beams thereof, uninfected with the 
 vapours of the Earth, first enter on our hemis- 
 phere. A wood was in the middle thereof, 
 whereon Facundo had bestowed much cost, 
 making labyrinths and artificial mazes. An 
 Aviary also he made therein, stocking it with 
 Birds from all Countries ; so that some thought 
 (abating only the Phoenix) that the whole kind of 
 Birds, if decayed, might have been recruited 
 hence. A Eivulet called Riodulca slided through 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 225 
 
 the midst thereof, and seemed so pleased with the 
 same that, loth to depart from so delicious a 
 place, it purposely lengthened its own journey by 
 fetching many needless flexures, lendings, and 
 windings therein, as if it intended to show that 
 water could be more wanton than the wood under 
 which it was passed. A banqueting house also 
 was made in the middle thereof, with a Fountain 
 and Btatues of Marhle, Avhere stones were taught 
 to speak by water-w^orks brought by a device into 
 them. 
 
 True it is, many questioned the discretion of 
 Faeundo in expending so much cost on that which 
 severer folk accounted but a chargeable toy, 
 paying many joieces of eight for every pint of ivine 
 that grew therein ; others excused him, that being 
 cliildless, and having a plentiful estate, this was 
 not only harmless, but a useful evacuation of 
 his wealth, many poor people being used in the 
 making as also in the keeping of this Vineyard. 
 But that which most pleaded for his expensiveness 
 herein, and justly endeared him to the place, and 
 the place to him, was that it had been in the 
 name of the Osorios three hundred years and 
 
226 TEIA.NA AND SABINA. 
 
 upwards ; and he had an Evidence in his house 
 not exceeding a span of Parchment in length, and 
 three inches in breadth (so concise was Antiquity 
 in conveying of lands), wherein Jolm, King of 
 Castile bestowed this land on Andrea Osorio for 
 defending the high Tower in Barcelona once 
 against the French, and twice against the Moors. 
 Pardon Faeundo therefore if he loved this place 
 or was found thereon, seeing doting on it (the 
 premises considered) was excusable, desiring to 
 transmit this Land, to his Brother^s Son whom he 
 intended his heir. 
 
 Oh, what a brave sweet place would this make 
 for Ahhot Jagos Convent ! Did ever mice bite bad 
 cheese, or were ever Friars such fools as to affect 
 base or barren ground? they will be assured of 
 profit or pleasure, or both, wheresoever they fix 
 themselves. The Abbot is earnestly set on this 
 place, and will either be possessed thereof, or else 
 the soul of Faeundo' s wife should be left tormented 
 in the place where it was. 
 
 Her kindred assault Faeundo with much impor- 
 tunity to estate the Land on the Convent, which 
 he utterly refused to do, not denying to disburse a 
 
TRIANA AND SABIXA. 227 
 
 competent sum of money, but pardon him if he 
 will not part with his inheritance. But this or 
 nothing else will please Jago, so that they parted 
 in some discontent ; yet Salinas friends despair 
 not but in process of time to mould him to the 
 Abbot's desire. 
 
 Mean time it would make any honest heart to 
 grieve, though nothing related unto him either in 
 kindred or Countr}^, to see the hard usage of Vejeto ; 
 how he was hurried to the Jail in most ignomi- 
 nious manner ; scarce any in the City so old or so 
 young but would adventure to behold so vicious, 
 so wicked a slanderer (for so he was believed to 
 be) brought to punishment, though his imprison- 
 ment was conceived but a preface and preamble to 
 a greater penalty (if escaping with death) which 
 would be imposed upon him. Vejeto made all the 
 beholders to wonder, who did read in his face so 
 much spirit and liveliness, as if he triumphed in 
 his sufferings, and rather pitied others than 
 himself in this his condition ; yea, his eyes and 
 cheeks had as well mocks as smiles in them, 
 which made the beholders to conceive that besides 
 his own innocence he had some further security, 
 
228 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 not only to acquit himself, but that his Enemies 
 should come off with shame and disgrace, which 
 made the Jailor to demean himself unto him 
 with the better respect. 
 
 Within tlu'ee days the Visitor General of the 
 Order was to come to the Convent, and there in all 
 pomp and solemnity to hear the whole Narration 
 of the matter, 
 
 Now let us look a little backward, to acquaint 
 you with the true cause of Vejetos mirth in 
 these troubles, who indeed had sufficient ground 
 thereof. We formerly told how Vejeto after his 
 return out of the Country began to beautify and 
 enlarge his house. In sinking a Cellar he stood 
 by the workmen, partly to encourage them with 
 his presence, partly to behold the effects of their 
 discovery, the place being concavous, the ruins 
 of some great structm-e formerly level with the 
 ground, though now sunk some yards beneath the 
 same. But the general report was, that it had 
 been a Castle in the time of Julius Cwsar, when 
 Barcelona was a Roman Colony, and privileged 
 with municipal communities. Vejeto had a great 
 fancy in Boman Coins, and would give anything 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 229 
 
 to such as could produce liim any variety herein , 
 yet his fancy was not above his judgment, but 
 he was very critical therein, and had an exact 
 and true eye to discover between true and coun- 
 terfeits, Casts and Originals. But, oh, for a Galba, 
 whose short reign made his Coins the greatest 
 rarity : and Vejeto had a set of Coins with a con- 
 tinual succession of all the Fioman Emperors, 
 Galba excepted. 
 
 The workmen find two or three Coins of 
 Antonius, the forerunners, as Vejeto hoped and 
 expected, of more to ensue ; but these poor Souls 
 beheld them as Msops Cock did the pearl, not 
 knowing how to value them; when Vejeto, con- 
 ceiving these the Vancouriers of an Ai-my, and 
 the earnest of a greater payment, though truly 
 not so much out of covetousness as curiosity, 
 dismissed them that night, the night indeed 
 dismissing them (it being late enough to leave 
 work), and enjoining them to return next morning. 
 
 All his servants being asleep, he alone with his 
 eldest Son Sjoeano turn Pioneers, to dig somewhat 
 deep, and to sift the rubbish therein. It happens 
 that they pierced a hollow place (and hoUowness 
 
230 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 being a great friend to tlie conveying of a sound), 
 they heard a strange noise, too big for a Child, too 
 small for a man; this noise was seconded with 
 some light, but so doubtful and glimmering, that 
 it conquered darkness but one degree. Vejeto 
 with his son enter the vault: what should inno- 
 cence be afraid of ? The father was ashamed 
 to betray fear in the presence of his Son, as 
 having more experience, the Son scorned to 
 betray fear in the presence of his Father, having 
 his youthful blood and spirit to support him ; 
 together they both so order the matter, that they 
 went into the Vault, putting out their candle 
 which led them, and resolved in darkness and 
 silence to expect the Event of the matter. 
 
 Down something tumbled, and presently all 
 light vanished, and they for a time sat still to 
 concoct vdth themselves the reason of so strange 
 an accident. 
 
 Presently they hear a groan, such as speak the 
 Soul, neither friend nor foe, to the Body, but such 
 a distance between both, as if willing to depart. 
 Vejeto enjoins his son, as younger and abler to 
 adventure, to bring forth whatever it was, and 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 231 
 
 up it is carried (not knowing as yet how to style 
 it, Him or Her). On the lighting of a Candle 
 this bulk appears a woman, but much maimed, 
 her right arm and leg being broken. 
 
 Wliat difference is there between the same Body 
 in health and in sickness, between the same 
 clothed and naked, when ornaments of art are 
 used unto it, or when it is left to the dressing 
 of nature ? Vejeto knows no more hereof than 
 Woman, and never remembers that he had seen 
 the face before ; yet they omit not what art could 
 do to restore her to life, which succeeded accord- 
 ing to their desire; she is conveyed to a bed, 
 and no accommodations are wanting which might 
 tend to the speeding of her recovery. At last 
 he knoweth her for Sabina, before she knew her- 
 self : wonder not at her ignorance who had passed 
 through so many worlds, it being a greater wonder 
 that she was alive, than that she did not know 
 where she was or what was become of herself: 
 no Physic nor surgery is wanting to restore her 
 to her former healtli. 
 
 True it is, Vejeto would not make use of any 
 out of his own doors, for the better concealing 
 
232 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 of the matter, but his own wife Olivia, being 
 excellent above her sex at such performances, 
 indeed she had never read lIij)j)ocrates or Galen 
 in Greek, yet was she one who by Kitchen 
 Physic did many and cheap cures to poor 
 people, taking only their thanks (and that only 
 if they were willingly pleased to give it) for the 
 reward. From Physic she proceeded to surgery, 
 and was no less successful therein: this made 
 many to hate her who were of that profession ; 
 whilst she cared the less for their hatred, as 
 over-balanced with the love and respect which 
 others (but the poor especially) did bear unto her. 
 
 Sabina is privately concealed here for some 
 days, whilst Vejeto, as we have formerly mentioned, 
 was carried to Prison, where Olivia daily visited 
 him; and it was the general expectation of the 
 people that forfeiture of his estate was all the 
 mercy justice could afford him. 
 
 And now Ahhof Jago is busy in preparing enter- 
 tainment for Padre Antonio, Bishop of Lerma, 
 and Visitor-General of his order, but especially 
 of this Convent, in Barcelona, which three 
 hundred years since was founded by a Bishop 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 233 
 
 of Lev ma, leaving to Lis successors the hereditary 
 power of inspection over the same, to add, or to 
 translate Orders and persons therein, as advised 
 by their own discretion. Padre Antonio was 
 generally hated by the Friars for his severity 
 and austerity of life, being over rigorous in the 
 observation of the conformity thereof; he would 
 not abate them any point, but confined them 
 to the height of observances. ■ Only this pre- 
 served his reputation with religious men, that 
 he used others no worse than him^Qli, ]^ractising 
 in his own person what he prescribed in others, 
 leaving an example of abstinence to all the 
 Country. 
 
 No wonder if the Truants shake when the 
 Schoolmaster cometh among them. Abbot Jago 
 is jealous that some flaw will be found isi him, 
 to oust him of his place, being conscious to him- 
 self of many Enormities ; for though he walked 
 by that rule, if not chastely, yet cautiously, he 
 managed his matters with all possible privacy; 
 yet he suspected that Goldsmiths w^ould not 
 receive that false Coin wherewith common people 
 are deluded, and the sharp judgment of Antonio 
 
234 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 quickly discover that which was invisible to 
 common eyes; wherefore, to mollify him in his 
 visitation, by two Friars he sent him a p-esent 
 of rich plate to the value of iive hundred Crusa- 
 does. Antonio refused the acceptance, charging 
 the Friars to return it, adding withal, that if Ja^o 
 had observed the vow of poverty, according to 
 his order, he could not have achieved so great 
 an estate. 
 
 Three days after, the Visitor comes to Bar- 
 celona on foot, unattended save with one servant 
 alone ; forth rode the Abbot to meet him on his 
 Mule, and most of their Convent in like manner, 
 together with the Officers of their house, and 
 all Descendants of the same, to the number of 
 sixty persons. These expected to have met the 
 Visitor in so solemn an Equipage as had been 
 observed by his Predecessors; and finding their 
 expectation confused, Jago was much discomposed 
 thereat, and so disturbed m his mind, that he 
 forgot that premeditated Oration which he had 
 artificially penned for the Visitor's entertainment. 
 
 Here Jac/o proffered the Visitor the convenience 
 of his Mule, which he refused, adding, with a 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 235 
 
 stern countenance, that so much pomp and state 
 became not men of his profession ; conducted he 
 was into the Convent, where such a supper was 
 provided for him as had made provisions dear 
 in the Towm. Tlie Visitor commanded tlie poor 
 people to be called thither, on whom he bestowed 
 all the clieer, betaking himself to some mean 
 Viands, whicli he brought with him, and thereon 
 took a sparing refection. 
 
 Next day the Court was kept, and several 
 misdemeanours were presented unto him. Bon 
 Nieliolayo complained to the Visitor of the high 
 offence of Vejeto. For although the power of the 
 Visitor extended only to the Convent, yet lately 
 he was empowered with a Commission from the 
 Conclave, to take into consideration all business 
 in the City which any way related to the late 
 wonder of the spirit in the wall, and to proceed 
 against all persons concerned therein, as he should 
 see cause for the same. 
 
 Vejeto is sent for out of prison, and his fault 
 inflamed to the height by the Bhetoric of a young 
 Advocate, retained by Bon Nicliola^jo to set forth 
 the heinousness of the offence. Being demanded 
 
236 TRIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 what he could say for himself, he requested that 
 one witness might be produced, and her testi- 
 mony solemnly taken, which seemed so equal 
 a motion, that it could not any ways be denied. 
 
 Presently he bringeth forth Sahina by the 
 hand (who stood by, but disguised and concealed), 
 tendering her there to the Visitor, to make a 
 narration of the whole story. 
 
 The Visitor is for a while so taken up with 
 wonder, that his soul was at leisure to do nothing 
 else but admire, to see one reported dead and 
 carried away soul and body, alive and in good 
 health. Facunio standing by, requested the 
 Visitor to favour him if he transgressed the 
 gravity of that Court by bestowing a salutation 
 on his dear wife ; being confident that the strange- 
 ness of the accident would sufficiently plead for 
 his presumption therein. Next day the Visitor 
 proceeds to censure. First, Ahhot Jago was expelled 
 his Convent, and condemned to perpetual im- 
 prisonment: it is thought it had cost him his 
 life, had not some reverence and respect to his 
 order mitigated the Censure. 
 
 The Novice in the wall, as yet was but a proba- 
 
TRIANA AND SABINA. 237 
 
 tioner, and not entered in the orders, ^yas con- 
 demned to be publicly whipped in the market 
 place of Barcelona, being all the blood that 
 was shed in this Comical story. The Exorcist 
 pleaded his own innocence, as not privy to the 
 cheat, and that he only proceeded according 
 to the rules of his own Art, whose plea was 
 accepted. 
 
 Bon Nicliolaijo, because a person of great honour, 
 highly descended and allied, was remitted by the 
 Visitor to the King's disposal, and sent Prisoner 
 to Madrid, where he was ordered to lose his 
 office, and fined ten thousand Grusadoes to the 
 King, and five thousand Grusadoes to Facundo. 
 Vejeto was deputed to succeed NiehoJayo in the 
 Governor s iiilace of Barcelona. Facundo, something 
 to compensate his patience, was promoted to be 
 Advocate General of Gatalonia. The Xurse of 
 Sahina, privy to the plot, pleaded the age of 
 seventy, and under the protection thereof, at 
 Salinas humble entreaty, was pardoned. Infido, 
 a cheating servant of Vejeto, who had oftentimes 
 betrayed his Master's secrets, was branded in the 
 face with F. S. (false servant). Facundo and Sahina 
 
238 
 
 TEIANA AND SABINA. 
 
 lived many years together in Love and Credit, 
 and whereas formerly she was issueless, made 
 her husband afterward happy with a numerous 
 posterity. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
ORNITHOLOGIE ; 
 
 THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 
 
 THE REV. T. FULLER, B.D. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR JOHN STAFFORD, AND ARE TO BE SOLD 
 
 AT HIS HOUSE, AT THE GEORGE AT 
 
 FLEETB RIDGE. 1655. 
 
TO THE WOESHIPFUL ROGEE LE STEANGE, 
 ESQUIEE. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 A most learned Dutch writer hatli main- 
 tained that birds do sjoeak and converse 07ie with 
 another ; nor doth it follow, that they cannot 
 speak, because we cannot hear, or that they 
 want language, because we want understanding. 
 Be this true or false, in Mythology Birds are 
 allowed to speak, and to teach men too. We 
 know that a man cannot read a wiser, nor a child 
 a plainer Book than Msojps FdbUs. 
 
 These Birds now come to make their nest under 
 the Boughs and Branches of your Favour. Be you 
 pleased, Sir, to extend your shadow over them, and 
 as they shall receive succour from you, you may 
 be assured you shall receive no hurt from them. 
 
242 
 
 And thus, Sir, I wish you all happiness, not only 
 to converse with birds in the lowest Kegion of the 
 Air, sometimes styled Heaven, but that a better 
 and higher place may be reserved for your enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 J. S. 
 
ORNITHOLOGIE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE SPEECH OF BIRDS, 
 
 There was a Grove in Sicihj, not far from Syra- 
 cuse, wherein the Greek and Latin Poets had made 
 many Hijperholical descriptions. For the Wits in 
 that Country being jplacebound, and confined to 
 a narrow Circle of ground, sought to improve the 
 same by their active Wit ; whereby they enlarged 
 every Ditch into a Eiver, every Pond into a Lake, 
 every Grove into a Forest, every convenient Hill 
 into a Mountain. In this notion they magnified 
 this Grove, otherwise not above twelve Acres of 
 ground, though well wooded, save that the tyran- 
 nical Oaks, with their constant dropping, hindered 
 the underwood from prospering within the com- 
 pass thereof. 
 
244 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 There was the whole Nation of Birds living 
 under the shadow thereof. And the climate 
 being indifferently moderate, and moderately 
 middle, wherein the East, West, North, and South 
 of the World were in some kinds compounded, 
 Birds of all Climates here made their habitations. 
 Now a Bill of complaint was subscribed (or rather 
 signed) with the numberless Claws (instead of 
 hands) of Birds, containing the many insupport- 
 able Grievances they had endured from the 
 intolerable cruelty of the Eagle ; who making his 
 own lust his Law, had domineered over all the 
 winged Nation, The Eagle appeared in answer 
 hereunto (it being a general meeting of all kinds 
 of Birds), and endeavoured to justify his proceed- 
 ings, and clear himself in vain from their Accusa- 
 tions. The truth is, the Eagle was overgrown 
 with Age, for he is generally reported the survivor 
 of all Birds, So that if one would take a Lease 
 of Land on a bird's life, he could not put in a 
 more advantageous name than an Eagle. 
 
 But this Eagle had its hill with long age so re- 
 flexed back again into his mouth, that he was so 
 far from preying on another, that he could not 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 245 
 
 swallow any Flesh though proffered unto him. 
 Soon will the spirits fail where the belly is not fed ; 
 in vain did his courage pretend to his wonted 
 valour, when there was nothing within to justify 
 and make good the offers thereof. So that the 
 poor Eagle, conquered rather with its own Age 
 than outward violence, yielded to that to which all 
 must yield, and was forced patiently to digest all 
 affronts offered unto him, and glad so to escape. 
 For although some mention was made of killing 
 him, yet by plurality of suffrages that vote got 
 the mastery which only confined him to a neigh- 
 bourino' wood, on condition that death without 
 mercy should be his penalty if exceeding the 
 Bounds thereof. 
 
 This done, Proclamation was made three days 
 after, that the whole Species of Birds should appear 
 for the election of a Principal to command them. 
 Indeed there were many which were altogetlier 
 against any Government, because they might the 
 more freely rove and range in their Affections. 
 These held that all were free by nature ; and that 
 it was an assault on the Liberty of man, and a 
 rape offered to his natural freedom, that any 
 
24G ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 should assume authority above another. These 
 maintained (what certainly was not only a paradox, 
 but a flat falsehood) that nature at the first creation 
 made all the world a flat level and Chamj>, and 
 that it was by the violence of the Deluge or great 
 Flood, which by the partial fall or running thereof, 
 made the inequality, by sinking some places into 
 humble Valleys, and swelling others into aspiring 
 Mountains. Prosecuting which comparison, they 
 maintained that all men were naturally equal ; 
 and that it was the inundation and influx 
 of human Tyranny which made this disparity 
 between them. They also defended the argument, 
 that as the world began, so it should end with the 
 Golden age ; and that all ought to be restored to 
 that primitive Liberty which men had lost, partly 
 surrendering it by their own folly and easy nature, 
 partly surprised into their own slavery by the 
 cunning and craft of others that practised on their 
 simplicity. But however that these made a great 
 noise, the opposite party prevailed, as having most 
 of strength and reason on their side. 
 
 For where all rule, there no rule at all will be ; 
 where every man may command, in fine, none 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 247 
 
 will obey the dictates of bis own reason, but be 
 a very vassal to bis passion. Society cannot be 
 twisted together where there is not a subordination 
 and subjection one to another ; and where every 
 one is absolute in himself there is an impossibility 
 of any orderly subsistence. 
 
 Let the maintainors of the contrary try witli 
 themselves to make a rope of sand ; where each 
 crumb therein being independent of itself, hath 
 no tendency to a general agreement, but enjoys 
 itself in its own entireness. 
 
 It being now cast (by general suffrages) for a 
 Commander over 'all, that at such a time they 
 should meet ; it was also proclaimed that all 
 antipathy should cease between all Birds during 
 their meeting ; because being now in danger of 
 general ruin for want of a head, all private 
 animosity should be broken off and drowned in a 
 public agreement. 
 
 According to the Proclamation, they all met 
 together ; and Urds of all feathers had a general 
 convolancy. Then the Ostrich began, in a high 
 commendation of himself, how he was the biggest 
 of all hirds, and therefore the fittest to be their 
 
248 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 General, as of the greatest ability to support the 
 weight of the Massive affairs of State. The rest 
 of the birds gave him the hearing, until the little 
 Wren thus returned the answer. 
 
 It may sefem a very unproportionable combat 
 between the least and greatest of hirds, that I 
 should once offer to enter the lists with the Giant, 
 who affrights us all with his greatness. But sure 
 this wise Senate never made the bulk of a hody 
 the standard whereby to measure the perfections 
 of the mind : and therefore I may take to myself 
 the confidence to examine the truth of what he 
 hath spoken. His greatness is*apparent to every 
 eye ; but as for any other eminency, it is so secret 
 a quality, that none as yet hath discovered it. 
 For mine own part I conceive him rather least than 
 hird, and therefore not properly of our kind. I 
 appeal to his Latin name, Struthiocamelus, 
 wherein the Camel bears away the last and best 
 part thereof. And are we put to such a strait, 
 that we must elect an Hermajphrodite, a rudiment, 
 which is a measuring case between Beast and 
 Fowl. Doth he not more trust unto his Legs to 
 Flee than unto his Wings to fly P and what, I pray, 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 249 
 
 is tlie remarkable virtue whicli commends him 
 to public notice? Hath he any melodious voice 
 ^yhereby to charm the attentions of those that 
 hear him ? hath he any extraordinary ivit^ in which 
 he appears above others of the same society? 
 ^Yhat if Foolish women, as light perhaps as the 
 Feather they wear, be pleased to advance his Tail 
 above their heads. What if vainglodous Captains, 
 more kno^vn by their Plumes than their ;perfor7n- 
 ances, deck their crests with the spoil of his wings : 
 all these amount not to argue any real worth in 
 him. We live not in an age to be deluded with 
 shows, or cheated with shadows. It is enough 
 that our Ancestors have suffered for their folly 
 herein, with their own credulity. Keal worth 
 must be the attraction of our love and resj)ect; 
 which being here wanting, I utterly disavow his 
 Election for om- Sovereign. 
 
 The rest of the hirds concurred with the resolu- 
 tion of the Wren, highly applauding it for the 
 same, which durst s;peaJc that which others thought. 
 They plainly saw that spirit united in a small 
 bulk acts most vigorously; and the contracted 
 heat in so small a body prompted the Wren to 
 
 s 
 
250 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 such lively expressious which bigger birds durst 
 not utter. 
 
 Next stood forth the Parrot, insisting largely 
 on its own commendation, among the rest, of his 
 dexterous faculty in imitating the speech of Man, 
 wherein he exceeded all other creatures in the 
 world. And seeing man w^as the Sovereign of all 
 the Creation, he conceived himself (which ap- 
 proached next unto him in his happy expressions) 
 deservedly miglit claim the Begiment of all hirds. 
 
 The Daw, generally condemned for its loquacity, 
 took upon him to answer the Parrot. Indeed 
 he began with great disadvantage, none expect- 
 ing anything of wit or worth from him, because 
 he was so common a Talker, therefore conceived 
 his sjpeech not worthy their attentions ; when de- 
 feating their expectations, and deceiving them 
 with a hannless cheat, he thus proceeded. 
 
 You have heard the Parrot make a large eneo- 
 mium of himself, all which must needs be true, 
 because you have heard his own credit to avouch 
 it ; otherwise methinks one might justly take the 
 liberty to examine the ground of what he hath 
 spoken. I will not insist on the alienness of his 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 251 
 
 extraction ; we living here in Syracuse, whilst the 
 Parrot fetcheth his Original from the Souili 
 of Africa or East of Asia. Only consider with 
 yourselves how unfit it is for our free-born 
 spirits to submit to a Foreignei'. Assure your- 
 selves foreign Air will bring in foreign inclina- 
 tions: he cannot but promote strangers as his 
 favourites to all places and preferments of profit 
 and honour ; and can this be digested by such as 
 consult the true spirit of an ingenuous Birth? 
 For mine own part, I shall rather submit to the 
 tyranny of our own Country than to the insulting- 
 humours of strangers ; as expecting that although 
 one of our own Country may for a time domi- 
 neer over us, yet the sympathy of blood to those 
 of his own Land will give a checJc, and at last 
 gain a Conquest of his passion, that he will return 
 to a favourable reflection on those who by vicinity 
 of hirth and Ir ceding are related unto him. 
 
 Now whereas the Parrot boasteth that he doth 
 so exactly imitate the speech of Man, it affecteth 
 me no whit at all v/ith admiration thereof. 
 I have heard of a speech of Alexander, who being 
 invited to hear a man that sung like a Night- 
 
252 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 ingale, answered, I scorn to hear him, for I have 
 heard the Nigldingale itself; and who would ad- 
 mire the Coj^y when he hath the Original ? I have 
 often heard men themselves speak, and there- 
 fore am not a whit moved to hear a Parrot speak 
 like a man. Let everything appear in its own 
 shape, Men speak the language of Men, Birds of 
 Birds. Hypocrisy is that which hath betrayed 
 the world to a general delusion, thence to destruc- 
 tion, when people counterfeit the Tongues and 
 Tones of those from whose Hearts they dissent. 
 How many demm-e people hath this age brought 
 forth, sadly and soberly dropping forth their 
 words, with much affected deliberation^ as if all 
 the hearers were bound thereby to believe 
 them as solid, reserved, and discreet in Deeds as 
 in their words, when they only Palliate and 
 cloak a base and unv/orthy inside under the 
 shadow and pretence of an outward fair represen- 
 tation. I therefore must throw my grains into 
 the Negative scale, and conceive the Parrot 
 utterly unfit for the sovereignty of Birds, 
 
 After many debates and disputes, pro and con, 
 plurality of voices at last pitched on the Hawk, 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 253 
 
 as whose extraction was known to be honourable, 
 valour undoubted, providence or forethought ad- 
 mirable, as aj)peared in the quickness of his eyes, 
 being a Prometheus indeed, foreseeing all dangers, 
 and his own advantages of great distance. The 
 Ha^k returning his full and fair thanks unto them 
 for their free favour, accepted of their proffer, and 
 all their meeting for the present was diminished ; 
 only two birds commanded to stay behind, the 
 Phoenix and the Turtle Dove, whom the Hawk 
 severally accosted, beginning Avith the former. 
 
 Sir, or Mistress Phoenix, saith the Hawk, for I 
 know not in what Gender to address my language 
 unto you, in whom both sexes are jumbled to- 
 gether. I desire to be informed of you, whether 
 that be a truth, or a long-lived common Error, 
 of the manner of vour orifrinal from the Ashes 
 of your Ancestors. If it be a truth, I stand ready 
 with admu-ation to embrace and entertain it. If 
 an error, I am resolved Posterity shall no longer 
 be deluded therewith. We live in an Age of 
 Knowledge, the Beams whereof have dispelled 
 those mists of Errors wherewith our Forefathers 
 were cheated into the belief of many impossi- 
 
254 OENITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 bilities recommended unto them by Tradition, as 
 if the gray Periwig of Old age should command 
 so much veneration from us, that we should 
 consign up our judgment to the implicit belief 
 of anything which former Ages have related. 
 Deal, therefore, openly with me, and inform me 
 the truth, whether your Generation be thus by 
 Continuation of a Miracle. 
 
 I cannot resolve you herein, saith the Phcenix, 
 of the particulars of my Extraction, which hap- 
 pened long before the register of my memory. 
 Sure I am there are no other of my Kind for 
 me to couple with, which demonstrates the truth 
 of that which is generally received. I confess 
 men make use of me rather for a Moral, and an 
 Emblem to denote those things which are rare, 
 and seldom come to pass. Thus a Court Lord 
 who will honestly pay all his Debts is accounted 
 a Phoenix : a judge who will not suffer his Con- 
 science to be robbed by a bribe secretly proffered 
 unto him is a Phoenix : a great man who looks 
 straight forward to the Public good, not bound 
 on either side with his own interest, is a Phoenix. 
 However, assure yourself, that besides the Mo- 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 255 
 
 rality that may be made thereof, I have, as 
 you see, a real Existence in Nature ; and if any 
 will take the pains to travel into Arabia, to 
 Mecca, he shall find my Nest in a Tree, hanging 
 there almost as Artificially as doth the Tomb of 
 llahomet, bribed by an invisible Loadstone into 
 that miraculous posture thereof. 
 
 But now, saith the Hawk, suppose I should 
 seize on you this night for my supper ; whether 
 do you think that the loss of your life would 
 be so great a defect in Nature that the whole 
 Universe would fare the worse for the same ? 
 
 Undoubtedly it would, saith the Phcenix, for 
 this is received for an undoubted Maxim amongst 
 Philosoj>hers, that if one whole Kind or si^ecies of 
 Creatm-es be destroyed, the whole world would be 
 ruined thereby. For every kind of Creatures are 
 so Essential to the well-being thereof, that if any 
 one of them be utterly destroyed, all the rest of 
 sympathy will decay. 
 
 I conceive not, saith the Hawk, that you are 
 such a foundation-stone in Nature's building, that 
 the taking you away will hazard the whole 
 Architecture thereof. However, I am resolved 
 
256 OKNITHOLOGIE ; OE, 
 
 to put it to the trial, be it but to gain knowledge 
 by the experiment. I know what Flato saith. 
 That those are the happiest kingdoms wherein 
 either their Kings are Philosophers, or their 
 Philosophers their Kings. Seeing therefore the 
 History of Nature is so necessary to an accom- 
 plished Governor, I, who desire all perfections 
 in that kind, will, to satisfy my curiosity, make 
 proof thereof. 
 
 The Phoenix pleaded for herself the benefit of 
 a Proclamation of liberty to all for three days, 
 to come and go with safety ; the Hawk smiling 
 at her silly plea, informing her that such grants 
 are to be kept no farther than they are consistent 
 with the conveniency of those that grant them. 
 Yet for the present the Phoenix was reprieved, 
 because the Hawk's stomach, lately gorged, had 
 not as yet recovered his appetite to his supper. 
 
 Then the Hawk approached to the Turtle Dove, 
 demanding of her whether it was true or no what 
 passeth for a common truth, that the Turtle, if 
 once losing theu' Mate, never wed more, but pass 
 the remainder of their doleful days in constant 
 widowhood. 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 257 
 
 Most true it is, saith the Turtle, which I may 
 speak by my own sad experience ; for some 
 three years since the unhappy shot of a cruel 
 Falconer deprived me of my dear Husband, 
 since which time I have sequestered myseK from 
 all company, never appearing in public till now, 
 forced thereunto by command from Authority. 
 
 And surely, I conceive all second Marriages 
 little better than excusable lust ; for when once 
 the heat of youth hath been abated in one 
 Match, none can pretend Necessity of Marrying 
 again, except it be for quenching those heats 
 which they themselves willingly and wilfully 
 kindle. Besides, when one hath once really 
 affected a Husband, or he a Wife, affections so 
 engross the whole soul, that notwithstanding his 
 or her death, it can never admit another to the 
 same degree of dearness. Especially if their 
 love were signed and sealed with Issue, as mine 
 was, having three of both Sexes surviving (send 
 them better success than their unhappy Father 
 had), so that in them methinks I behold my 
 Husband still alive. She therefore that hath 
 not the modesty to die the Eelict of one man. 
 
258 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 will charge through the whole Army of Husbands, 
 if occasion were offered, before her love will meet 
 with a full stop thereof. 
 
 You are too rigid and severe, saith the Hawk, 
 to make your personal temper and private practice 
 the rule to measure all other by, unacquainted 
 with the Necessities of others in this Kind. But 
 to come closer to the matter, I desire satisfaction 
 in another thing, namely, whether you be without 
 a Gall, as is commonly reported. 
 
 I know there is a twofold knowledge, one by 
 the fruits and the effects, which Scholars call 
 a ^posteriori, and this is the more fallible and 
 uncertain ; the other a joriori, from the Causes, 
 and this, as more demonstrative, may safely be 
 relied on. I will embrace the latter course, and 
 to assure myself whether you have a Gall or no, 
 I mean to make you a living Anatomy, and 
 instantly to dissect you. Ocular inspection is the 
 best dii'ection, and I will presently pry into your 
 entrails for my better information, to see with 
 w^hat curiosity Nature hath contrived the things 
 tlierein, and how many little engines there are, to 
 move the wheels of life within you. 
 
THE SPEECH OP BIRDS. 259 
 
 Then began the Hawk to dispose himself for 
 Supper, intending the Turtle Dove for the first 
 course to begin with, and the Phoenix (as the 
 finer flesh) to close his stomach therewith. In 
 preparation whereunto he plumed the Dove of 
 some of her upper Feathers. 
 
 Just in the instant as he began his prey, who 
 should come in (but he was little expected and 
 less welcome) to the Hawk, than the old Eagle ; 
 and we must a while dwell upon the cause and 
 manner of his enlargement. 
 
 This Eagle w^as, as aforesaid, confined to a 
 Grove, where he was temperate against his will, 
 as not being able to feed on any Fowl. Nature 
 had hung such a Lock upon his Bill, for the 
 Kedundancy thereof was such, that he was 
 capable of no food save drink, which he plenti- 
 fully poured in ; thus for some months drink was 
 all the meat he took, which served to support his 
 life, though not to increase his strength ; yet could 
 he not be a good fellow in his Cups, as being solitary 
 by himself, having none to keep him company. 
 
 At last he descried a sharp Rock, wherein 
 one place white in colour, more prominent than 
 
260 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 the rest, had a shining hardness therein. To this 
 the Eagle applies his Bill, and never left off 
 rubbing, grating, and whetting his beak thereon, 
 until at last he quite whetted off the superfluous, 
 yea hurtful Excrescency of his Bill, which, now 
 reduced to a moderate proportion, was as useful 
 to all purposes as ever before. Thus enabled to 
 get his prey, in a few weeks he recruited his 
 strength, so that what the Poets tell of Medea, 
 that with her enchanted Baths made her Father- 
 in-Law young again, here truly came to pass. 
 And now the New old Eagle, hearing in what 
 Quarters the Hawk kept his constant residence, 
 thought on a sudden to have surprised him, had 
 not the other discovered his approach, and made a 
 seasonable escape, whereby both Turtle and Phoenix 
 obtained their liberty, and securely returned unto 
 their own Nests. 
 
 The Hawk having made an escape, posted 
 with all speed to the Lapwing, which with some 
 difficulty he found out, and privacy being obtained, 
 thus kindly spake unto him. 
 
 Friend Lapwing, I have taken notice that you 
 are the most subtle and politic Bird in all 
 
THE SPEECH OP BIKDS. 261 
 
 our Commouwealth ; you have the art so to 
 cover your intentions, that they are not obvious to 
 common eyes. When your Eggs or young ones 
 be a mile at distance, you use to flutter with your 
 wings, and fetch your rounds and circles a great 
 way off, as if you intended to brood that place 
 with your wings, or as if that were the Chest 
 wherein your Treasure was deposited ; this makes 
 many people to search there for your young ones, 
 but are frustrated of their hopes, you having 
 secured them far off. This lawful Simulation 
 I conceive a commendable and necessary quahty 
 in every great person ; it is as necessary as breath 
 to their well-being. Should men play all above 
 board, and expose their actions to all Spectators, 
 Folly and Wisdom would be both of a rate. No, 
 it is the hanging of such Curtains and Traverses 
 before our Deeds which keep up our Eeputation, 
 and enable us for great performances. Now I 
 request you to help me a little in my extremity : 
 the renewed Eagle is in pursuit of me, and my 
 safety lieth mu h at your disposal. The Lapwing 
 promised the utmost of his endeavours, and 
 desired the Hawk to proceed. 
 
262 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 See you, saith tlie Hawk, yonder empty cage of 
 great receipt, so tliat it might serve for an Aviary, 
 for which it was first intended, though since disused. 
 When, the Eagle, flying this way, inquireth after 
 me, persuade him I am flown into the cage, and 
 leave the rest to my performance. 
 
 All was acted accordingly : the Eagle demanded 
 what was become of the Hawk. The Lapwing 
 returned, Here 'tis, here 'tis, and then hovered over 
 the Cage, fetching so many compasses thereabouts, 
 that one might have mistaken him for some 
 Conjuror, making his many circles with intent to 
 raise up some spuit thereabouts. 
 
 The Eagle violently flies into the Cage, whose 
 doors stood open, triumphing in his own hap- 
 piness, that now he should be revenged on his 
 professed Enemy. Instantly the Hawk (who stood 
 behind unseen in a place of advantage) claps an 
 Iron Padlock on the Cage, and thus insulteth over 
 the Prisoner. 
 
 Methinks, Sir Eagle, you make me call to 
 mind the condition of Bajazet, the Great Tm'k, 
 whom Tamerlane took captive, and carried liim 
 about the Country, that all people might feed 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIKDS. 263 
 
 their gazing eyes upon him ; such a spectacle are 
 you this day. I have now made au Owl of the 
 Eagle, turned him into the ridiculous object of 
 laughter and contempt. Tell me, do you not want 
 a Prometheus, to feed upon his fruitful entrails, as 
 the Poets feign, which daily increased, and af- 
 forded the Poet's Eagle both Commons and Fes- 
 tivals ? Sir, your life shall not be vented out at 
 once, but you shall die many deaths, v>'ith long 
 lingering torments. I will order it so, that you 
 shall feel yom-self to die. There is no Music 
 in an Enemy's death which is not accompanied 
 with torment ; and though no outward torture 
 shall be inflicted upon you, yet know, that thirst 
 and hunger shall be your two Executioners, Now 
 the Guiltless blood of so many Birds and innocent 
 Lambs and hurtless Hares shall be required of you ; 
 and so I leave you till to-morrow, when I mean 
 to make a new meal of you in scorn and contempt. 
 The Eagle sadly, yet stoutly answered, my 
 courage shall not abate with my condition, whose 
 spirit is planted above the battery of Fortune. I 
 will never be less than myself, whatsoever befalls 
 me. A Lion is no less a Lion though in a 
 
264 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 grate. Mischance may make me miserable, it 
 shall not make me base ; I will bear my troubles 
 with as much cheerfulness as I may, 1 defy thy 
 spleen in triumphing over me. 
 
 After the Hawk's departure, the Ostrich came 
 in the place, whom the Eagle saw unseen, and 
 wistily marked his postures and motions. The 
 Ostrich fell into a strange passion, and would you 
 know the reason thereof, it was as followeth. 
 
 Some three days since, when he first repaired 
 to the general meeting of the Birds, he left his 
 Eggs in the sand, not covering them over, such 
 his carelessness and incogitancy ; it was in a Star- 
 light night, wherein he took a mark for the finding 
 of his Eggs by such a star, under the direct 
 position whereof he then hid them, and hoped to 
 find them at his return. It happened that the 
 Star being turned about with the circumgyration 
 of the heavens, which continue in constant motion, 
 the Ostrich lost the Star by which he thought 
 to find his eggs, and though very near the place, 
 wandered up and down, and could not light upon 
 it, which made him break forth into this passionate 
 complaint. 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 265 
 
 I am the most unfortunate of all Fowls. How 
 will all condemn me for an unnatural Parent, who 
 have been thus careless of mine own issue? 
 Yet I took as good notice of the place as I could. 
 All things in Earth are false, and fading, and 
 flitting away. I had thought there had been more 
 faithfulness in the Heavens, more assurance in 
 the Skies. Let never the Indians worship Stars 
 again, when they are guilty of so much deceit. 
 
 How comes it to pass that the Pole-Star is so 
 perfect a guide and direction to the Mariner, that 
 it may be termed the grand Pilot of all Ships, 
 by the Elevation, or Depression whereof, they 
 infallibly collect in the darkest nights whereabouts 
 they steer ? I say, how comes that Star to be so 
 true to its trust, to be so true a Conductor of wan- 
 dering Sailors, and this prove so false to me ? And 
 now will Posterity brand for unnaturalness, who 
 have exposed my Eggs to such danger, though 
 therein all caution was used by me to the height 
 of my discretion. More would she have spoken 
 when grief silenced her ; for as those Kivers are 
 shallow which make a noise, whilst the deepest 
 streams are tongue-tied, so those passions which 
 
 T 
 
266 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 vent themselves in words discover their bottom 
 of no great depth. 
 
 Meantime the Eagle looked through the spaces, 
 or intervals in the Cage, and so excellent the 
 sight thereof, he easily discerned where the Eggs 
 lay, the Ostrich being so near, that he almost 
 crushed them with his own feet : wherefore calling 
 the Ostrich unto him, I am glad, saith he, that in 
 my misery I have the occasion to oblige any. I 
 can tell you Avhere the Treasure is that you seek 
 for, and presently directed him to the same. 
 
 The Ostrich was not so overjoyed with its own 
 happiness but that he bethought himself how to 
 return proportionable thanks to the Eagle ; in 
 order whereunto he set his Bill against the Iron 
 Padlock of the Cage, and according to the 
 voraciousness of his stomach, quite devoured the 
 same. 
 
 Let privy Councillors of Nature enter into this 
 deep Discourse, how it is possible for such a solid 
 and substantial thing as Iron is, to become food to 
 a Fowl : let them, I say, beat their brains about 
 this Question, harder than Iron ; and il they find 
 the true reason thereof I shall prefer their 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIRDS. 267 
 
 Ingenuity as stronger than the stomach of an 
 Ostrich ; mean time we will be content to rest in 
 the vulgar report, and are satisfied to admire what 
 we cannot understand in such cases, wherein 
 surely there are some hidden and occult qualities, 
 too deep for men to dive into ; and these betray a 
 surly and base disposition, which will believe 
 nothing (though Authentically attested by never 
 so many witnesses) whereof they are unable to 
 render the true reason, as if Nature could do 
 nothing but what she gives them an account of 
 how she doth it. 
 
 The Eagle thus restored to liberty, returned 
 hearty thanks to the Ostrich. You see, saith he, 
 there is no living in this world without bartering 
 and exchanging of Courtesies one to another ; he 
 that lendeth to-day may borrow to-morrow ; how 
 happy would Mankind be if the WaU of Envy 
 were plucked down betwixt them, and their parts 
 so laid in common, that the wealth of one might 
 supply the wants of another. Nature hath 
 enriched me with a quick Sight, thee with a 
 strong Digestion : I have restored thy Eggs to 
 thee, you have restored me to myself, liberty 
 
268 ORNITHOLOGIE ; OR, 
 
 being the life of life ; and this I thought fit to 
 testify unto thee, though hot in the pursuit of my 
 Enemy, first to thank thee, then punish him. I 
 will not be guilty of so preposterous a Soul, that 
 my Revenge shall get the speed of my Grati- 
 tude. 
 
 This done, the Eagle, in full Quest of the 
 Hawk, discovereth a company of Birds together, 
 being a great party whom the Peacock had 
 assembled, with hope to entice them to choose 
 him their Chief ; for the Hawk nowhere appear- 
 ing, and the enlargement of the Eagle being 
 unknown, he thus endeavoured by his Rhetorical 
 flourishes to make himself popular in their affec- 
 tions. 
 
 I am not ignorant that such men proclaim 
 their own weakness who are the Herald of their 
 own praise ; it argueth a great dearth of desert 
 and want of worth, when one is large in his own 
 commendation. However, sometimes necessity 
 makes it lawful, especially when what is spoken 
 is so generally known, that it commandeth the 
 way to its own belief, and carrieth the credit 
 about it. Give me leave to present my person 
 
THE SPEECH OF BIKDS. 269 
 
 and merits to your consideration; my bulk not 
 so great as the Ostrich, like to be a burden to 
 itself, yet not so little as any way to invite 
 neglect. A good presence is requisite in a 
 Commander, otherwise, great parts crowded in a 
 despicable person no whit becomes one in 
 Authority. I will give you but one argument, or 
 demonstration rather, of my Worth. When the 
 Gods had the free choice of all the Birds Avhich 
 they would please to make their attendants in ordi- 
 nary, and when Jove made choice of the Eagle, as 
 most Imperial, Juno his consort was pleased to 
 elect me, to be called by the name of her Bu'd in 
 all passages of Poetry. Thus am I next to the 
 best, and but one step removed from the Top, 
 even by those infallible judgments. 
 
 Look, I pray, upon my Train, how it is 
 circular, the most capable Form, and how it is 
 distinguished with variety of Colours, Avhich 
 appeareth as so many earthly Rainbows in 
 my Feathers. Ovid hath reported that Argus's 
 hundred eyes were turned into them. But know 
 you, if you please to elect me to be your Chief, 
 that all those eyes shall daily and hourly watch 
 
270 ORNITHOLOGIE. 
 
 and ward for your good. I will have a constant 
 oversight of your welfare. 
 
 It was conceived that the Peacock intended a 
 longer Oration, which would have wearied the 
 assembly with the Prolixity thereof, had he not 
 casually, but happily cast down his eyes on his 
 black legs, the ugly hue whereof so abated his 
 Pride, that it put a period to his Harangue before 
 his intent and other's expectation. Now as the 
 Vulture w^as tuning his tongue to return an answer, 
 in Cometh the Eagle, and is generally received 
 with all joyful acclamations. 
 
 Now because Clemency is the badge of a gene- 
 rous nature, and those that have most courage 
 have least cruelty, at the mediation of some 
 potent Birds, the Eagle condescended that the 
 day of his Ke-inauguration should not be stained 
 with blood, and therefore granted life to the 
 Hawk, but on condition not to exceed the Grove 
 in which formerly himself was imprisoned. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
ANTHEOLOGIA ; 
 
 THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 
 
 -Sr^feS^. 
 
 THE REV. T. FULLER, B.D. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR JOHN STAFFORD, AND ARE TO BE SOLD 
 
 AT HIS HOUSE, AT THE GEORGE AT 
 
 FLEET-BRIDGE. 1655. 
 
TO MY MUCH HONOURED FRIEND, 
 
 WILLIAM STAFFORD, ESQUIRE, MERCHANT OF 
 
 BRISTOL. 
 
 Worthy Sir, 
 
 In this plundering age, wherein the studies of 
 so many have been ransacked, and many papers 
 intended for private solace and contentment have 
 been exposed to public view, it was my fortune to 
 light on the ensuing discourse. It seemed to me 
 pity that it should be strangled in obscurity, as 
 conceiving it might conduce something to the 
 delight of the Keader; for sm-ely no ingenuous 
 person can be so constantly serious, yea surly 
 and Critical, but to allow some intervals of 
 refreshment not only as lawful but necessary. 
 
 Let such morose, yea mischievous spirits, pine 
 themselves to walking xinatomies, Avho brand all 
 refection of the mind by ludicrous intermissions 
 
274 
 
 to be unlawful. To spare a heavier censure (which 
 many more resent of anger), the worst I wish 
 them is always to eat their meat without sauce, 
 and let them try whether their palate will be 
 pleased with the gusto thereof. 
 
 In the following discourse there is nothing 
 presented but sweet Flowers and herbs. I could 
 wush it had been in the summer time, when the 
 heat of the Sun might have improved their 
 fragrance to the greatest advantage, and rendered 
 them more acceptable to the smell of the Keader, 
 being now sadly sensible that Autumn, the Usher 
 of Winter, wdll abate of their sweetness, and pre- 
 sent them much to their loss. 
 
 Sure I am, no bitter Colloquintida appeareth 
 in this our Herbal ; 1 mean no tart and toothed 
 reflections on any. Dull are those wits which 
 cannot make some smile except they make others 
 cry, having no Avay to work a delight and com- 
 placency in the Reader, save only by gashing, 
 wounding, and abusing the credits of others. 
 
 It is desired that this discourse may but find 
 as much candidness as it brings, and be enter- 
 tained according to his owai innocency. I have 
 
275 
 
 heard a story of an envious man, who had no 
 other way to be revenged of his Neighbour, who 
 abounded with store of Beehives, than by poison- 
 ing all the Flowers in his own Garden, wherein 
 his Neighbour's Bees took their constant repast, 
 which infection caused a general mortaHty in all 
 the wmged cattle of his Neighbour. 
 
 I hope none have so splenetic a design 
 against this my harmless Treatise, as to envenom 
 my flowers with pestilent and unintended inter- 
 pretations, as if anything more than flowers were 
 meant in the flowers, or as if they had so deep 
 a root under ground, that men must mine to un- 
 derstand some concealed and profound mystery 
 therein. Surely this Mythology is a Cabinet wliich 
 needeth no key to unlock it ; the lid or cover lieth 
 open. 
 
 Let me entreat you. Sir, to put your hand into 
 this Cabinet, and after therein you find what 
 may please or content you, the same will be as 
 much (jontentment unto your 
 
 True Friend, 
 
 J.S. 
 
ANTHEOLOGIA ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 
 
 There was a place in Thessaly (and I am sorry to 
 say there was a place in Thessaly, for tliough the 
 place be tliere still, yet it is not itself. The 
 hones thereof remain, not the Flesh and Colour; 
 the standards of Hills and Bivers, not the Orna- 
 ments of Woods, Bowers, Groves, and Banqueting- 
 houses. These long since are defaced by the 
 Turhs, whose barbarous natures wage war with 
 civility itself, and take a delight to make a 
 Wilderness where before their conquest they found 
 a Paradise). 
 
 This place is some five miles in length, and 
 though the breadth be coequal with the length, 
 to equalize the same, and may so seem at the 
 first sight, yet it falleth short upon exact ex- 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWEKS. 277 
 
 amination, as extending but to four j\Iiles. This 
 place was by the Poets called Tempe, as the 
 Abridgment of Earthly happiness, showing that 
 in shorthand which the whole world presented 
 in a larger character: no earthly pleasure was 
 elsewhere afforded, but here it might be found in 
 the height thereof. 
 
 Within this Circuit of ground there is still 
 extant, by the rare preservation of the owner, a 
 small Scantling of some three Acres, which I might 
 call the Tempo of Tempe, and re-epitomized the 
 delicacies of all the rest. It was divided into a 
 Garden, in the ujyper Part whereof Floiuers did 
 grow, in the lower, Herhs, and those of all sorts 
 and kinds. And now in Spring time earth did 
 put on her new clothes, though had some cunning 
 Herald beheld the same, he would have con- 
 demned her Coat to have been of no ancient 
 hearing, it was so overcharged with variety of 
 Colours. 
 
 For there was yellow Marigold, Wallflowers, Auri- 
 culas, Gold Knobs, and abundance of other name- 
 less Flowers, which would pose a Nomenclator 
 to call them by their distinct denominations. 
 
278 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 There ^vas WJiite, the Daisy, ivliite roses, Lilies, 
 &c., Blue Violet, Irises, Bed Boses, Peonies, &c. 
 The whole field was vert or green, and all colours 
 were present save sahle, as too sad and doleful for 
 so merry a meeting; all the Children of Flora 
 being summoned there, to make their appearance 
 at a great solemnity. 
 
 Nor was the lower part of the ground less 
 stored with herbs. And these so various, that if 
 Gerard himself had been in the place, upon the 
 beholding thereof he must have been forced to 
 a re-edition of his Herbal, to add the recruit 
 of those Plants, which formerly were unseen by 
 him, or unknown unto him. 
 
 In this solemn Kendezvous of Floivers and 
 Herhs the Bose stood forth, and made an Oration 
 to this effect. 
 
 It is not unknown to you, how I have the pre- 
 cedency of all Flowers confirmed unto me, un- 
 der the Patent of a double Sense, Sight and smell. 
 What more curious Colours? how do all Dyers 
 hlush when they behold my blushing, as conscious 
 to themselves that their Art cannot imitate that 
 tint which Nature ha,th stamped upon me. 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 279 
 
 Smell, it is not lusciously offensive, nor dangerously 
 Faint, but comforteth with a deliglit, and de- 
 lighteth with the comfort thereof. Yea, when 
 Dead, I am more Sovereign than Living. What 
 Cordials are made of my Syrups ? how many cor- 
 rupted Lungs (those Fans of Nature) sore wasted 
 with consumption, that they seem utterly unable 
 any longer to cool the heat of the Heart with their 
 ventilation, are, with Conserves made of my stamped 
 Leaves, restored to their former soundness again. 
 More would I say in mine own cause, but that 
 happily I may be taxed of pride and self-flattery^ 
 who speak much in mine own behalf, and there- 
 fore I leave the rest to the judgment of such as 
 hear me, and pass from tliis discourse to my just 
 complaint. 
 
 There is lately a Flower (Shall I call it so? 
 In courtesy I will term it so, though it deserve 
 not the appellation), a Tulip, which hath ingrafted 
 the love and affections of most people into it ; 
 and what is this Tulip ? A well-complexioned stink, 
 an ill savour wrapped up in pleasant colours. 
 As for the use thereof in Physic, no Physician 
 hath honoured it yet with the mention, nor with 
 
280 antheologia; or, 
 
 a Greek or Latin name, so inconsiderable liatli it 
 hitherto been accounted; and yet this is that 
 which filleth all Gardens, hundreds of pounds 
 being given for tlie root thereof, whilst I, the 
 Bose, am neglected and contemned, and conceived 
 beneath the honour of noble hands, and fit only 
 to grow in the gardens of Yeomen. I trust the 
 remainder to your apprehensions, to make out 
 that, which grief for such undeserved injuries will 
 not suffer me to express. 
 
 Hereat the Bose wept, and the dropping of her 
 white tears down her red cheeks so well became 
 her, that if ever sorrow was lovely, it then 
 appeared so, which moved the beholders to much 
 compassion, her Tears speaking more than her 
 tongue in her own behalf. 
 
 The Tuli]) stood up insolently, as rather chal- 
 lenging^ than craving respect, from the Common- 
 wealth of Flowers there present, and thus vaunted 
 itself. 
 
 I am not solicitous what to return to the 
 Complaint of this Kose, whose own demerit hath 
 justly outed itself of that respect which the 
 mistaken world formerly bestowed upon it, and 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 281 
 
 which men's eyes, no^v opened, justly reassume, 
 and confer on those Nvho better deserve the 
 same. To say that I am not more worthy than 
 the Rose, what is it, but to condemn mankind, 
 and to arraign the most Gentle and knowing 
 among men, of ignorance for misplacing their 
 affections. Surely Vegetables must not presume 
 to mount above Rational Creatures, or to think 
 that men are not the most competent judges 
 of the worth and value of Floivers. I confess 
 there is yet no kno^ATl sovereign virtue in my 
 leaves, but it is injurious to infer that I have 
 none, because as yet not taken notice of. If 
 we should examine all by their intrinsic value, 
 how many contemptible things in Nature would 
 take the upper hand of those which are most 
 valued. By this argument a Flint stone would be 
 better than a Diamond, as containing that spark 
 of fire therein, whence men with combustible 
 matter may heat themselves in the coldest sea- 
 son; and clear it is, that tlie Loadstone (that 
 grand Pilot to the North, \<\\\q\\ findeth the way 
 there in the darlvest night) is to be preferred 
 before the most orient Pearl in the world. But 
 
 u 
 
282 ANTHEOLOaiA ; OR, 
 
 they will generally be condemned for unwise, who 
 prize things according to this proportion. 
 
 Seeing therefore in stones and minerals, that 
 those things are not most valued which have most 
 virtue, but that men according to their eyes and 
 fancies raise the reputation thereof, let it not 
 be interpreted to my disadvantage, that I am 
 not eminently known for any cordial operation ; 
 perchance the discovery hereof is reserved for the 
 next age, to find out the latent virtue which lurheth 
 in me. And this I am confident of, that Nature 
 would never have hung out so gorgeous a sign, 
 if some guest of quality had not been lodged 
 therein; surely my leaves had never been /ea^/ierecZ 
 with such variety of colours (which hath pro- 
 claimed me the King of all Lilies) had not some 
 strange virtue, whereof the world is yet ignorant, 
 been treasured up therein. 
 
 As for the Rose, let her thank herself if she 
 be sensible of any decay in esteem. I have not 
 ambitiously affected superiority above her, nor 
 have I fraudulently endeavoured to supplant her ; 
 only I should have been wanting to myself, 
 had 1 refused those favours from Ladies which 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWEKS. 283 
 
 their importunity hath pressed upon me. And 
 may the Bose remember how she, out of causeless 
 jealousy, maketh all hands to be her enemies 
 that gather her ; what need is there that she 
 should garrison herself within her prickles ? why 
 must she set so many Thorns to lie constant 
 jyerdiie, that none must gather her, but such as 
 suddenly surprise her; and do not all that crop 
 her run the hazard of hurting their fingers ? This 
 is that which hath weaned the world from her 
 love, whilst my smooth stalk exposing Ladies to 
 no such perils, hath made them by exchange to 
 fix their removed affections upon me. 
 
 At this stood up the Violet, and all prepared 
 themselves with respectful attention, honouring 
 the Violet for the Age thereof, for, the Primrose 
 alone excepted, it is Senior to all the Floivers 
 in the year, and was highly regarded for the 
 reputation of the experience thereof, that durst 
 encounter the cold, and had passed many bitter 
 blasts, whereby it had gained much wisdom, and 
 had procured a venerable respect, both to his 
 person and Counsel. 
 
 The case (saith the Violet) is not of particular 
 
284 antheologia; or, 
 
 concernment, but extendeth itself to the life 
 and Kberty of all the society of Flowers. The 
 complaint of the Bose, we must all acknowledge 
 to be just and true, and ever since I could 
 remember, we have paid the Bose a just tribute 
 of Fealty, as our Prime and principal. As for 
 this Tulip, it liath not been in being in our 
 Garden above these sixty years. Our Fathers 
 never knew that such a Flower would be, and 
 perhaps our children may never know it ever was ; 
 what traveller brought it hither, I know not; 
 they say it is of a Syrian extraction, but sure 
 there it grew wild in the open fields, and is not 
 beheld otherwise than a gentler sort of weed. 
 But we may observe that all foreign vices are 
 made virtues in this country, foreign drunken- 
 ness is Grecian Mirth (thence the proverb. The 
 Merry Greek), foreign pride, Grecian ^ood beha- 
 viour; foreign lust, Grecian love; foreign lazi- 
 ness, Grecian harmlessness ; foreign weeds, Grecian 
 -flowers. My judgment therefore is, that if we 
 do not speedily eradicate this intruder, this 
 Tulip in process of time will out us all of our 
 just possessions, seeing no Flower can pretend a 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWEIIS. 285 
 
 cleaver title than the Bose hatli ; and let us every- 
 one make the case to be his own. 
 
 The gravity of the Violet so prevailed with the 
 Senate of Floivers, that all concurred with his 
 judgment herein : and such who had not tlie faculty 
 of the fluentness of their tongues to express 
 themselves in large Orations, thought that the 
 well managing of a tjea, or nay, spoke them as well 
 wishing to the general good as the expressing 
 themselves in large Harangues ; and these soberly 
 concluded that the Tuli]) should be rooted out 
 of the Garden, and cast on the dunghill, as one 
 who had justly invaded a place not due thereunto ; 
 and this accordingly was performed. 
 
 Whilst this was passing in the U2:)per house of 
 the Floivers, no less were the transactions in the 
 lower house of the herbs; w^here there was a 
 general acclamation against Wormwood, the 
 generality condemning it, as fitter to grow in a 
 ditch, than in a Garden. Wormicood hardly 
 received leave to make its own defence, pleading 
 in this manner for its innocency. 
 
 I would gladly know whom I have offended in 
 this commonwealth of Herhs, that there should be 
 
286 antheologia; or, 
 
 so general a conspiracy against me? only two 
 tilings can be cliarged on me, commonness and 
 hitterness. If commonness pass for a fault, you 
 may arraign Nature itself, and condemn the best 
 Jewels thereof, the light of the Sun, the lenejit of 
 the Air, the community of the Water; are not 
 these staple commodities of mankind, without 
 which, no being or subsistence ? if therefore it be 
 my charity to stoop so low as to tender myself to 
 every place, for the public service, shall that for 
 which, if I deserve not praise I need no pardon, 
 be charged upon me as an offence ? 
 
 As for my hitterness, it is not a malicious and 
 mischievous hitterness to do hurt, but a helpful 
 and medicinal hitterness, whereby many cures are 
 effected. How many have surfeited on honey? 
 how many have digged their graves in a Sugar-loaf ? 
 how many diseases have been caused by the 
 dulceor of many luscious sweetmeats ? then am I 
 sent for Physician to these patients, and with my 
 brother Cardus (whom you behold with a loving 
 eye — I speak not this to endanger him, but to 
 defend myself) I restore them (if temperate in 
 any degree, and persuaded by their friends to taste 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLO\^T£ES. 287 
 
 of us) unto tlieir former health. I say no more ; 
 but were all my patients now my pleaders, were 
 all those who have gained health hij one, present to 
 intercede for me, I doubt not but to be reinstated 
 in your good opinion. 
 
 True it is, I am condemned for over-hot and 
 too passionate in my operation ; but are not the 
 best natures subject to this distemper? is it not 
 observed that the most tvitty are the most choleric f 
 a little over-doing is i)ardonahle, I will not say 
 necessary in this kind ; nor let me be condemned 
 as destructive to the sight, having such good open- 
 ing and abstergent quahties, that modestly taken, 
 especially in a morning, I am both food and 
 Physic for a forenoon. 
 
 It is strange to see how jpassion and self-interest 
 sway in many things, more than the justice and 
 merit of a cause. It was verily exjDected that 
 Wormwood should have been acquitted, and re- 
 admitted a 7neniber in the Society of Herhs. But 
 what will not a Faction carry ? Wormwood's 
 friends were casually absent that very day, making 
 merry at an entertainment ; her enemies (let not 
 that sex be angry for making Wormwood feminine) 
 
288 ANTHEOLOGIA ; Ofl, 
 
 appeared in a full body, and made so great a noise, 
 as if some mouths had two tongues in them ; and 
 though some engaged very zealously in Worm- 
 ivood's defence, yet, over-charged with the Tyranmj 
 of Numher, it was carried in the Negative, that 
 Wormwood, alias absynthium, should be plucked up 
 root and branch from the Garden, and thrown 
 upon the Dunghill, which was done accordingly, 
 where it had the woeful Society of the Tulijp, in 
 this happy, that being equally miserable, they 
 might be a comfort the one to the other, and spend 
 many hours in mutual recounting their several 
 calamities, thinking each to exceed the other in 
 the relation thereof. 
 
 Let us now amidst much sadness interweave 
 something of more mirth and pleasantness in the 
 Garden, There were tw^o Boses growing upon one 
 Bush, the one ]jale and wan with age, ready to 
 drop off, as useful only for a Still; the other a 
 young Bud, newiy loosened from its green swaddling- 
 clothes, and peeping on the rising 8un, it seemed 
 by its orient colour to be dyed by the reflection 
 thereof. 
 
 Of these the aged Bose thus began. Sister Bud, 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 289 
 
 learn wit by my woe, and cheaply enjoy the free 
 and full benefit of that purchase which cost me dear 
 and hitter experience. Once I was like yourself, 
 young and pretty, straitly laced in mj^reen Girdle, 
 not swollen to that breadth and corpulency which 
 now you behold in me, every hand which passed 
 by me com^ted me, and persons of all sorts were 
 ambitious to gather me. How many fair fingers 
 of curious Ladies tendered themselves to remove 
 me from the place of my abode, but in those days 
 I was coy, and, to tell you plainly, foolish. I stood 
 on mine own defence, summoned my life-guard 
 about me, commanded every prickle, as so many 
 Halberdiers, to stand to their Arms, defy those 
 that touch me, protested myself a votary of 
 constant virginity; frighted hereat, passengers 
 desisted from their intentions to crop me, and 
 left me to enjoy the sullen humour of my own 
 reservedness. 
 
 Afterwards the Sun became wrought powerfully 
 upon me (especially about noon-time), to this my 
 present extent, the Orient colour which blushed so 
 beautiful in me at the first was much abated, 
 with an over mixture of wanness and joaleness 
 
290 ANTHEOLOaiA ; OR, 
 
 tlierewitli, so that the Green, or white sickness 
 rather, the common penance for over-kept Vir- 
 ginity began to infect me, and that fragrant 
 scent of mine began to remit and lessen the sweet- 
 ness thereof, and I daily decayed in my natural 
 perfume ; thus seeing I daily lessened in the 
 repute of all eyes and nostrils, I began too late 
 to repent myself of my former frowardness, and 
 sought that my diligence, by an after-game, should 
 recover what my folly had lost. I pranked up 
 myself to my best advantage, summoned all 
 my sweetness to appear in the height thereof, 
 recruited my decayed Colour by blushing for my 
 own folly, and wooed every hand that passed by 
 me to remove me. 
 
 I confess in some sort it offers rape to a 
 Maiden modesty, if forgettiug their sex, they that 
 should be all Ears turn mouths, they that should 
 expect, offer ; when we women, who only should 
 be the j^assive Counterparts of Love, and receive 
 impression from others, boldly presume to stamp 
 them on others, and by an inverted method of 
 nature, turn pleaders unto men, and w^oo them 
 for their affections. For all this there is but one 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS, 291 
 
 excuse, and that is absolute necessity, whicli as it 
 breaks through stone walls, so no wonder if in this 
 case it alters and transposes the Sexes, making 
 women to man it in case of extremity, when 
 men are wanting to -tender their affections unto 
 them. 
 
 All was but in vain; I was entertained with 
 scorn and neglect, the hardened hands of daily 
 Labourers, hraiuned with continual work, the 
 hlacJc hands of Moors, which always carry Night 
 in their Faces, slighted and contemned me ; yea, 
 now behold my last hope is but to deck and 
 adorn houses, and to be laid as a property in 
 windows, till at last I die in the Hospital of 
 some still, where, when useless for anything else, 
 we are generally admitted. And now my very 
 leaves begin to leave me, and I to be deserted and 
 forsaken of myself. 
 
 how happy are those Boses who are preferred 
 in their youth to be warm in the hands and 
 breasts of fair Ladies, who are joined together 
 with other flowers of several hinds in a Posij, 
 where the general result of sweetness from them 
 all, ravisheth the Smell by an intermixture of 
 
292 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 various Coloui's, all united by their stalks within 
 the same thread that bindeth them together ! 
 
 Therefore, Sister Bud, grow wise by my folly, 
 and know, it is far greater happiness to lose thy 
 Virginity in a good hand, than to wither on the 
 stalk whereon thou growest: accept of thy just 
 and best tender, lest afterwards in vain thou 
 courtest the reversion of fragments of that feast 
 of love, which first was freely tendered unto 
 thee. 
 
 Leave we them in their discourse, and proceed 
 to the relation of the Tulijp and Wormwood, now 
 in a most pitiful condition, as they were lying on 
 the Du7igliill ; behold a vast Giant Boar comes 
 unto them ; that w^hich Hercules was said to kill, 
 and which was accounted by some the foreman of 
 the jury of his Lahours, was but a Pigmy, or 
 rather but a ;pig, in comparison of this ; and with 
 his Tusks, wherewith Nature had armed him to be 
 his sword, as his shoulders are his shield, he began 
 to rend and tear the Tulip and Wor^mvood, who 
 exclaimed unto him as followeth : — 
 
 Su', pity useth always to be an attendant of a 
 generous mind and valiant spirit, for which I 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 293 
 
 liave heard you much commended. Cruelty is 
 commonly observed to keep company with 
 Cowardliness, and hase minds to triumph in 
 cruel actions ; behold we are the objects rather of 
 your pity, whose sufferings may rather render us 
 to the commiseration of any, that justly consider 
 our case. I, the Tulip, by a Faction of floivers, 
 was ousted of the Garden, where I have as good a 
 right and title to abide as any other; and this 
 Wormwood, notmthstanding her Just and long 
 plea, how useful and cordial she was, was by a 
 consjpiracy of Herbs excluded the Garden, and 
 both of us ignominiously confined to this place, 
 where we must without all hopes quickly expire. 
 Our humble request unto you is not to shorten 
 those few minutes of our lives which are left unto 
 us, seeing such prejudice was done to our Vitals 
 (when our roots were mangled by that cruel 
 eradication) that there is an impossibility of our 
 long continuance. Let us therefore fairly breathe 
 out our last breath, and antedate not our misery, 
 but let us have the favour of a quiet close and 
 conclusion. 
 
 But if so be that you are affected ^vith the 
 
294 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 destruction of" Floivers and Herhs, know the 
 pleasure and contentment therein must be far 
 greater to root out those which are fairly flourish- 
 ing in their prime, whereof plenty are in this 
 Garden afforded ; and if it please you to follow 
 our directions, we will make you Master of a Pass, 
 which without any difficulty shall convey you into 
 the Garden; for though the same on all sides 
 almost is either walled, or paled about, yet in one 
 place it is fenced with a Hedge only, wherein, 
 through the neglect of the Gardener (whose care 
 it ought to be, to secure the same), there is a liole, 
 left in such capacity as will yield you an easy 
 entrance thereinto. There may you glut yourself, 
 and satiate your soul with variety of Flowers and 
 herbs, so that an Epicure might have cause to 
 complain of the plenty thereof. 
 
 The Boar apprehends the motion, is sensible it 
 was advantageous for him, and following their 
 directions, he makes himself Master of his own 
 desire. the spitefulness of some Natures I 
 how do they loreah their anger on all persons. It 
 was revenge for the Tulip and Wormwood, 
 unless they had spitefully wronged the whole 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. . 295 
 
 Corjporation of Flowers, out of wliich they were 
 ejected as useless and dangerous Memhers. And 
 now consider, how these two jpride themselves in 
 theii' own vindictive thoughts ; how do they in 
 then- forerunning fancy, antedate the death of all 
 Herbs and Floivers! What is sweeter than 
 revenge ? how do they please themselves to see 
 what are hot and cold in the first, second, third, 
 Sind fourth degree (which borders on poison), how 
 all these diiferent in their several Tempers, will 
 be made friends in universal misery, and com- 
 l^ounded in a general destruction. 
 
 Little did either Floivers or Serhs think of the 
 Boar's approaching, who were solacing themselves 
 with merry and pleasant discourse ; and it will 
 not be amiss to deceive time by inserting the 
 Courtshii^ of Thrift, a fiower-Herh, unto the 
 Marigold, thus accosting her, just as the Boar 
 entered into the Garden. 
 
 Mistress, of all Floivers that grow on Earth, 
 give me leave to profess my sincerest affections 
 to you. Compliments have so infected men's 
 tongues (and grown an Epidemical fault, or as 
 others esteem it, a fashionable accomplishment) 
 
296 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 that we know not when they speak truth, having 
 made dissembling their language, by a constant 
 usage thereof; but believe me, 3Iistress, my 
 heart never entertained any other interpreter 
 than my Tongue ; and if there be a vein (which 
 Anatomists have generally avouched) carrying 
 intelligence from the heart to the ?^j:>s, assure 
 yourself that vein acts now in my discourse. 
 
 I have taken signal notice of your accomplish- 
 ments, and among many other rare qualities, 
 particularly of this, your loyalty and faithfulness 
 to the Sun, Sovereign to all Vegetables, to whose 
 warming Beams we owe our heing and increase; 
 such your love thereunto, that you attend his 
 rising and therewith o]pen, and at his setting shut 
 your windows. True it is, that Helitro^ium (or 
 turner ivith the Sun) hath a long time been 
 attributed to the Sun-flower, a voluminous Giant- 
 like Flower, of no virtue or worth as yet discovered 
 therein ; but we all know the many and Sovereign 
 virtues in your leaves, the Herh general in all 
 IJottage. Nor do you as Herb John stand neuter, 
 and as too many now-a-days in our Commonwealth, 
 do neither good nor ill (expecting to be acted on 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 297 
 
 by the impression of the prevalent party), and 
 otherwise warily engage not themselves ; but you 
 really appear sovereign and operative in your 
 wholesome effects. The consideration hereof, and 
 no other by reflection, hath moved me to the 
 tender of my affections, which if it be candidly 
 resented, as it is sincerely offered, I doubt not but 
 it may conduce to the mutual happiness of us 
 both. 
 
 Besides, know (though I am the most improper 
 person to trumpet forth my own praise) my name 
 is Thrift, and my nature answereth thereunto. I 
 do not prodigally waste those Lands in a moment 
 which the industry and frugality of my Ancestors 
 hath in a long time advanced. I am no gamester, 
 to shake away with a quahing hand what a more 
 fixed hand did gain and acquire. I am none of 
 those who in variety of clothes bury my quick 
 estate, as in a winding-sheet; nor am I one of 
 those who by cheats and deceits improve myself 
 on the losses of others ; no Widoivs have wept, 
 no Orphans have cried for what I have offered 
 unto them (this is not Thrift but rather Felony), 
 nor owe I anything to my own body. 'I fear not 
 
298 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 to be arrested upon the action of my own carcase, 
 as if my creditors should cunningly compact there- 
 with, and quit scores, resigning their Bill and 
 Bond unto mine own body, whilst that in requital 
 surrendereth all obligations for food and clothes 
 thereunto. Nor do I undertake to buy out Bonds 
 in controversies for almost nothing, that so running 
 a small hazard, I may gain great advantage, if 
 my bargain therein prove successful. No, I am 
 plain and honest Thrift, which none ever did, or 
 will speak against, save such prodigal spend- 
 thrifts, who in their reduced thoughts will speak 
 more against themselves. 
 
 And now it is in your power to accept or refuse 
 what I have offered, which is the ])rivilege which 
 nature hath allotted for your femiyiine sex, which 
 we men, perchance, may grudge and repine at ; but 
 it being past our power to amend it, we must 
 permit ourselves as well as we may, to the con- 
 stant custom prevailing herein. 
 
 The 31arigold demurely hung down her head, 
 as not overfond of the motion, and kept silence so 
 long as it might stand with the rule of manners, 
 but at last broke forth into the following return. 
 
THE SPEECH OF ELOWEKS. 299 
 
 I am tempted to have a good opinion of my- 
 self, to which all people are prone, and we women 
 most of all, if we may believe your opinions of 
 us, which herein I am afraid are too true. But, 
 Sir, I conceive myself too wise to be deceived 
 bv your commendations of me, especially in so 
 large a way, and on so general an account, that 
 other Flowers not only share with me, but exceed 
 me therein. May not the Daisy not only be 
 co-rival with me, but superior to me in that 
 quality wherein so much you praise me? 3Iy 
 vigilancy starteih only from the Sun rising, hers 
 hears date from the dawning of the morning, and 
 outruns my speed by many degrees ; my viiiue 
 in pottage, which you so highly commend, impute 
 it not to my Modesty, but to my Guiltiness, if I 
 cannot give it entertainment ; for how many 
 hundred Eerhs which you have neglected exceed 
 me therein? 
 
 But the plain truth is, you love not me for my- 
 self, but for your advantage. It is Gold on the 
 arrear of my name which maketh Tlirift to hi 
 my Suitor. How often, and how unworthily have 
 you tendered your affections, even to a Penny- 
 
298 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 to be arrested upon tlie action of my own carcase, 
 as if my creditors sliould cunningly compact there- 
 with, and quit scores, resigning their Bill and 
 Bond unto mine own body, whilst that in requital 
 surrendereth all obligations for food and clothes 
 thereunto. Nor do I undertake to buy out Bonds 
 in controversies for almost nothing, that so running 
 a small hazard, I may gain great advantage, if 
 my bargain therein prove successful. No, I am 
 plain and honest Thrift, which none ever did, or 
 will speak against, save such prodigal spend- 
 thrifts, who in their reduced thoughts will speak 
 more against themselves. 
 
 And now it is in your power to accept or refuse 
 what I have offered, which is the privilege which 
 nature hath allotted for your feminiyie sex, which 
 we men, perchance, may grudge and repine at ; but 
 it being past our power to amend it, we must 
 permit ourselves as w^ell as we may, to the con- 
 stant custom prevailing herein. 
 
 The Marigold demurely hung down her head, 
 as not overfond of the motion, and kept silence so 
 long as it might stand with the rule of manners, 
 but at last broke forth into the following return. 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLO^YE^vS. 299 
 
 I am tempted to have a good opinion of my- 
 self, to which all people are prone, and we women 
 most of all, if we may believe your opinions of 
 us, which herein I am afraid are too true. But, 
 Sir, I conceive myself too wise to be deceived 
 by your commendations of me, especially in so 
 large a way, and on so general an account, that 
 other Flowers not only share with me, but exceed 
 me therein. May not the Daisj/ not only be 
 co-rival with me, but sujperior to me in that 
 quality wherein so much you praise me? My 
 vigilancij starteth only from the Sun rising, hers 
 hears date from the dawning of the morning, and 
 outruns my speed by many degrees; my virtue 
 in pottage, which you so liighly commend, impute 
 it not to my Modesty, but to my Guiltiness, if I 
 cannot give it entertainment ; for how many 
 hundred Eerls which you have neglected exceed 
 me therein? 
 
 But the plain truth is, you love not me for my- 
 self, but for your advantage. It is Gold on the 
 arrear of my name which maketh Thrift to be 
 my Suitor. How often, and how unworthily have 
 you tendered your affections, even to a Fenny- 
 
300 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 roijal itself, had slie not scorned to be courted 
 by you. 
 
 But I commend the girl that she knew her 
 own worth, though it was but a penny, yet it is a 
 Royal one, and therefore not a fit match for every 
 base Suitor, but knew how to value herself ; and 
 give me leave to tell you, that Matches founded 
 on Covetousness never succeed. Profit is the Load- 
 stone of your affections, Wealth the attractive of 
 your Love, Money the mover, of your desire. How 
 many hundreds have engaged themselves on these 
 principles, and afterwards have bemoaned them- 
 selves for the same ? But oh, the uncertainty of 
 wealth ! how unable it is to expiate and satisfy 
 the mind of man. Such as cast Anchor thereat 
 seldom find fast ground, but are tossed about with 
 the Tempests of many disturbances. These Wives 
 for conveniency of profit and pleasure (when there 
 hath been no further nor higher intent) have filled 
 all the world with mischief and misery. Know 
 then, Sir, I return you a flat denial; a denial 
 that virtually contains many, yea, as many as 
 eV'Cr I shall be able to pronounce. My tongue 
 knows no other language to you but No ; score 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 301 
 
 it upon women's dissimulation (whereof we are 
 too guilty, and I at other times as faulty as any). 
 But, Sir, read my eyes, my face, and compound 
 all together, and know these are tlie expressions 
 dictated from my heart. I shall embrace a 
 thousand deaths sooner than your Marriage Bed. 
 
 Thus were they harmlessly discoursing, and 
 feared no ill, when on a sudden they were sur- 
 prised with the uncouth sight of the Boar, which 
 had entered their Garden, following his prescribed 
 directions; and armed with the Corslet of his 
 Bristles, vaunted like a triumphant Conqueror 
 round about the Garden, as one who would iirst 
 make them suffer in their fear before in their 
 feeling. How did he please himself in the variety 
 of the fears of the flowers ! to see how some ^Jc^Ze 
 ones looked red, and some red ones looked pale ; 
 leaving it to PhUosoj^liers to disjmte and decide 
 that different effects should proceed from the 
 same causes. And among all Pliilosopli&rs, com- 
 mend the question to the Stoics, ^^ho because 
 they pretend an Antipathy, that they themselves 
 would never be angry, neve^' be mounted above 
 the inodel of a common usual Temper, are most 
 
302 antheologia; or, 
 
 competent Judges, impartially to give the reason 
 of the causes of the anger of others. 
 
 And now it is strange to see the several ways 
 the Flowers embraced to provide for their own 
 security. There is no such teacher as extremity; 
 necessity hath found out more Arts than ever 
 ingenuity invented. The Wall Gilhjfloiver ran up 
 to the top of the Wall of the Garden, where it 
 hath grown ever since, and will never descend 
 till it hath good security for its own safety ; and 
 being mounted thereon, he entertained the Boar 
 with the following discourse. 
 
 Thou basest and unworthiest of four-footed 
 Beasts : thy Mother the Soio passeth for the most 
 contemptible name that can be fixed on any She. 
 Yea, Pliny reporteth that a Soiv grown old useth 
 to feed on her own young ; and herein I believe 
 that Pliny, who otherwise might be straitened 
 for fellow-witnesses, might find such, who will 
 attest the truth of what he hath spoken. Men's 
 Excrements is thy element, and what more cleanly 
 creatures do scorn and detest makes a feast for 
 thee; nothing comes amiss unto thy mouth, and 
 we know the proverb, w4iat can make a pancake 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. o03 
 
 unto thee. Now you are gotten into the Garden 
 (shame light on that negligent Gardener, whose 
 care it was to fence the same, by whose negli- 
 gence and oversight you have gotten an entrance 
 into tliis Acadenuj of Flowers and Eerhs), let 
 me who am your enemy give you some Counsel^ 
 and neglect it not because it comes from my 
 Mouth. You see I am without the reach of your 
 Anger, and all your power cannot hurt me ex- 
 cept you be pleased to borrow ivings from some 
 Bird, thereby to advantage yourself to reach my 
 habitation. 
 
 My Counsel therefore to you is this; be not 
 Proud because you are Prosperous. AYho would 
 ever have thought that you could have entered 
 this place, which we conceived was impregnable 
 against any of your kind ? Kow b-ecause you have 
 had success as far above our exi)ectations as your 
 deserts, show your own moderation in the usage 
 thereof: to Master us is easy, to Master yourself 
 is difficult. xUtempt therefore that, which as it 
 is most hard to ijerform, so will it bring most 
 honour to you when executed ; and know, I speak 
 not tliis in relation to myself (sufficiently privi- 
 
304 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 leged from your Tusks) but as acted with a public 
 spirit, for the good of the Commonalty of Flowers ; 
 and if anything hereafter betide you other than 
 you expect, you will remember that I am a 
 Proj>het, and foretell that which too late you 
 will credit and believe. 
 
 The Boar heard the words, and entertained 
 them with a siirly silence, as conceiving himself 
 to be mounted above danger. Sometimes he pitied 
 the silliness of the Wallflower that pitied him, 
 and sometimes he vowed revenge, concluding 
 that the stones of the Wall would not afford it 
 sufficient moisture for its constant dwelling there, 
 but that he should take it for an advantage, when 
 it descended for more sustenance. 
 
 It is hard to express the panic fear in the rest 
 of the Flowers ; and especially the small Primroses 
 begged of their Mothers that they might retreat 
 into the middle of them, which w^ould only make 
 them grow bigger and broader; and it would 
 grieve a pitiful heart to hear the child plead, and 
 the mother so often deny. 
 
 The Child began : dear Mother, she is but half 
 a Mother that doth breed and not preserve. 
 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 305 
 
 Only to hrififf forth, and then to expose us to 
 worldly miseri/, lessens your Love and doubles our 
 sufferings. See how this tyi-annical Boar threatens 
 our instant undoing. I desire only a Sanctuary 
 in your losom, a retreating place into your 
 hreast ; and who fitter to come into you than she 
 that came out of you ? Whither should we return 
 than from whence we came ? it will be but one 
 happiness or one misfortune; together we shall 
 die, or together be preserved ; only some content 
 and comfort will be unto me, either to be happy 
 or unhappy in your company. 
 
 The broader Primrose hearkened unto these 
 words with a sad countenance, as sensible in her- 
 self, that had not the present necessity hardened 
 her affections, she neither would nor could return 
 a deaf ear to so equal a motion. But now she 
 rejoined. 
 
 Bear Child, none can be more sensible than 
 myself of Motherly affections; it troubles me 
 more for me to deny thee, than for thee to be 
 denied. I love thy safety, where it is not neces- 
 sarily included in my danger : the entertaining of 
 thee will be my ruin and destruction : how many 
 
dOb ANTHEOLOGIA; OR, 
 
 Parents in this age have been undone merely for 
 affording house and home to such Children, whose 
 condition might be quarrelled with as exposed to 
 exception. 
 
 I am sure of mine own innocency, which never 
 in the least degree have offended this Boar, and 
 therefore hope he will not offend me. What wrong 
 and injury you have done him is best known to 
 yourself; stand therefore on your own bottom, 
 maintain your own innocence. For my part I am 
 resolved not to be drowned for others hanging on 
 me ; but I will try as long as I can the strength 
 of my own arms and legs. Excuse me, good 
 cliild ; it is not hatred to you, but love to myself, 
 v/hich makes me to understand my own interest. 
 The younger Primrose returned. 
 
 Mother, I must again appeal to your affections, 
 despairing to find any other Judge to Father my 
 cause. Kemember I am part of yourself, and 
 have never by any undutifulness disobliged your 
 affections. I profess also mine own integrity, that 
 I never have offended this Boar, being more 
 innocent therein than yourself; for also my tender 
 years entitles me not to any correspondency with 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 307 
 
 him : this is the first minute (and raay it be 
 the last) that ever I beheld him. I reassume 
 therefore my suit, supposing that your first 
 denial proceeded only from a desire to try my 
 importunity, and give me occasion to enforce my 
 request with the greater earnestness. By your 
 motherly bowels I conjure you (an exorcism 
 which I believe, comes not within the compass 
 of superstition), that you tender me in this my 
 extremity, whose greatest ambition is to die in 
 those arms from whence I first fetched my original. 
 And then she left her tears singly to drop out the 
 remainder, what her tongue could not express. 
 
 The Affections of Parents may sometimes be 
 smothered, but seldom quenched; and meeting 
 with the blast or helloios from the submissive 
 mouths of their Cliildren, it quickly hiazeth into 
 a flame. Mother and daughter are like Tallies, 
 one exactly answereth the other. The Mother 
 Primrose could no longer resist the violence of 
 her daughter's importunity, but opens her bosom 
 for the present reception thereof; wherein ever 
 since it hath grown doubled unto this day. And 
 yet a double mischief did arise from this gemi- 
 
308 
 
 nation of the Primrose, or inserting of the little 
 one into the Bowels thereof. 
 
 First, these Primroses ever since grow very 
 slowly, and lag/ the last among all Flowers of 
 that kind. Single Primroses beat them out of 
 distance, and are arrived at their Mark a month 
 before the others start out of their ffreen leaves. 
 Yet it will not be hard to assign a natural cause 
 thereof; namely, a greater power of the Sun is 
 required to the production of greater Mowers. 
 Small degrees of heat will suffice to give a being 
 to single Flowers, whilst double ones, groaning 
 under the weight of their own greatness, require 
 a greater force of the Sunheams to quicken them, 
 and to spur their laziness, to make them appear 
 out of their roots. 
 
 But the second mischief most concerns us, 
 which is this : all single Flowers are sweeter than 
 those that are double ; and here w^e could wish 
 that a Jury of Florists were impanelled, not to 
 eat until such time as they -svere agreed in their 
 verdict what is the true cause thereof. Some 
 will say that single leaves of Floivers, being more 
 effectually wrought on by the Sunheams, are 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 309 
 
 rarefied thereby, and so all their sweetness and 
 perfume the more fully extracted ; whereas double 
 Flowers, who lie as it were in a lump and heap, 
 crowded together with its own leaves, the Sun- 
 beams hath not that advantage singly to distil 
 them, and to improve every particular leaf to the 
 best advantage of sweetness. This sure I am, 
 that the old Primrose, sensible of the abatement 
 of her sweetness, since she was clogged with the 
 entertainment of her Daughter, half repenting 
 that she had received her, returned this com- 
 plaining discourse. 
 
 • Daughter, I am sensible that the statutes of 
 inmates was founded on very good and solid 
 grounds, that many should not be multiplied 
 within the roof of one and the same house, finding 
 tlie inconveniency tliereof by lodging thee my 
 own Daughter within my Bosom. I will not speak 
 how much I have lost of my growth, the Clock 
 whereof is set hack a whole month by receiving 
 of you ; but that which most grieveth me, I 
 perceive I am much abated in my siveetness (the 
 essence of all Flowers), and which only distin- 
 guisheth them from weeds, seeing otherwise, in 
 
310 ANTHEOLOaiA; OR, 
 
 Colours iveeds may contest with us in brightness 
 and variety. 
 
 Please, Mother (replied the small Primrose), 
 conceive not tliis to be your particular unliap- 
 piness, which is the general accident falling out 
 daily in common experience; namely, that the 
 bigger and thicker 2Jeo])le grow in their estates, 
 the worse and less virtuous they are in their 
 Conversations: our age may produce millions of 
 these instances. I know many honest men, 
 whose converse some ten years since was familiar 
 and fair: how did they court and desire the 
 company of then- neighbours, and mutually, how 
 was their company desired by them: how humUe 
 were they in their carriage, loving in their ex- 
 pressions, and friendly in their hehaviour, drawing 
 the love and affections of all that were acquainted 
 with them ! but since being grown wealthy, they 
 have just learnt not to know themselves, aud after- 
 wards none of their neighhours. The brightness 
 of much Gold and Silver hath with the shine 
 and lustre thereof, so perstringed and dazzled 
 their eyes, that they have forgotten those with 
 whom they had formerly so familiar conversation. 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 311 
 
 How proudly do they ivalk, how superciliouslij 
 do they looh, how disdainfully do tliey speahl 
 They will not know their own Brothers and 
 kindred, as being akin only to themselves. 
 
 Indeed, such who have long been gaining of 
 v>^ealth, and have slowly proceeded by degrees 
 therein, whereby they have learnt to manage 
 their minds, are not so palpably proud as others ; 
 but those who in an instant have been surprised 
 with a vast estate, flowing in upon them from a 
 fountain far above their deserts, not being able 
 to wield their own greatness, have been pressed 
 under the weight of their own estates, and have 
 manifested that their minds never knew how to 
 be stewards of their wealth, by forgetting them- 
 selves in the disposing thereof. 
 
 I believe this little Primrose would have been 
 longer in her discourse, had not the approach of 
 the Boar put an unexpected period thereunto, 
 and made her break off her speech before the 
 ending thereof. 
 
 Now whilst all other floivers were struck into 
 a panic silence, only tico, the Violet and the 
 Mariyoll, continued their discourse ; which was 
 
312 antheologia; or, 
 
 not attributed to their valour or hardiness above 
 other Flowers, but that casually both of them 
 grew together in the declivity of a depressed 
 Valley, so that they saw not the Boar ; nor were 
 they sensible of their own misery, nor durst others 
 remove their stations to bring them intelligence 
 thereof. 
 
 Sister Marigold, said the Violet, you and I 
 have continued these many days in the contest 
 which of our two colours are the most honourable 
 and pleasing to the Eije. I know what you can 
 plead for yourself, that your yellowness is the 
 Livery of Gold, the Sovereign of most men's 
 hearts, and esteemed the purest of all metals ; 
 I deny not the truth thereof. But know, that 
 as far as the SJcy surpasseth that which is buried 
 in the Bowels of the Earth, so far my blue 
 colour exceedeth yours. What is oftener men- 
 tioned by the Poets than the azure Clouds? Let 
 Heralds be made the Umpires, and I appeal to 
 Gerard, whether the azure doth not carry it clear 
 above all other colours herein. Sable or Black 
 affrights the heJwlders with the hue thereof, and 
 minds them of the Funeral of their last friends 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS, 313 
 
 whom tliey had interred. Fert or Green I confess 
 is a colour refreshing the sight, and worn com- 
 monly before the eyes of such who have had a 
 casual mischance therein : however, it is but the 
 Livery of novelty, a young upstart colour; as 
 green heads and green youth do pass in common 
 experience. Red I confess is a noble colour, 
 but it hath too much of bloodiness therein, and. 
 aifrightetli beholders with the memory thereof. 
 My Blue is exposed to no cavils and exceptions, 
 wherein Uach and red are moderately com- 
 pounded, so that I participate of the perfections 
 of them both ; the over-gaudiness of the red, 
 which hath too much light and hrightness therein, 
 is reduced and tempered with such a mixture of 
 hlach, that the red is made staid, but not sad 
 therewith, and the Uach kept from over-much 
 melancholy, with a proportionable contempera- 
 tion of red therein. This is the reason that in all 
 ages tlie Violet or j^urple colour hath passed for 
 the emblem of Magistracy, and the Bohes of the 
 ancient Koman judges always dyed therewith. 
 
 The Violet scarce arrived at the middle of her 
 discourse, when the approach of the Boar put it 
 
 Y 
 
314 antheologia; or, 
 
 into a terrible fear; nor was there any Herh or 
 Flower in the whole Garden left unsurprised with 
 fear, save only Thyme and Sage, which casually 
 grew in an isla^id surrounded with water from 
 the rest, and secured with a lock-bridge from the 
 Boars access. Sage, beginning, accosted Thyme 
 in this Nature. 
 
 Most fragrant Sister, there needs no other 
 argument to convince thy transcendent sweetness, 
 save only the apjDealing to the Bees (the most 
 competent judges in this kind), those little Che- 
 mists, who, through their natural Alemhic, distil 
 the sweetest and usefullest of Liquors, did not 
 the commonness and cheapness thereof make it 
 less valued. Now those industrious Bees, the 
 emblem of a commonwealth (or monarchy rather, 
 if the received traditions of a Master-Bee be true), 
 make their constant diet upon thee ; for though 
 no Flower comes amiss to their palates, yet are 
 they observed to prefer thee above the rest. 
 Now, Sister Thyme, fain would I be satisfied of 
 you several queries, which only Thyme is able to 
 resolve. Whether or no do you think that the 
 State of the Turks, wlierein we live (whose cruelty 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 315 
 
 hath destroyed fair Tempe, to the small remnant 
 of these few Acres), whether, I say, do you think 
 that their strength and greatness doth increase, 
 stand still, or ahate 2 I know. Thyme, that you are 
 the Mother of truth, and the finder out of all 
 truth's mysteries. Be open therefore, and candid 
 with me herein, and freely speak your mind cf 
 the case propounded. 
 
 Thijme, very gravely casting down the eyes 
 thereof to the Earth, Sister Sage (said she), had 
 you propounded any question within the sphere 
 or circuit of a Garden, of the heat or coolness, 
 dryness or moisture, virtue or ojQeration of flowers 
 and herbs, I should not have demurred to return 
 you a speedy answer ; but this is of so dangerous 
 consequence, that my own safety locks up my 
 lips, and commands my silence therein. I know 
 your wisdom, Sage, whence you have gotten your 
 name and reputation. This is not an age to trust 
 the nearest of our relations with such an important 
 secrecy. AVhatever thoughts are concealed within 
 the Cabinet of my ow^n bosom shall there be pre- 
 served in their secret property, without impart- 
 ing them to any. My confessor himself shall 
 
316 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 know ni}' conscience, but not iny judgment in 
 affairs of State. Let us comply Avitli the present 
 necessity, and lie at a close posture, knowing 
 there be fencers even now about us who will set 
 upon us if our guards lie open : general discourses 
 are such to which I will confine myself. It is 
 anciently said, tliat the subtle man lurhs in 
 general. But now give me leave, for honesty 
 itself, if desiring to be safe, to take Sanctuary 
 therein. 
 
 Let us enjoy our own happiness, and be sen- 
 sible of the favour indulged to us, that whereas 
 all Temj^e is defaced, this Garden still surviveth 
 in some tolerable condition of prosperity ; and we 
 especially miled about, are fenced from foreign 
 foes better than the rest. Let it satisfy your 
 soul that we peaceably possess this happiness, 
 and I am soxTy that the lustre thereof is set 
 forth witli so true a foil as the calamity of our 
 neiglibours. 
 
 Sage returned : Were I a blab of my mouth, 
 whose secrecy was ever suspected, then might 
 you be cautious in communicating your mind^ 
 unto me. But secrecy is that I can principally 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWEES. 317 
 
 boast of, it being the quality for which the 
 commonwealth of Flowers chose me their privy 
 Councillor. What therefore is told me in this 
 nature, is deposited as securely as those treasures 
 which formerly were laid up in the Temj)le of 
 safety itself; and therefore with all' modest im- 
 portunity, I reassume my suit, and desire your 
 judgment of the question, whether the Turkish 
 Tyranmj is likely to continue any longer? for 
 Thyme I know alone can give an -answer to this 
 question. 
 
 Being confident (said Thyme) of your fidelity, I 
 shall express myself in that freeness unto you 
 which I never as yet expressed to any mortal. 
 1 am of that hopeful opinion, that the period of 
 this barbarous nation's greatness begins to ap- 
 proach. My first reason, is drawn from the vicis- 
 situde and mutability which attends all earthly 
 things. Bodies arrived at the vertical point of 
 their strength, decay and decline. The Moon^ 
 when in the fulness of its increasing, tendeth 
 to a waning. It is a pitch too high for any 
 sublunary thing to mount unto, constantly to 
 proceed progressively in greatness. This maketh 
 
318 ANTHEOLOGIA ; OR, 
 
 me to hope that this Giant-like Empire, cemented 
 with Tyranny, supported, not so much with their 
 own policy, as with the servility of such who are 
 under them, hath seen its best days and highest 
 elevation. 
 
 To this end, to come to more particulars, what 
 was it which first made the Turks fortunate in so 
 short a time to overrun all Greece, but these two 
 things : first, the dissensions, second, the dissolute- 
 ness of your ancient Greeks. Their dissensions are 
 too well known, the Emperor of Co7istantino]ple 
 being grown almost but titular, such the pride and 
 potency of many Peers under him. The ^gean 
 is not more stored with Islands (as I think scarce 
 such a heap or huddle is to be found in all the 
 world again) as Greece was with several factions : 
 the Epirots hated the Achaians, the Mesedans 
 banded against the Thracians, the Dalmatians 
 maintained deadly feud against the Wallachians. 
 Thus was the conquest made easy for the Turks, 
 beholden not so mucli to their own valour as to 
 the Grecian discord. 
 
 Next to their dissensions, their dissoluteness did 
 expedite their ruin. Drunkenness was so common 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWEflS. 319 
 
 among them that it was a sin to be sober ; so that 
 I may say all Greece reeled and staggered with its 
 own intemperance when the Turh assaulted it. 
 What wonder then was it, if they so quickly over- 
 ran that famous Emjpire, where vice and laziness 
 had generally infected all conditions of people. 
 
 But now you see the Turks themselves have 
 divisions and dissensions among them. Their 
 great Bashaws and Jioly Muftis have their several 
 factions and dissensions ; and whereas the poor 
 Greeks, by the reason of their hard usage, begin 
 now to be starved into unity and temperance, they 
 may seem to have changed their vices with the 
 Turks, who are now grown as factious and vicious 
 as the others were before. Add to this that they 
 are universally hated, and the neighbouring 
 Princes rather ivait a time than want a luill to 
 be revenged on them for their many insolences. 
 Put all these together, and tell me if it put not 
 a cheerful complexion on probability, that the 
 Turkish tyranmj, having come to the mark of 
 its own might, and utmost limits of its own 
 greatness, will dwindle and wither away by 
 degrees. And assure yourself, if once it come to 
 
320 ANTHEOLOGIA J OR, 
 
 be but standing water, it will quickly be a low ebb 
 with them. 
 
 Probably she had proceeded longer in her 
 Oration, if not interrupted with the miserable 
 moans and complaints of the Herbs and Flowers 
 which the Boar was ready to devour; when 
 presently the Sage spake unto the Boar in this 
 manner. 
 
 Sir: listen a little unto me, who shall make 
 such a motion, whereof yourself shall be the 
 Judge how much it tendeth to your advantage, 
 and the deafest ears will listen to their own 
 interest. I have no design for myself (whose 
 position here, envii'oned with water, secureth me 
 from your anger), but I confess I sympathise 
 with the misery of my friends and acquaintance 
 which in the continent of the Garden are exposed 
 to your cruelty. What good will it do you, to 
 destroy so many Flowers and Herbs, which have 
 no gust or sweetness at all in them for your 
 palate ? Follow my directions, and directly South- 
 west, as you stand, you shall find (going forward 
 therein) a corner in the Garden overgrown with 
 Hogweed (through the Gardener s negligence). 
 
THE SPEECH OF FLOWERS. 321 
 
 Oh what Lettuce will be for your lips: you will 
 say that Via ladea (or the milky way) is truly 
 there, so white, so sweet, so plentiful a liquor is 
 to be distilled out of the leaves thereof, which 
 hath gotten the name of Hog weed, because it is 
 the principal Bill of Fare \>'hereon creatures of 
 your kind make their common repast. 
 
 The Boar, sensible that Sage spake to the 
 purpose, followed his direction, and found the 
 same true ; when feeding himself almost to surfeit 
 on those dehcious dainties, he swelled so great, 
 that in his return out of the Garden, the hole in 
 the fence which gave him admittance, was too 
 small to afford him egress thereat; when the 
 Gardener, coming in with a Guard of Dogs, so 
 persecuted this Tyrant, that, killed on the place, 
 he made satisfaction for the wrong he had done, 
 and for the terror wherewith he had affrighted so 
 many Innocents. 
 
 I wish the Beader well feasted with some of his 
 Brawn, well cooked, and so take our leave both 
 of liim and the Gardens. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 I'RINTKI) BY W. CLOWES AA'i) SCNS, SIAIMFOKD STREET 
 
 AND CHARING CKOSS. 
 
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