GOe to then; and whats He? I haue seene the Man but of late; and how suddenly is he altered? True Em­bleme of his owne Mu­tabilitie! Hee shewes it, but he heeds it not. To Day hath chang'd him from Yesterday, both in Face, and Fashion: Nor shall you see him the Same to Morrow, that he is to Day. The Man [Page 84] seemes but as he is; a very Changeling. Nay he so adapts his Hu­mour also to his Habit; that you shall neuer take him, but in as ma­ny Minds, as Suits. How he grudges at the stin­ted Course of Nature, as but niggardly; that at first allotted him but one Face and Skinne, and Bulke, and Shape: but admires the Liberall Inuention of Art; that can still so trimly, and newly proportion him. He thinkes himselfe (I warrant him) a farre [Page 85] comelyer Creature of a Taylors shaping, than of Gods making. As the one therefore he shames to be seene: but as the other, hee glories to shew himselfe. He is one of ADAMS owne Sonnes, and hath it by Kinde to blush at his bare Selfe. Ah! we could not thus irke our selues, were not our selues con­scious of some thing other than good: Wee see some vglinesse, which wee would haue none to se [...]. Had we not defaced the Image of God in vs, we [Page 86] had neuer bin ashamed to let it haue bin seene. Truth desires to beseene naked, as she is: And the Purest things abhor to be couered, or coloured. Painted Wals, painted Sepulchres, you conceiue what they are beside their Painting.

Oh but (I see) he hath quite altered the Fashi­on; and hath made him a new kinde of Catch­credit, of his old Co­uer-shame. His sightly Ornament, hee counts it; which was once but his Fore-Fathers beg­garly Shift. Ah! that [Page 87] Men can now glory in that Superfluity; whose ve­ry Necessitie was but the Badge and Liuery of their Shame. We know, twas ADAMS Shame, that he was so driuen to haue them: And wee thinke it our shame, when we are so driuen, that we haue them not. He is not (I see by him) a little proud of him­selfe: now beclad in a varnisht Excrement; & so bedawbd in a glitte­ring Rubbish. Who thinkes himselfe the bet­ter Man, for what he is [Page 88] glad to borrow of Beasts, and Earth? Is hee the more Man, for what they (before him) were not the lesse Bruits, & Dung? See see! A Sheepe in a golden Fleece: Howso­euer hee thinkes of his Fleece; I will thinke him but a Sheepe. Hee prances most statelily in his gay Trappings. But I would be loth to buy, or vse an Horse, that is only so valued. It is for him to prize a faire Out­side; that knowes, nor hath nothing within, wor­thy more esteeme. How [Page 89] curiously hee glances vpon himselfe? Hee thinkes, hee is for other eyes than his owne, to be so broadly gazed at. Why cringes he so to his Coat? vnlesse he would in good earnest, which the Philosopher did in iest; Honour that, that honours him. Bucephalus is now royally trapt, and flings at all but Alexander himselfe: dis­barbe but the Iade, and euery Stable-Groome may bestride him. Many Men as Proud to seeme what they are not: It only [Page 90] debases them to be seene, and knowne what they are. The Asse carries painted and polished Isis vpon his backe; and (Lord!) how the Vul­gar Worship him? A wise man will iudge of the Tree, by the Fruit, or Bulke: he is a Foole that doth value it by the Barke, or Huske.

A proper Squire hee seemes neere at hand; and (you marke him) well dight vp. Beside a spruce shape, and gay Glosse hee hath about him; see what a lofty [Page 91] Port, and Gesture hee carries with him. Hee stalkes on in state: I should say, he marches most maiestickly. All his Pace is Measures; and his Hands accor­dingly keepe Time, to the Tune of his Feet. His Beuer cocks, Fea­ther waggs, Locks ho­uer, and Beard stands in print: his Band sprea­ding (like a Net) about his necke, his Cloake displayd (as a Flagge) vpon his arme, his Dou­blet hanging by Gim­mers vpon his shoul­ders, [Page 92] and his Breeches button'd about him: His Boots ruffle, Spurrs gingle, and his long Ra­pier (which he is often tied to) confronts him at the hilt; and toward the point, answers his heeles with a grace. What a supercilious Looke he hath? I war­rant you, the very blast or sound of his Speech, would make you start. How he reares in the Necke, struts at the Sto­macke, and traces with his Armes a kemboll: he trips with his Toes [Page 93] on the Earth, & waues his Hand, as hee would touch the heauens with his Finger. He hath one part and propertie of a Man, which is, to looke vpwards. Hee thinks this same doth preferre him with Reasonables, when we know it doth but distinguish him from Bruits. Heele set his Leggs vpon the Last, rather than lose an inch of his height: I will say one good word for him; and tis the best I know by him: Than this Man in his way, no man [Page 94] walkes more vprightly. Marke how he heaues, as though hee almost scorn'd to tread: Hee casts vp his Nose into the Wind, looks beyond the Clouds, mantles against the Moone, and busies himselfe wholly to build Castles in the Aire. What an Alder­mans pace hee comes? Hee prolongs the Pa­geant for the Beholders take; and hurries nor on too hastily, lest most Eyes finde no leisure to looke vpon him. See see! he stops and turnes in [Page 95] the mid way, at but the apprehension of a lost labour. Oh doe him not the wrong to looke beside him: for if you see him not, hee comes by to no purpose. The Proud man is not more haughty in his owne, than ridiculous in a wise mans eyes: whereas others looke at him, hee lookes thorow him; and sees plainly the vanitie of his Minde, in that bodily shaping: Hee but smiles at that Carriage of his, which others learne: And thinkes, what Folly there [Page 96] is in Pride, that faines to it selfe, as it would; and flatters it selfe, as it hath fained. Hee tels her, his eyes are purer, than her painted glory can dazle: nor are they stinted to behold that only, which shee would haue him see. Hee cals her the Ape of Nations, and Fashion­monger of the World: and tels her plainly, shee hath more Followers of her Fashions, than are either Wise, or Good.

Doe you heare Sir? Surely his eares are ta­ken vp to listen only to [Page 97] his owne fantasticke Suggestions. Hee is wholly busied about himselfe: and heeds not others, while he thinkes others cannot choose but heed him. At him once more: I pray you Sir—Now he squints at mee ouer the left shoulder, as though he deemd mee at a glance, scarce worth the most carelesse peece of his no­tice. Perhaps hee likes not the fashion of my phrase, tis too homely for his quaint rellish, and sounds not corre­spondent [Page 98] to the scra­ping of his whole ac­quaintance. I am not wonted to the fine Flourishes of his Fashi­onall Rhetoricke. Hee would haue heard mee sooner, had I bespoke him in his owne Dia­lect; which hee heeds most, and best vnder­stands. I had forgot to thinke on some curious Complement, and refi­ned Salute: which him­selfe hath so often cond, that he hath them at his Tongues end, and there only. Now I remember [Page 99] me, I haue a whole Me­thod of them lying by me; which he gathe­red but by Fragments, and so he vtters them. Saue you noble Sir; How fares your Body? You are fortunately met; I congratulate your happy Fortunes; Sir I honour you; Would I might doe you any Office; I thinke me happy in your Noble Society; I desire your more Acquaintance; I embrace your loue with both armes; I kisse your hands; I a­dore [Page 100] your worth, I re­uerence your shadow; Sweet Sir rauish me with your Presence; blesse me (kinde Sir) by your Fauour. Oh Sir your Seruant; Pray Sir command mee; That I were but worthy to obserue you, Would I might haue enioyed your good company; Happinesse attend you; my Seruice wait vpon you. Vaine Verbalists! whose words are but wind, vttered, and en­ded in themselues: Light­ly occasioned, and as lit­tle [Page 101] intended. God gaue you your Tongues, to vse them seriously, not to dal­ly with so deceitfully. Na­ture hath taught you the faculty of Speech, to tell euch others your minds, and hearts: But you haue coyn'd, and con'd your words of Art, to discourse, and dissemble with. Your words of Course, and Complement; gaine you as little Heed, and Repose from others: as they haue Truth, or In­tention in your selues. You thinke you haue learnt to speake with a [Page 102] grace; and talke in a certaine royalty of Speech: When (alas) it is the Vanity onely that is openly heard, and secretly smiled at.

I am your poore Friend Sir, doe you know mee? Not? Hee hath but said, as I thought. A proud Man remembers not another; because he hath forgotten himselfe. Yet (if I mi­stake him not) hee so loues himselfe, whom he knowes not; that he almost hates all others, whom he knowes. He [Page 103] enuies his Superiour, neglects his Equalls, despises his Inferiour. And for these last, hee neither endures to take notice of them; nor that they should make acquaintance with him Hee hath heard, Fa­miliaritie brings Con­tempt: he therefore con­temnes all kinde of Fa­miliarity. So does hee glory in what hee is; that than of what hee was, hee is of nothing more ashamed. Hee thinks himselfe a good­ly Branch, and noble; [Page 104] but irkes to thinke on the vile and base Stocke he grew vpon. Nothing can more disgrace him, than if his poore Father should meet him, and owne him in the Streets: And he blushes sooner at the meanenesse of his Kinsfolks, than at their Misdemeanours. Who so Proud as hee, than whom none more base? The Begger on horse­backe, is altogether for the lofty pace. Wretches alwayes wax most inso­lent, Cowards rigorous, and Peasants haughty. [Page 105] If he get once to thinke better of himselfe, hee therefore thinkes worse of all: He concerts others vnder him; because hee is now rapt aboue him­selfe.

Tis true I tell you. You know not mee whom you scome; you I both know, and pity Your Name (I take it) is Sir Haughty-Heart, A man of an High De­scent: Your Great Grand Father (I re­member) came tum­bling downe from Heauen. He (let me say [Page 106] by the way) fell iustly, that was too Proud, to stand vprightly. And you his Generation, like Monsters, you fling Mountains vpon heaps; Yea like Fooles in a Confusion, you build you Babels so high; as though you would reach, and dare Him; against whom your first Father once aspi­red. I easily obserue, The Proud Man and the Deuill conspire in one presumptuous Fault: it therefore is, hee ha­zards with him the like [Page 107] desperate Fall.

Nay scowle not, stare not, stampe not, sweare not; keep in your threat­ning Words, & Weapon. Galled Consciences kicke (like Iades) when their Sores are touched: Giue me leaue a little. My Challenge is to ano­ther, and better Fray: where the Conque­rour and Vanquished may part friendly, with Safety and Glory on both sides. Nor is it a single Duell I summon and prouoke thee to; but a set Battell. I can [Page 108] both number thy Forces; and order mine owne. Disdaine pro­uokes your Warre, and selfe-conceit maintains it; Rashnesse musters vp, and pride leads out your Bands; Vain-glo­ry blowes your Trum­pet, and Insolence is not vpon the Skirmish. But, Humility giues me the safer Ground, Grauity rancks my Troopes, Modesty beats vp my Drumme, Meeknesse receiues the Onse [...], and Patience gets the Victo­ry. We yeeld a while, [Page 109] and you forth with sound an Alarum. Your feather-flanting Braua­does are at length but a blast before our Wea­ther-beaten Souldiers: and who now sounds Retrait? Pride is vn­horst by Humility, Gra­uity hath giuen Rash­nesse the foyle, Modesty hath stopt the mouth of Vain-glory, Meek­nesse hath coold the courage of Disdaine, Insolence is pinioned by Patience, and Selfe­conceit hath taken heels and is runne away from [Page 110] thee. Thy Souldiers are thus put to sword, and flight: and loe (as I said) safety, and glory on both sides! Of a base Commander thou art now become an ho­nourable Captiue: Nor are we otherwise proud of the conquest; than that thou art hūbled in the Foyle. We haue spoi­led thy Forces, because they were thine; thee haue we spared, because thou now art ours: March on with vs to the fairest Marke in our Field, true Peace and [Page 111] Liberty. Had thine been the day; we could but haue died honestly: thou maist liue honou­rably, now it is ours. To embrace an happy, and lasting league, is needfull for thee, and for vs expedient: sith thou hast the Benefit, and we the Credit of the victory. Only thou shalt confesse, and re­ioyce; the Warre was most iustly begunne, and as happily ended. Happy is hee, whom Ver­iue hauing conquered, hath made her Captiue, [Page 112] Tributary, Subiect, Ser­uant. There is no shame where she foyles; where she spoyles there is nolosse: She striues not with vs, but for our good; nor are wee hurt, but in her re­pulse.

How answerest thou my Challenge? Enter Lists accordingly, and thou shalt finde I haue prophesied the num­ber, order, and euent of a Mysticall Pfeucho­machie. What needs all this (thou saift) be­twixt vs? Thou hast euer profest thee a [Page 113] Friend to those on my side; nor hast thou en­tertained the other to thee. In plaine tearmes (so easily thou canst excuse it) Thou ne­uer knew'st what Pride was; nor yet canst thou tell how to be Proud. No Man hath beene so vicious, but that he hath made Vertue his profession. Euen the most dissolute will not owne their Vices: but will yet vsurpe a name from the former, howeuer the latter bee their practice. [Page 114] Neuer man was so proud, as to thinke himselfe so: That Pride were more abbominable than was Lucifers, that could be proud of it selfe. But listen, and Ile teach thee how to know thy selfe: Giue eare awhile to thy selfe; I'le describe thee a Man so like thee in all points and proporti­ons: as that hee that sees you together, must put on his Spectacles, and view all things double, that takes you for two.

A Proud Man is one [Page 115] that climbes the wrong way to ascend thither; from whence his Father fell. Is his owne NAR­CISSVS, and all Mens TIMON: hating o­thers, and enamoured of himselfe. One that esteemes himselfe in a Contempt of others: or contemnes others in his owne Esteeme; you can­not say whether first, or more. Many a thing doth hee contemne in another, and yet ad­mites it in himselfe. He wonders at what hee hath, & boasts of more. [Page 116] He reckons his Chic­kens before they bee hatcht; and all his Geese are Swans. He growes as bigge as a Mountaine, though he bring forth, but a Mouse: and as soone as he hath laid, he Cac­kles. He boasts of those parts of his; wherein many Beasts excell him, and say nothing. The little he hath so dazles him, that he sees not what a deale he wants. His vices he puts in the backe part, but his Ver­tues in the fore part of [Page 117] the Wallet. Them he soone forgets, these hee oft repeats. Swan-like, he carries a stiffe necke ouer his white Feathers, but sees not that his feet are blacke. Others Faults, and his owne Parts are still before him: and thus while he compares, he cannot but preferre himselfe. Because he is somewhat better than the worst; he thinkes him now as good as the best. Hee hath so many Inferi­ours, that he thinkes no man his Superiour. [Page 119] Whereas others are to others; this Man is an Hypocrite to himselfe: For he seemes to him­selfe, what hee is not; and if he be any thing so, yet he thinkes him more than he is. He pro­mises such things to himselfe, which nei­ther are, nor are like to bee: and busies, yea pleases himselfe (for the while) in his fained Conceit, as in the reall Fruition. Touching himselfe, he subiects, his Opinions to no Mans: and in anothers [Page 118] Censure, he yeelds to none before himselfe. His Matter, or anothers; he examines it in the ballance of his owne Iudgement; and is as impatient to remit it, as to haue it contradicted. He takes Chalke, and a Coale in hand: and his White, or Blacke must stand. The Good Deeds he doth (as the Wrongs that are done him) he still remembers He casts to meet the benefited Party in the Street, or a Throng; and there lookes for ac­knowledgement: [Page 120] And if it be so old, or were so slender, that he hath now forgot it; he yet takes occasion by the by, to put him in mind of it. He smiles to heare his owne praise in ano­thers mouth; and yet so minces thereat, as though he would seem to blush: But at length is content to yeeld to others Sooth-sayings, before the Testimony of his owne Consci­ence: and casily per­swades him to bee as they say; though they [Page 121] say nothing so as he is. All Men are Lyers; and the Proud man most of all: for (at once) hee transgresses the bounds of Modesty, and Truth: For while his owne Suggestion makes him talke so largely; your owne Suspicion cannot thinke he sayes truly. Theres not an ill man hates his Fellow, this Man only excepted. A Drunkard accompa­nies a Drunkard; a Whoremonger embra­ces a Whoremonger; a Theefe shakes hands [Page 122] with a Theefe: one Proud man only abides not another: One Tree is not taken notice of, where the whole Wood reaches to the same height and growth. The Proud Man should not be notorious him­selfe, could he suffer o­thers to be as himselfe. Loue and Kings (they say) will no Corriuals: nor can Pride (which is the Loue of a mans selfe, and King of other euils) endure an equall. POMPEY will no Mate, CAESAR will [Page 123] no Master. That Euill must needs exceed all, that cannot endure ano­ther should match it. Hee steps first into the Roome, and sits him in the vpper Chaire; and (after some pausing, and gazing) roles his Head vpon his Elbow; and conceits with what a grace hee nods toward you, speakes to you, whispers with you, smiles vpon you. Not a Motion of his, not a Fa­culty, which smels not of Affectation. Nor so much but he Sirs, and [Page 124] Spits with a grace; and so he Walks, and Talks. He speakes neuer but with a noise; and al­wayes laughs with a kind of Derision: Com­mands also with Arro­gance, and rebukes with Disdaine. He talkes all with Interrogations; as though his words were of Authority to questi­on euery thing. That you enter his Thre­shold, is more than a common courtesie; but that you approach his Presence, is a great vouchsafement. What [Page 125] shall I call him? A THRASO, a POLY­PHEMVS? To whom shall I liken him? To MAXIMINVS, that made his Senatours kisse his feet? to DO­MITIAN, that would be stiled a God? or to those diuers POPES, that were guilty of both? or to LVCIFER, the Father of them all? To what shall I compare him? But to a Cocke, that claps, and crowes vpon his owne Dung­hill; a Peacocke that ruffles in his owne Fea­thers; [Page 126] a Toad that swels with his owne poison; an Asse that hath gotten on a Lions skinne, and now he is a Companion for none, but such as he seemes; an Ape that is enamou­red of his own and vgly Puppets: a Chameleon that gapes after the Aire; a Bladder full of Wind; a shallow Riuer, and bubbling; an empty Caske, and sounding; an addle Egge, and swimming; a Thinne Eare, and blasted, that out-tops the fat and full [Page 127] Corne; a Cypresse Tree, that hath faire Leaues, but no fruit; a Wine-Bush, that neuer beto­kened good liquor; a disordered Member, swoln so bigge through its owne Corruption. Haue I now pourtray­ed thee in thy proper colours? This Glasse re­flects on none beside thee: Tis (me thinkes) thy liuely resemblance; looke here how thou lik'st thy selfe. For me, I would be loth (like the Painter) to fall in loue with thee, by the [Page 128] draught of thy picture.

Tush! I know thee, and all thy Kinne; and haue been but too much acquainted with all of thine acquaintance. That old Gripe-good, that por'd so long in the Dunghill; was the first that rais'd you al thence, and snow made you looke so high. He vn­dervalued himselfe to that, which now makes you ouervalue your selues. It was he, left you that which made you Lords: and you haue purchas't this, to [Page 129] thinke you so. But Ile tell thee; thou hast a faire House, and thinkst it a very Heauen to ma­ny Houells: step but from thine owne Gates, and see how others build more and greater, BABELS for their Ho­nour. Thou canst walke so farre and wide on thine owne Ground, that thou thinkst euery Passenger must needs trespasse vpon thee: Take but the Map, and shew me in what part of the World thy Land lyes. Thy Bagges strut [Page 130] with a refined and im­printed Earth, and that so swels thee: so did it not the Earth, that might haue said before thee, these are Mine. These Things make thee seeme a Great Man within thy selfe: Silly Grigge! come out of thy Pond and Mud; and thou shalt meet with ouergrowne Con­gers in the Sea. Pride is called the Worme of Riches: It is the ranknesse of this Weed, to produce such a Vermine. If a Man can but once get to bee [Page 131] Wealthy, he soone learnes to be Haughty: So hard it is for him not to be puf­fed vp, that is so cram­bed vp. He knew the dif­ficulty, that gaue the Ca­ueat: ‘Charge them that are rich in this World, that they be not high minded.’

Not know my Lady Goe-gay, the sprucest Dame in City, or Court? Her father was frugall, forgetting he was Cae­sar: but shee flaunts it out, remembring she is Caesars daughter. [Page 132] Me thinkes I now see her, as I saw her last; how trimly deckt in her purple and fine linnen. Shee ware vpon her backe, to what shee neuer laid her hands. Earth, and Wormes, and Beasts, and Nati­ons, these are, and liue, and labour, for what she soyles, and teares, and spends: Their Ex­crement, and Sweat, take care to proude her, what shee scarce takes paines to put on. The good Huswife and applauded, ‘seeketh [Page 133] Wooll, and Flax; she layeth her hands to the Spindle, and her hands touch the Distaffe:’ and so cloaths both her, and her houshold. Out vp­on these home-spunne Threeds! These signe like Habit, like Condi­tion: Farre fetcht, and deare bought are for our Ladies. One Coun­try and Nation must breed, another kemb, another spinne, ano­ther weaue, another [Page 134] dresse, another shape out, and another trim vp their wearings. Alas weake Creatures! they see not their Beggery in these sundry Borrowings: nor mind how fraile a Car­kasse and vile, is shrou­ded vnder so gorgeous Happings. Womens sup­plimentall Art, does but the rather bewray Na­tures Defects. Perfu­ming, Painting, Star­ching, Decking, these make some Annoyance, and Vn­comelinesse, though lesse apparant, yet more suspe­cted. Wee gaze with [Page 135] greedinesse and delight vpon a curious and glori­ous Sepulchre; and yet notwithstanding we con­ceiue and abhorre what is within. Me thought she bare her Selfe so nicely and demurely, as though her Body had beene starcht & gumm'd ac­cording to her Cloaths. Perhaps (shee carries them so answerably) shee tooke aime by her Glasse at once, to set both her Vesture, and Gesture in the right Fa­shion. Ah their silly Fol­ly! that Metamorphize [Page 136] Nature into Art: and carry themselues more like Pictures, than like Creatures. Oh blot not out the louely Image of God; in faining, and framing so vaine a shaping to your selues! How she glitte­red (Forehead, Eares, Bosome, Wrists, and Fingers) in her Gems, Iewels, Bracelets, and Rings? She likened her Lustre to the Moone, and Stars; and thought her lesse clay, when so bedaubed with a poli­shed Rubbish. Who might then prize her [Page 137] Worth, that bare many Good Mens Estates vpon her little Finger? Shee little considered, how many Fingers were worne, and wea­ried; to make that one Finger shine. This is not only one of our Vanities, but one of our Superstiti­ons; That we can (against our Reason, and Know­ledge) beleeue that the whole substance of a great Patrimony, may be va­luably transubstantiated into the Quantity of a little Stone. Gemmes, what are they, but Gums; [Page 138] or the accretions, or con­gelations of brighter Wa­ter and Earth? They come but from a more sub­tile compacted Sulphur and Mercury: and yet we thinke the very Hea­uens concurred with the Earth to their commixti­on; and so the Sunne left part of his shining in them. Meere notionall is their value; which is in the Opinion, not in the Thing: They are worth nothing, only if you can but thinke them so. The Merchants Aduenture hath transported them, [Page 139] the Lapidaries Craft hath polished them, the vaine Mans Credulity hath esteemed them, and the Rich Mans Superflui­tie hath enhaunced them. These be but rich Mens gawdy Trifles; as the painted Gew-gawes bee for their children. CHRIST is not put on with these Toyes, and Ragges. It is for such as wax wanton against CHRIST; to fashion themselues according to this World: For Godly Matrons, the old Fashion [Page 140] is best; ‘Modest apparell, with shame­fastnesse and Sobrie­tie; not with broide­red haire, or gold, or pearles, or costly aray.’

Who, Sir Lofty-lookes the Courtier? I saw him tother day in his golden Fetters: and heard him make great boast of (me thought) but a glori­ous Miserie. Hee hath gotten (he thinkes) to bee more happie than [Page 141] he was; and hath quite forgotten what he was. Fortune hath exalted him, and how he ex­alts himselfe? Cleane contrary to the Rule; the Man thinkes his Place hath graced him: and looks chiefly to be obserued according to his place. He is growne to be better clad than his Master; yea and beares an higher minde. It is hard to be chaste in company with a Woman, to bee sober at a Banquet, to be patient in a Fray: as hard to be humble in [Page 142] the midst of new heaped Honours, & Preferments. How rarely doth he stoope so low; that so suddenly is rapt so high? Like a Moth, or Rat of the Pa­lace; hee hath oft and much inquired after this mans Life, that mans Office, the other mans Estate: and (after long, and earnest gaping) some, or all these are fallen into his mouth. And now hee hath climb'd so high on a sudden, that you would wonder hee wrought not himselfe out of [Page 143] breath. To say all of such an one, in summe: Many hee scornes, his Inferiours; Hee enuies Many, his Fellowes: One he soothes, his Lord; One he loues, Himselfe.

But what of Captaine Scape-skarre? How hee stalkes vp and downe the streets in his Sha­moyse, and a Trun­cheon; that neuer ware an Harnesse, nor scarce can wield a Sword. O but take heed how you wrong him! Hee hath more Badges of his Art and Valour about him; [Page 144] then a side Belt, or a Buffe Coat. Haue you not heard of his Wounds and Skarres, so many haue beene told of? He bids you see the Gash he gat in his Forehead; and feele the Bullet, that lies in his Calfe: and you must now thinke how hee then hazarded; whereas (perhaps) hee gat the one as he look't backe, the other as hee ran away. It is a maruell he tells you not, how he stood like a Giant amidst the Pigmies: how with the blast of his first [Page 145] Volley, he made the Enemy quake like leaues; made them flie like Feathers; and scat­tered them like dust be­fore the Wind. And you must now beleeue him; or else you doe him the dishonour, as if you should either gainsay, or disproue him. He tels you what a monstrous leape he tooke when he was last in Rhodes: and if you will be pleased (for experience sake) to sup­pose the Place where he is, to be Rhodes; he will also giue you leaue to [Page 146] suppose the Leape. Soul­diers (bee they the most valiant and fortunate, that euer lifted hand or foot, for God, and their Country) lose so much of their glory; by how much their owne mouths are the Trumpets of their Victo­rie. Modesty is not lesse noble in a Warriour, than is valour. If he haue ta­ken the City, let his works praise him in the Gate; not his words only, when hee hath now got the Towne vpon his backe. He hath wonne the Field; perhaps with a greater [Page 147] losse: and why boasts hee of a Prize, when all is too little to make amends? How sayes he, his Ene­mie is vanquished; when his owne are not recoue­red? The Day is his; it might haue beene the Ad­uersaries: and why in­sults he, where he might haue couched? With what Glory can he boast, where he might haue complained with shame enough?

Ah but theres One of you (beleeue me, I could both loue, and honour him; did he not saue me that labour, in [Page 148] doing the Office to himselfe) No matter for his Name; You may think he is a noted Man. The Man hath good Parts and Gifts in him; you need not tell him so, he knowes it well enough: you should take him for a Beast, should you thinke him ignorant of his owne Strength: He can doe well; yea, and he thinks as well of what he can doe. As it was not ill for MOSES that his Face shone, and the People saw it, though himselfe [Page 149] knew it not: So were it well for vs, did our light so shine before Men, that they might see our good workes, and we our selues ignorant to boast it. The Harpe sounds no lesse sweetly, though it hear not it selfe: Our good Parts would bee no lesse laudable, though our selues tooke no notice of them. It is both safe and profitable vnto vs, that our selues haue beene ignorant of our Gifts. How vsuall is it, to forestall our best Parts, with a fore Con­ceit? Many men might [Page 150] in time haue beene both Good, and Wise; had they not as yet thought them so. This hinders the Per­fection of Good Parts, when we thinke we haue attained them so soone. God, and Nature haue done faire for him, and hees now not a little proud of himselfe. This hath God done for him, he hath wrought Good out of Euill: this hath he done vnto himselfe, he hath wrought Euill out of Good. Tis strange how Vice here buds from Vertue. [Page 151] Whereas other Vices are in the Euill; our Pride on­ly is in the Good we haue: Other Euils openly shew the Worst; this Euill tre­cherously spoyles the Best we doe. This is the craft and subtilty of the Deuill, that when be cannot at first preuent our Good Deeds, and Duties; hee seekes to preuent them af­terwards, by making vs Proud of what we haue done. The Vertues that destroy their seuerall Vices; he makes in gene­rall to nourish this Vice: Prudence, Iustice, Forti­tude, [Page 152] Temperance; which banish and abandon Folly, Wrong, Faintnesse, Riot: These neuerthelesse (and such others) occasion Pride, and cherish it. Of all our Vertues, this is the chiefest; not to be Proud of our Vertues. Hee built a Schoole, Col­ledge, Hospitall; and I read his name in euery Window. Tush! he hath erected him an euerlasting Monument of Letters: in whose very Frontispeece, you may read at once both his Name, and Works: And [Page 153] you must conceiue, these were not set so neere together for no­thing: his Name does authorize his Workes; and his Workes immor­talize his Name. Hee smiles to thinke, how his Name is published, in the inquiry of his Works; and how his Workes are graced, in the mention of his Name. He hath long learn't to exhaust o­thers, like a Bee: and now at length hath got the Are to euiscerate himselfe, like a Spider. [Page 154] Others Brood he com­monly wraps in his owne Clouts; with here and there a new­fangled Brat, much what like himselfe: and yet he hugges them a­boue therest; and sayes of his owne inuenti­ons; O deepe Notions, and mysterious! Orare, and pious Thoughts! Oh how it tickles him to re-repeat the Line, and Saying, hee hath couched so Emphati­cally! when as (per­haps) you can scarce conceiue it to be so [Page 155] much as sensibly di­gested. Iust like a fan­tasticke Musician, he chiefly pleases himselfe; while hee leaues the Grounds, to run vpon his Voluntaries. How readily, and rashly, doe we broach our owne Opi­nions? how largely pa­raphrase vpon our owne Fancies? yea, wee make them ours also; which be no other, than haue beene said, or thought, saue somewhat otherwise. That we haue made a bare shift to clad, or cloake ano­ther; this is enough to [Page 156] owne it to our selues. The Authour boasts what cu­rious Threed he hath so cunningly wouen from out himselfe, nor (for his Matter, or Method) hath he the least hint from ano­ther. The Translatour tels you, tis farre more te­dious to confine his wits to construction, than to en­large them to Inuention. He bragges of the For­rainers Learning, and Deuotion; together with his narrow inquiry of his Words, and minde: and now hee compares his Turn'd Coat (though in [Page 157] many places thred-bare, moth-eaten, fusty;) to any fresh, and faire, spot­lesse, yea seamelesse Gar­ment. Briefly, bee it in things of our owne, or o­thers; If our knowledge be a little beside others; euen they must know it, whose knowledge is farre beyond our owne. Nay, but he is now of ano­ther Minde; he is not so Prodigall, as Nig­gardly of what hee knowes. Away (sayes he) with these shallow Cestornes, with these empty Channels; that [Page 158] hold so little, and powre out so fast: Giue me only the Gulfe of Learning, and a Deuou­rer of Bookes. I cannot tell what you would say he may be; but he will not (he sayes) bee a Foole in Print. He vp­braids him with Folly, that thinkes himselfe knowes nothing, vn­lesse others know what he knowes: and thinks it his owne Discretion, not to communicate his knowledge vnto Fooles. No; As Lear­ning (he thinkes) be­gan: [Page 159] ganue: so hee'le haue it end in himselfe: For (so he perswades him) he knowes so much; that in him knowledge both liues, and dies. The knowledge that this man hath, he will not vent it out: no maruell then it be found in this man, as is said; ‘Knowledge puf­feth vp.’

But of all your lofty Crue; haue you heard of him, that is proud of this; That he is not proud? One that glo­ries vainly, euen in the [Page 160] Contempt of Vaine­glory. You haue many of his Sect, and Sort: He seemes lowly, but he grudges to be despi­sed; He cares not to bepoore, but he is loth to want: He goes bare­ly, fares hardly, lies coldly; an holy Man (I wis) and mortifi'd! but that he boasts as much of this, as you could of the Contrary. A fained Humility, puffes vp more, then a noted Pride: and is so much the more euill and edious, as it seemes to bee otherwise. [Page 161] Tush man! (be he as thou wouldst thinke, another to thy selfe) I can as well see his Proud Heart through his torne Coat; as thine through thy slasht Doublet. Thou proud­ly abhorrest his sordid ragges; he also spurnes and tramples thy gay Garments; and with another kinde of Pride. Thy Ambition vrges thee to giue; and he re­fuses thy Gift, for he also hath his Ambition. Boast thou before him; Thou art Alexander the [Page 162] King: and hee'le bragge with thee; Hee's Dioge­nes the Dogge. Pride is not alwayes from endow­ments within; nor yet from outward Accru­ments. A proud Heart oft goes together with a Beg­gers Purse and Coat.

Ile now tell thee of One thou knowest not: Heed him well; thou yet knowest not him whom thou seest. I tell thee (chuse thee whe­ther thou thinke me so; my ayme is, that thou be so thy selfe) I am not Proud: And good [Page 163] reason why; I haue no­thing, I know nothing to be Proud of. Riches, what are they; but a spreading, a mouing, a glittering Earth? Hardly, and euilly gotten; doubt­full to keepe, and dan­gerous; soone, and sor­rowfully lost. Honour, what is it; but an im­posed, rather a suppo­sed Hight, and Deeme? a meere nothing in it selfe; but only is more, or lesse, as others rec­kon it. Men are like Counters, all of the same mould, & stampe: [Page 164] only when we cast vp their account, we num­ber them from a Far­thing, to a Pound. What is Beauty, but a Super­ficies of Colour, and Proportion; or a sha­dowed Shape, and Hue? a red clay mingled with Snow: A Flower, which (ere it yet flourishes) is prone to fade: Crop it vntimely, and it lowres while you looke vpon it; Let it stand a while, and it withers vpon the stalke: The Frost of a Feuer makes it droope downwards; [Page 165] and an aged Winter makes it quite wither a­way. What is Strength & Stoutnesse, but a stiffer Compact, or more so­lide Couchednesse of the Ioynts, and Bloud? which (say Art, nor Might can yet subdue) Sicknesse, Age, or Death will once enfeeble. I haue seene a Feather and a Wall more beau­teous than a Woman: and know an Oxe, or an Oake, to be stronger than a Man. A Lion will outstand a Man, a Tigre out-run him, [Page 166] a Stagge out-leap him, a Dolphin out-swimme him: It is great Folly, to be Proud of those Parts of ours; which the very Beasts haue not only with vs, but before vs. And for Learning and Know­ledge, what is it, but an insight of our Igno­rance; letting vs know only, that we know no­thing? I will aske him, that knowes the most, and applies it to the best; Who knowes all Things? Who is wise at all Times? The most he knowes, is not the least [Page 167] of that he knowes not. And can we be Proud of these things of ours, which either are not ours, or are not? These best things of Nature, Industry, For­tune, how can we cal them ours, and kisse our owne Hands for them; when as they can neither get, nor keepe them to vs? What we here arrogate to our selues, wee steale from God. Oh wretched Man, and thanklesse! What hast thou, thou canst call thine owne, but Euill? God giues thee all that thou art, and hast besides: Let [Page 168] the Giuer haue the glory of his Gifts. Why is thy heart so puffed vp with­in thee, and thy Brother so despised in thine Eyes? ‘Who maketh thee to differ from another? and what hast thou, that thou didst not receiue? Now if thou didst receiue it; why dost thou glory, as if thou hadst not receiued it?’ Thou art more Rich, Great, Faire, Strong, Wise, and Holy, [Page 169] than he; yea, but hee is more humble. God thinks better of an humble Sin­ner, than of a Iust man proud. Be he neuer so Good; God thinkes the worse of him, for that he thinks the beteer of him­selfe.

It skarres me quite for climbing so high; when I consider, that he who first ventered himselfe, and now vrges others, fell so low. He now and then spurs me on to come after him: but (by his leaue, or rather in his despite) [Page 170] I hold it easier and safer to sit still; than to rise vp and fall. He hazards that climbes vp the Hill; he that couches in the Dale, hath not whence to fall. It is for Goats to clammer vp the Mountaines; I am a Sheepe, and can con­tent me to graze in the Vallies. Yet am I not so sheepish, to losh into the Ditch, because the Bell-Weather hath ventured: Shall I rush after him, as though I did only mind his Going, but not vn­derstand his Drow­ning? [Page 171] Let Satan Keepe his poison to himselfe; or drinke his draught to Fiends, not Men. Shall I pledge him in his Cup, whereof (I know) he at first ra­sted, and perished? The Deuill (I perceiue) was well enough if hee could haue kept him so: He once was (as it were) enthro­ned on high; hee now is imprisoned below: was once not an Angell only, but the Prince of Angels; is now both a Deuill, and the Prince of Deuils: Was once more faire than the [Page 172] Sunne, is now as blacke as Hell: Was once a Spi­rit true, and pure; is now a lying, and vncleane Spi­rit. I will not pity, but scorne him rather: ‘How art thou fallen from Heauen (O Lucifer) Sonne of the Morning?’ And will reioyce to heare, and belecue the Witnesse of his Destru­ction: ‘I beheld Satan, as Lightning, fall from Heauen.’ If I may giue the Deuill his [Page 173] Doome; He is worthily throwne lower, that would haue attempted higher than can be imagined: An Hell is too good for him, that would haue vsurped an Heauen: He merits to be confounded to Nothing that so insulted against All things. Did he (thinke you) so ambitiously af­fect a Diety? Certainly, Diabolisme was too lit­tle for him. Surely, No finite Creature can be ca­pable of so infinite an Euill; as to arrogate and attempt Diuine Maiesty to it selfe. I rather thinke [Page 174] (then he enuyed the Ma­iesty to the Creatour) be enuyed the Perfection to the Creature; and glo­ried in his owne. He saw he was a goodly Thing, and mighty; & thought he was so of himselfe, and none was so beside him: Others he dee­med subiect, and him­selfe onely indepen­dant. He ought at first to haue acknowledged his maker; but he then gloried in himselfe. The height then of Satans Am [...] tion, was not so much a rebellious attempt to bee [Page 175] like God; as a Stubborne neglect rather, to bee thankfull to God, for what he was. And what high­er Contempt could he haue imagined, then so Proud a Neglect? This therefore exiled him his blessed and perfect Seat, and State: and made him (of all Crea­tures) the most euill and accursed. His Pride threw Satan out of Hea­uen, and made him a De­uill of an Angell: Our Pride also will presse vs downe to Hell, and make vs Fiends of Men. Hee [Page 176] that endured not Pride in Angels; how shall hee suffer it in Men? How shall Dust and Ashes bee lifted vp, without Con­susion: sith this Princi­pality gloried not, but to his Shame?

Of all Sinnes, God hates, and plagues Pride; as the Pride of Sinnes. There was no Sinne be­fore Pride; no Sinne now without it: Since euery Sinne is a proud rebellion against the Will of God. What can be more Proud, than to liue a­gainst his Will, by [Page 177] whose will we liue? What more vnthank­full, than to despise his commands; which commands, not onely that he may be knowne to rule, but rather that he may take occasion to reward? Nothing op­poseth God more than Pride; GOD therefore (of all) ‘Resisteth the Proud.’ This made him set his Face against all his Creatures, for enill. He therefore cast LV­CIFER our of Hea­uen, ADAM out of [Page 178] Paradise, the Builders out of BABEL, HA­GAR out of his Ma­sters house, IEZABEL out of the Window, SAVL out of his King­dome, NEBVCHAD­NEZZAR out of his Condition, HEROD out of his Life: He there­fore cast CORE and his Company into the Earth, HAMAN into the Aire, PHARAOH and his Host into the Water, and the SODO­MITES into the Fire: He therefore cast IEZA­BEL to the Dogges, [Page 179] the BETHEL Chil­dren to the Beares, and the enuious Lords vn­to the Lions. All Gods Creatures fight for him, when he sets himselfe to resist the Proud. God is Lord ouer Man, more than Man is Lord ouer the Creatures: Nor are the Creatures bound to serue Man, longer than Man serues God: If he will be so proud, as to kicke against him that is his Maker; they will bee so bold as to striue against him that should be their Master. The bigge [Page 180] and lofty Creatures; Buildings, Trees, Mountaines, Rocks; these all are obnoxious to euery Tempest, and Thundering: while the low and little shrimps and Shrubs, shroud and stand secure: These are dasht, and These incou­raged by him; ‘that putteth downe the Mighty from their Seat, and ex­alteth them of low degree.’ Pride (we say) will haue a Fall: [Page 181] This is but the Ladder by which Men climbe to Ruine: This but lifts men vp, to cast them down the more violent­ly & desperately. When you see a Proud Man neare, thinke Iudge­ment not farre off. Where there is Pride in the heart, there is certain­ly a plague at his heeles: Yet a little while, and the Flourishing Bay is gone. Bigge Trees stand seldome till they wi­ther; but are rather blowne or hewen downe before.

Yea but I am hum­ble; Nor is it thanks-worthy, that I am little in mine own eyes. since One greater than I made himselfe of no account. How can we make vs low enough; since He whose shooe latchet we are not wor­thy to vnloose, hum­bled himselfe at our Feet? How can vile­nesse be puffed vp; since He that was Great beyond estimation, made himselfe of no esteeme? It is humilitie enough with vs, that we [Page 183] subiect vs to our Superi­ours, and preferre vs not before our Equals; but too much (we count) to subiect vs to our E­quals, and not preferre vs fore our Inferiours: But (O wondrous Humility!) He subiected him to In­feriours, who among Men and Angels had no Equals. He bowed the Heauens, when he humbled him­selfe to our Life; Hee bowed the Head, when he humbled himselfe to our Death. Odious was our Pride, the Pride of the Sonnes of Men: That [Page 184] could not be cleansed, not be healed, but by so rare Humility, the Humility of the Sonne of God. Why are we puffed; for whom our Sauiour was so emptied, why so lifted, for whom he became so prostrate? What Worme of Earth can be lifted vp, when the God of Heauen was brought so low? We that are base, to what can we be abased; when Hee was humbled that was so high? Oh Dust and Ashes! learne to contemne thy selfe; for whom the God of Spirits was despi­sed. [Page 185] Learne of him that was humbled, not onely for thy Pride; but to make thee humble. Oh learne of him, that saith; ‘Learne of me; for J am meeke and lowly in heart.’

I wonder not that the Deuill was so proud; for he was an Angell bright, and perfect: But it makes me start and gaze, to see Man so; that is but Dung, vile & vanishing away. The Deuill had more to be proud of than hath Man: yet [Page 186] Man will be as proud as the Deuill. What is Man, thus to forget, thus to transgresse his owne Condition? Did he se­riously consider him­selfe, this would make him keepe warily with­in himselfe; at least, not step so lauishly beyond himselfe. Why liftest thou vp thy selfe (O Man!) when thy selfe is enough to pull thee down? Art thou not wret­ched, mortall, euill? Thy blacke Feet will bow thy stiffe necke, notwithstanding thy [Page 187] white Feathers. What art thou but a Shadow, a Sepulcher, a Statue, a Glasse, a Bubble, a Blast, Dung, Dust, and Ashes, Wormes-meat; a crazy Body, and full of Corruption, a cankred Soule, and Fraught with euill: whose Being, no Being; whose Life, no Life; whose Life is gone, or going; whose Death is comming, and will come. And now (Earth and Ashes!) how art thou puffed vp; whose Na­ture, and Lot it is to set­tle, and sinke? What [Page 188] should a Giant doe in a Dwarfe; or so high a minde in so vile a car­kasse? The Sergeant, Purseuant, Catch-poll of the Great King; that knocketh at the doore of Young and Old, high and low, rich and poore, that equals Scepters and Spades, Iron and Straw, Bookes and Babbles: She turns Beauty into Blacknesse, Strength into weak­nesse, Wisdome into Folly, and layes Ho­nour in the Dust. Digge vp the Beggers Graue, [Page 189] open the Princes Tombe; view well both their Skuls, and see how like they looke: compare their Dust, and thou shalt finde no dif­ference. Why doth Man (in his life) so proudly preferre himselfe to the Most, and Best: whom Death shall once equall to the Least, and Last? No man is proud, but he that is ignorant of himselfe. Know then (O Man) at once, and contemne thy selfe: Know whence thou wert, what thou art, and whither thou [Page 190] must: Whence thou wert, from a muddy Slime; What thou art, a rotten Dung; Whi­ther thou must, to the place of Dust and Wormes. In all that was, or is, or is to come; heres nothing to be proud of. How can he be proud of himselfe; whose Birth is a pollu­tion, whose life is a De­solation, whose Death is a Corruption? our Life is but a step to Death; or many Deaths to one Death: Youth is the death of Infancie; why [Page 191] then are we proud in the Toyes of our Infancie? Manhood is the Death of Youth; why then are we proud in the pleasures of our Youth? Age is the Death of Manhood; why then are we proud in the strength ofour Manhood? Decrepitnesse is the Death of Age; why then are we proud in the wisdome of our Age? Lastly, Death is the Death of all, why then are we proud of any?

Tush! what of all this? Thou now thin­kest neuer the worse of thy selfe, for what [Page 192] thou shalt be. Tell thee (thou faist) not what thou wert, or must be; but what thou art. Its all one for that: what thou hast, thou mean'st to make much of it, while thou hast it. Goe to Great-Heart; thou wilt (ere long) be lesse­ned. Bee proud yet a­while of thy selfe: where shall once be thy Selfe, or Pride? Doe, doe; Out-gaze Heauen till Earth gape for thee: and spurne Men, till Men tread vpon thee. Then shall they per­ceiue [Page 193] thee to be as vile; as thou couldst conceiue of them. Yea, when thine Honour, Wis­dome, Beauty, Strength; shall be sowne in Weak­nesse, Horrour, Folly, and Dishonour: Thus shall they entombe and intitle thee at once. [Page] [Page]

BVt whither Sir Hot­spur? what, al in haste? A word (I pray) and you will; yet not (as you vse) a word and a blow. Come prethee, let me walke thee a while, to coole thee. Spur not on too fast; thoul't either jade, or stable thy selfe. I [Page 197] conceiue thee, and can prescribe. Perhaps, thou hast not the wit to rec­kon the Greeke letters; not the Grace (perhaps) to repeate the Lords Prayer: yet (may be) the leasure to take a Turne. In good sadnes, thou art angry; something now ayleth thee. Something? The Foole (sure) hath more wit, than to be an­gry for nothing. One (thou sayest) hath wronged, and vrged thee: Harke a while, and thou shalt heare him say no lesse of thee; than [Page 198] thou now of him. Men are wont to accuse others, when themselues are in fault. The Angry man (e­specially) is seldome but guilty of his own allegati­ons, and Complaints: and oft times wrongs another, in What he sayes, in that he sayes, another hath wronged him.

Nought but a glance, a puffe, a snuffe, a frown, a shoulder, a spurne? and (beside these flouts and scornes) neither stay, nor speake? Thus are our Passions hot vp­on their bent pursuit: [Page 199] thus disdainfull at their least opposition: thus care­lesse of the best aduice. Bid him stay, and be adui­sed. You had as good say nothing: He is resolute­ly bent vpon his rules (I know) which he as ill vnderstands, as fol­lowes: That he ought not to be wronged: That he ought to be satisfied for the wrong.

Surely the man is lost, or lacking; and is whol­ly bent and busied, to seeke and ouertake him­selfe. Or rather, is so ta­ken vp with himselfe [Page 200] on a sudden; that he yet hath no leasure to take vp himselfe. He driues on very furiously, and most stiffely bestirres his stumpes: and yet (I war­rant him) cha [...]es as fast, as he postes; because his feet are so sluggish and vnweildy, that they make no more haste to bring many his other members into action. His spleene which can­not so soone burst out against another, now boyles and bubbles within himselfe. Out vg­ly Hagges, and Bell-dame [Page 201] Witches of our Minds, and Soules! rebells to Reason, and enemies to Sense How doe ye possesse, and mishape vs? With what sophisti­cating dregges of Exor­bitancy doe ye skarre vs from our selues: and hurry vs headlong to that in­conuenience, which we seldome warily recouer; but which we rather shamefully repent too late? If these Tempests hoyse and tosse vs, we rarely re­couer our harbour; but our Ship is either swal­lowed of gulfes, buryed in the waues, or split vpon [Page 202] the rocks. Our Affections (for they haue their Of­fice in vs, without their Fault) become chaste Hand-maids to our Minds, while carefully and discreetly curb'd and awed: but giue them leaue, and Liberty, and they turne inordinate Prosti­tutes to our lusts. Sit close to the Sterne, and let these only apply their owne Oares; and the Ship sayles with a merry gale, and prosperous: But let loose the Reines, and (as vntamed Horses) they hurry along; and at last [Page 203] they throw their Rider. Fire is a good Seruant, but a bad Master; vsefull vpon the hearth, but hurt­full beyond the bounds: Such are our fiery Affe­ctions also: we are not Ty­rants, but must be ma­sters ouer them: we cannot root them, we must re­straine them. Let HA­GAR sit about SARAH, and sheele stirre contenti­on in the whole House of ABRAHAM. That these Bond Huswiues (our Affections) vsurpe ouer Reason, that Free Ma­tron, is enough to disturbe [Page 204] and distract the whole Man. These are the trou­bled waters, in which we cannot see our faces, and shapes: nay, in which we wallow purposely, that we may not see them. These are the dusky Clouds, that obscure the Sunne of our little world, our Reason. If these boysterous Winds get head against vs; they trouble our Sea, perplex our Pilot, split our Ship, and driue vs all to wrack. But I say no more to my Selfe. We may be­wayle our Selues in O­thers; it is in vaine, that [Page 205] we warne Others within our Selues. Haue after the Haslting; nay, haue at him with an en­counter as resolute, as speedy.

But soft; not too neare him. The man turnes bigge, and sower vpon me. He seem'd Impatient at the first; and now growes Fu­rious at a next affront. Anger is wont to resistand assault those it meets with, as those it aymes at: and growes as short against the meane occurrences, as against the maine Oppo­site. [Page 206] See, see! Hee's all on a froth and fume. Looke on him well, and like him worse. His Head startles, Haires bri­stle, Browes wrinkle, Eyes sparkle, Teeth chatter, Tongue stam­mers, lips quauer, Ioynts tremble, Hands clap, Fingers twitter, Feet wander: His Bloud ri­ses, Stomacke fills, veines swell; His Heart burnes, Breast boyles, Breath shortens, and his Colour goes and comes: Now red as fire, now pale as a clout; [Page 207] now rashly hot and fla­ming, now fearefully wanne and chill. What vncouth alterations of Mind? Did you euer see such franticke anticke gestures of Body? In this Glasse (I warne you all) behold, and abhorre yourselues. Did he here also see himselfe, he would scarce know himselfe; yet scarce that, ere loath himselfe. The Man quite marres a good Face of his owne. How vncomely and loath­some is his Mind now (could you marke it) [Page 208] that workes these distem­pers, and distractions in his Body? He seemes (me thinkes) as vgly, as out­ragious: and his Feature not more vnseemely, than his Feats. Marke him now: Now he stands, now starts, now stampes, now Stares, now shrugges, now scratches, now snuffes, now grinnes, now gapes, now wrings. Such Apish tricks, such Bedlam prancks; as you would iudge him (in his Fitt) either a Foole, or or madman: And who [Page 209] will thinke you other in his case? Anger is a short madnesse. Ah peeuish passi­on, that thus distempers and distracts vs! of all our hard and aduerse Af­fections, the most harsh and churlish. The rest haue some easement; this only will no mitigation. Feare hath some Bold­nesse; Sorrow some Ioy; Despayre some Hope; this Fury only hath no mer­cy. They moue vs, but this inrages: They disturbe, but this confounds our quiet.

Yet more tricks with [Page 210] this angry Ape? Come a loft Iack: Sirrah? How doe your fellow Brutes startle and bestirre them in a moued mood? See the Sport: He now rampes like a Lion, bri­stles like a Boare, fomes like a Beare, kicks like a Horse, stampes like a Bull, pushes like a Ram, grinnes like a Dogge, scratches like a Cat, swels like a Toad, hisses like a Snake, bills like a Cocke, tugges like a Goose, buzzes like a Beetle, stings like a Waspe, and now [Page 211] mumpes and mowes like himselfe. Nay a­bout Iacke. He now bends his browes, gnashes his teeth, scrat­ches his head, teares his haire, beats his breast, wrings his hands, smites the post with his fist, and spurns the dust before him with his feet. The an­gry Ape said I? I should haue said the Ape of An­ger. There is no sauage­nesse of Beasts, which he here imitates not, if not exceeds. Nay, hee'le follow the very Fiends [Page 212] in his fury. Man is in nothing more Brutish (I yet say not Deuillish) than in his Anger. He is well compared, to what he so well resem­bles. I shall thinke him neither better, nor o­ther than a Beast; that suffers his senslesse pas­sion to blinde and sway the Reason of a Man. No better than a Beast? Much worse. A Beast knowes not how to be an­gry: Anger is the Anger of a man. Mans is the sin; a Beasts is but the sha­dow, and shape of Anger: [Page 213] A Beast oft shewes the vi­olence; a Man only hath the vice thereof: Such (perhaps) seize, wound, kill; roare, and bray, bel­low and bleat: yet forth­with (for all the An­ger, or Sorrow) fall to Feed, or Sleepe: He only hath this Ground, and Grudge within him. And hereupon, no Man but prone, no Beast but loth to be prouoked: It striues still to shunne, what he oft thirsts to iucurre.

My Friend, be faire condition'd; tis best for you to know, and [Page 214] loue your selfe. Nay my haughty Haire-braines, tis no pishing, tushing, laughing, scowling, scoffing, scorning mat­ter. Scorne thou my Pi­ty, while I pity thy Scorne. Another hath wronged thee; alas! and alas that thou therefore wrongst thy selfe: Thou needs must vex thy selfe, because another hath vexed thee. I had thought (howeuer) that thou couldst not so haue ha­ted Another, as not to loue thy Selfe. But [Page 215] what carest thou, how thou hazards thee, to hurt him. A Bee hath stung thee, and thou'lt pull the whole Hiue a­bout thy eares: yea (sil­ly Bee!) thy selfe wilt also sting, though in the losse of thy Sting, thou lose thy Life. Thou'lt throw thy Dare howeuer, though more by that meanes light vpon thee. It is nothing, if thou perish in his ruine. Ah silly Fencer! but naked, and yet spightfull in thy Frayes; that lookest [Page 216] only where to hit the the other, not where to guard thy selfe. An an­gry Man is his owne worst enemy; and of­fends none more than himselfe: Hee is often more crucified in the Thirst; than the other damnified in the Execu­tion of Reuenge. Anger is a Fury, that rightly haunts the heart, that harbours it: a Viper that worthily gnawes the wombe, that doth con­ceiue it. It is but iust, that an inordinate Mind and froward, should be a [Page 217] Plague, a Torment, a Danger, a Destruction to it selfe.

I haue cast thy Wa­ter: Ile tell thee what thou feeles, which (be­cause thou feeles) thou canst not tell. Thy Dis­ease is the spice of an Ague; commonly cal­led the Physicians Shame; which euery Man is here to himselfe. The Ground is a chole­ricke Humour, the Seat a naughty Stomack, the Cause a bad Digestion, of hard meats especi­ally; the Signe a Bur­ning, [Page 218] a Shaking Fit; the Effects a Distem­per of the Body, and a Distraction of the Mind: the Cure is, to be let bloud in a Wilde Veine, to purge gently for Choler, to abstaine from sharpe and bitter Prouocations, and ap­ply thy stomacke only with pleasant and easie Leniments. Nay if you take it not in time, be­fore the third Fit at the furthest; it growes to more Diseases, than I can either Cure, or Count. Then is it the [Page 219] Inflaming of the Bloud, the Swimming of the Braine, the Blearing of the Eyes, the Burning of the Heart, the Bel­ching of the Stomacke, the Shaking of the Hands: Strifes Inflam­mation, and loues Op­pilation; the Drop­sie of Indignities, and Consumption of all Humanity. The Minds Extasie, casting Reason in a trance: the Bodies Lethargie, lulling the sense asleepe. Name me any thing thats bad; and it is no [Page 220] better. A roaring Lion, a rauening Wolfe, a sa­uage Tigre, a wilde Boare, a she Beare, an vntamed Beast, an vn­brideled Horse, an vn­yoked Oxe, an vn­taught Ape: a Cloud, a Wind, a Showre, a Storme, a Sea, a Waue, a Gulfe, a Rocke, a Wracke; a Racke, a Pit, a Hell. All the Ele­ments out of their ele­ment. A consuming Fire, a pestilent Ayre, a troubled Water, and a quaking Earth. Thus can I call it all thats [Page 221] bad; and what shall I say to thee? A foule euill is Anger, and egre­gious. Theres no Euill, which it either causes not, or matches not. What Euils to Strifes, Enuies, Mur­ders? and whence are they? What Euills doe men beyond it: and a­mongst vs Men, What Euils are done beside it?

Thou knowst (per­haps) nor it, nor thy selfe, by these Names of mine: or lou'st rather not to heare on't in harsh tearmes. I now come to thee; thus [Page 222] mince it with thee. It is forsooth (as you com­monly call it) an Hasty nature: So; its thus knowne in all: but how call you it each in o­ther? Oh, tis the Soul­diers Stoutnesse, the Ministers Earnestnesse, the Womans Pettish­nesse, the Sicke-mans Peeuishnes, the Young­mans Rashnesse, the Old-mans Testinesse, the Priuate-mans Cho­ler, and the Great mans Displeasure. Be it so in the Seueralls; what is it yet in the Summe: E­uery [Page 223] man in his Hu­mour; and yet but one Humour in euery Man. Are Sinnes lesse, for the varietie of Names, and Subiects? Anger may be more impotent in one than other; yet is it not lesse euill. We all haue not our Might answerable to our Mood. It is with more Rancour, than Power, that the very Waspe stings, and Worme turnes againe.

But its good (and it be but to sharpen a mans wits) to be angry a lit­tle, now and then. Why not better, to be al­wayes [Page 224] more? A Good thing is not Ill, because it is more. The Thing is meerely euill, whose Increase may make it worse. Vertues onely know a meane: Vices haue a more or lesse. A lesse Euill hath not more Benefit, but lesse Danger: A lesse Anger, is a lesse Euill; it there­fore Profits not more, but hurts lesse.

Who I angry at thee? at thy Anger rather: Nor angry at thy An­ger I. It is not fitting a Fault should take vp­on [Page 225] it, to correct a Fault. Yet let me say; Zeale, and Iustice, reprehend and punish, with ear­nestnesse, with seuerity; not rage, not cruelty The Philosopher would not smite his Seruant, because he was angry: nor (were I so) would I chide thee. We are not angry at him, to whom we would the Amend­ment of euill, together with the punishment. Is the Law therefore angry, because it conuicts, the Iudge because hee con­demnes, the Officer be­cause [Page 226] hee executes the Malefactor? It is Pietie that moues here, not In­firmitie. The sword of Iu­stice is not put into a Mad mans hand. Autho­ritie requires not a rash, a lawlesse rigour; to what a graue, and iust seuerity can execute. Are Magi­strates set for Posts, and Cyphers; idle, and im­moueable? It is the Spurre of their Office, that now moues them: They are angry at Enor­mities; the very Cause is enough, to exempt it from that Name: It is not per­turbation [Page 227] now, but indig­nation. Take away this spirit and life of the Common Wealth; and each ciuill Society faints in dulnesse and heartles­nesse; yea groanes vnder disorder, confusednesse and ruine. These may sin, in being not angry: These may ‘bee angry and sinne not:’ Thou both art angry, and sinnest.

True, true; The Ant (I know) hath her gall, the Flie her spleene, and the Worme will turne againe. Nature (I haue [Page 228] learned) hath giuen to all Creatures a desire and endeuour to pre­serue them selues in their proper Being: and hence it is they so resist, or auoid whatsoeuer may oppose, or endanger it. Euen vilest Creatures wax offended, at what may molest their peace and safety: How much rather then is the noblest Creature displeased at in­iuries, at indignities? A Man is worthily moued at his Friends Wrong, and his owne: and a Christian (aboue all) at [Page 229] his Gods Dishonour. But what a Man is he, that will wrangle with a Worme; that will fight with a Flie; that a Mouse can moue him? We haue such a sort of touchy Spirits; whose Tinder hearts, apt to receiue the least Sparke of a Flinty offence; kindle forthwith the Match of Contention. Like Thunder and Lightning, a Cracke and a Flash, a Word and a Blow, The Deuill (I thinke.) at first extra­cted. Salt-Peter from [Page 230] their moulds and ashes: Their very Nature is Gunpowder; you can no sooner touch it, than it flies in your face. Theres a Sparke, all Fire and Tow; euery blast of breath is the Bellowes to kindle him: and euery. Blocke in his way, is Fewell for his Fire. He is too forward in his Frowardnesse, that fals out with euery Thing, vp­on euery Occasion. Say no Occasion be giuen him; heele rather faine it, than want it. Say no thing oppose him [Page 231] hee'le yet be at oddes with himselfe. Anger is oft impatient, euen of Ob­seruance: and longs to be croft, that so it may get to vent it selfe. Say still as he sayes, to sooth him; yet hee'le hastily bid you (as Caelius the Sena­tour bade his yeelding Client) say somewhat against him; that so you may be knowne to be one beside him. Hee'le wrangle with you for Goats haire, and stand against you for a Straw. Pinnes, and Points, are enough to [Page 232] set Boyes together by the eares. He takes it in high disdaine, you so carelesly bedasht his Doublet; and vowes to be euen with you, since you hapt to tread vpon his Toes. You haue either taken the Wall, or not pledg'd the Health; and he must needs fight with you. He frets and fumes at his Fortune; Curses and conjures the Deuill, and the Witch; bites, and burnes Cards and Dice, and now he is satisfied in a silly reuenge. There [Page 233] is no Trifle, which a Wise man cannot laugh at; or a Foole be angry at. Rather than his in­iuries shall be vnreuen­ged; hee'le pursue the Waspe that stung him, bawle with the Dogge that barks at him, beat the Wind that blowes in his face, fight with the Post that with­stands him, and spurne the very Stone he stum­bles at. Creatures all as insensible of his Anger and Reuenge; as him­selfe is of the Euill and Indiscretion. I haue [Page 234] seene a Childe, that fallen, full Angerly would beat the Ground: Somewhat had of­fended it, and it did not know what to be re­uenged of. Children are moued with but ap­pearances of hurt and wrong: and likewise are appeased but with fained strokes and teares. How Babish are we men in our Passions? We are easily angry, but at what we know not: Something seemes to wrong vs, and we haue some desire of reuenge. [Page 235] It is a shadow of Offence, that moues vs; and a shadow of Amends, will still vs. A but counter­feited Appeasement, is enough to a but conceited Indignation.

Bid BALAAM hold his hands; and smiteno Asse, but him­selfe. Can he neither see, nor feele; to strike so at himselfe through her sides? Poore Asse! she had too much of his Load; though he had spar'd his strokes. But hee will needs stab her for stumbling. I haue [Page 236] knowne such Bedlam Balaams, as would wrathfully reuile and curse, furiously smite and slay their silly Beast, for but failing or falling vnder them; when (alas) already wearied or maimed by them. How shall I thinke him other than Brutish; that will match and mea­sure his indignation to a Beast? NAAMAN snuffes, because his Physitian would cure him another, and bet­ter way, than hee thought. He look't he [Page 237] should heale him by the Sound of a word, by the Touch of a finger: had he not better Wash, and be healed by him­selfe? Hee thought this was not so good; be­cause he thought not of it. Reason would haue esteemed that, which was the best: his Rash­nesse would haue that best, which hee had esteemed. The Reason of [...] Man alwayes thinkes what is fittest to be done: his Rashnesse only hastens him to doe, what hee [...]hinkes. This Euill hath [Page 238] Anger also, that it will not be aduised. It (while it opposes euery thing) endures not any thing should oppose it. It iudges after its owne Fancie, and does accordingly; and will by no meanes bee drawne from it selfe. The Truth is but a Tale, that gaine-sayes: and the Right does it Wrong, that oppugnes it. No mans Anger seemes vniust to himselfe. Howeuer, it thinks better of Obstina­cie, than Repentance: and will repeat rather, than recant the Euill: yea, will [Page 239] the rather seeme to iustifie it, because it would not seem to accuse it selfe. NAA­MAN therefore dista­sted the Waters of IOR­DAN; because he was only enamoured of the Riuers of DAMAS­OVS. Many men rashly kicke at, and peeuishly in­terpret at the worst, what is Said, or Done for the best; only because it thwarts and crosses their peruerse and Obstinate Humour.

BALAAM sto­macks his Asse; and IONAS pets for his [Page 240] Gourd. Theres no such Impatience of Men, no such Indiscretion; as to be moued at Trifles, to mur­mure for them. It is but Childish (you will say) to whine for Puppets. What shall I say of these? The Mind is but base like them, that sō values them, to be so an­gry for them. A gene­rous Horse will scorne to meddle with a baw­ling Curre. The vilest Natures are the most querulous and conten­tious: much more in vi­lest Things. A Foole, a [Page 241] Childe, a Woman, a Sicke man, and hee thats twice a Childe, (they of the feeblest Condition, Sex, and Age) name me one be­side them, so easily and vnaduisedly moued. Be not thou one of them, and let them be all One. So he wisely Counsels thee. ‘Bee not hasty in thy spi­rit to be angry: for anger resteth in the bosome of Fooles.’

Haue I rak't vp your [Page 242] Subble; soone in, soone out; soone hot, soone cold? I must hammer your Wedge too, thats so long in heating, and burnes so sore. The yel­ping Curre did but snarle and snatch, and I shooke him off: this sullen Dogge will fasten hard, and bite sore (I feare me) he lookes so grimme. But Ile now doe my best to staue him. Ha! The Mad­man and his sword are ill met: It were safer that the curst Cowes horns were shorter. An­ger [Page 243] is so wretched of it selfe, and impotent; that it thunders it, when it hath now gotten autho­rity and power. Take heed of him; hee hath drawne his blade, and vowes, not to put it vp, till he be reuenged: His Life (he sweares) shall answer for the Wrong. Oh how hee'le hacke him, and hew him, the next hee meets him. Doe you heare him? Hee'le cleaue his Cox­combe, bumbaste his hide, rattle his bones, split his heart, let out [Page 244] his puddings about his heeles, and garter him in his guts. His bloud is vp; and will not settle, but in bloud. Outragious and bloudy villaine! irefull Hell-hound, sa­uage Tigre, Monster of Men, and Deuill of Monsters. Thou goest about to reuenge one, and a petty Indignitie; and so offerest another, and more hatefull Iniu­rie. Anger (Oh this An­ger) is not an vnreasonable only, but an vnruly Passion. It knowes nei­ther Ground, nor Bound; [Page 245] while it is both Causlesse, and Extreme. Cursed CAIN! looke vpon thy Brother, he is thy Makers Image also; as fearefully and wonderful­ly made, as thy selfe: his bones, and haires are as strictly numbred, and his bloud more precious in his Markers Eyes. What Fu­ry of Hell prouokes thee to destroy that Image; which no art, no ability of thine can repaire; no amends can acquit? Tush! whats a Death to a Dishonour? His Life shall but pay for [Page 246] thy Disgrace: Ah! nor thy Confusion, but for his Life.

The LAW (when it was vsed at the most, and interpreted at the worst) allowed no more, than an Eye for an Eye, a Tooth for a Tooth, a Hand for a Hand, a Foot for a Foot: Stripe for Stripe, Wound for Wound; but Bloud answered not but for Bloud; nor but for Life, was Life required. Do I instance (think'st thou) for thy priuate Retaliation of [Page 247] wrongs? rather against that ouerplus of Euill, whereby thy reuenge tyrannizes so farre be­yond the Offence. HE, that knew best how farre that LAW did stretch, and how long it should last; now tells thee otherwise: ‘Yee haue heard that it hath beene said, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But J say vn­to you, that ye resist not Euill.’ The Talion [Page 248] Law (when it was) was for publike Iustice, not for priuate Reuenge: Especially, sith the Re­uenge of a man knowes no Order, holds no Equalitie, in his owne wrong: So that commonly there is more wrong in the Re­uenge done, than in the Wrong receiued. Hee hath endammaged thy Goods; must thou therfore assault his Per­son? He hath torne thy Coat; must thou there­fore teare his Flesh? He pluckes thee by the Haire; wilt thou ther­fore [Page 249] pull him by the Throat? He hath ble­mished thy Name; and must thou therefore spoile his Life? While thou wilt be thus satis­fied, for the wrong hee hath done thee: what satisfaction wilt thou make him, for the wrong thou hast done? Hee is the more Offender himselfe, that seekes to auenge him about the Of­fence. Let it not be plea­ded, whether hath first, or last: it shall be iudged, whether hath most offen­ded. Besides the Ground, [Page 250] and Occasion thereof; this euill hath Anger in the End, and Execution; that it is vniust. His Wrath is iust alone, that shall once render to euery one accor­ding to his Workes. Thou wicked SERVANT, and mercilesse! wilt thou pull thy Fellow by the throat; and hale him to Prison, for a few Farthing Tres­passes? Thy LORD shall once binde thee hand and foot, and cast thee into Vtter Darknesse for many Talent Offences.

Anger is but the De­uils Wrath; and the angry [Page 251] Man but his Weapon: A Weapon wherewith hee kills double, or two at once; ones Soule together with anothers Body. Hel­lish Instruments of Fury are they all, to set a World in combustion; and bring themselues to confusion. What a spite is this? Thus the Deuill vses Mans hand, for Mans destruction. Thus laughs the Aduersary, that euery mans Sword is in his Fellowes side: thus glories, that Man is his owne, and others ru­ine. God made Man Mans [Page 252] God: but the Deuill thus makes Man Mans Deuill. Shall I turne Actor in this balefull. Tragedie of Men, and Dayes; and inueigh against this Fury of the World? Direfull Miscreant, and hatefull Monster of Hell! impatient of our Being, irefull at our Quiet, hurt­full to our Safetie, and dismall through all our Dayes! Who but SATAN did first enwombe thee? Woe, and alas! that Man did euer enbosome thee. Thy rage hath vndone more Liues, than the [Page 253] force of Death hath dis­solued. Thou Plague of Mankind [...]hat hast cost them such measurelesse, such numberlesse, Bloud and Wounds. Not Tigres, not Dogges, not Vipers, but Men, ah Men are growne the impatient, the froward, and stubborne Generation: thus vn­towardly doe they degene­rate from themselues. The Lion, the Beare, the Wolfe; feed on the Hart, the Asse, the Sheepe: but Man thirst­eth after Mans bloud, and the greedy Canni­ball [Page 254] gluts himselfe with Mans flesh. Aske why he is so hengry? It is because he is so angry at his Fare: It is his Fury that prouokes him to that Dogged Appetite; and gets him such a Stomack to it. Reuenge is but the Executioner of all those Cruelties, where­of Anger is the first In­uentor: That but the Pra­ctitioner, this the Engi­neere. Whence come Stabblings, Stranglings, Poysonings, and rufull Maceratings? This first taught, and vrged, to [Page 255] digge out a mans Eyes, to slit his Nose, to cut out his Tongue, to hew off his hands, to carbo­nate his Flesh, and shiuer his Bones. Yet more, and worse; Because it will not doe a Man the Fauour to dispatch him: it studies to put him to as many Deaths, as Wounds: and thinkes that if be perish other, or sooner than it would; that he hath as good as escaped, in comparison to what it meant him. Diuers hath this Euill di­uersly surpriz'd and ru­in'd. [Page 256] One in his Bed, another at his Table, another on his Way, another in the Church. Not Time, Place, Persons, Occasions, can forbid An­gers rash and raging at­tempts. Widowes and Orphans, Young and Old, lament and curse this Euill; since it vn­timely tooke away the Husband from the Wife of his bosome, the Pa­rent from the tender In­fants head, the staffe of his age from the aged Father. What say I thus of some? This Firebrand [Page 257] of the World, hath set all Nations together by the eares, hath dilapida­ted whole Cities, depo­pulated whole coun­tries: hath made moun­taines of Carkasses, Ri­uers of Bloud, and Mists of gasping Breaths: Outragious Hagge, and odious! had the World but one Head; she (with Cali­gula) would strike it off at a blow: So she might see the whole Fabricke in a flame; shee (Nero-like) would not grudge her ashes to a second [Page 258] Chaos. This euill hath Anger thought, and done; and would yet do more: It neuer but had a desire, aboue the power; a thirst, beyond the practice of re­uenge. Yet it thunders, though it now can dart no more: hauing done the vtmost spite and rage, it yet will threaten worse. Thus (as followeth) haue the Furious vow­ed and sworne against the liues of their Ad­uersaries: To giue their Carkasses to the Beasts of the field, to the Fowles of the aire; to [Page 259] strow their ashes vpon the Sea; to make them they shall neither know, nor say who hurt them; not to leaue so much as one, to carry newes of the rest: That hee'le make them eat their owne dung, and drinke their owne stale; that not their God shall deliuer them out of his hands: That he meanes to ply them with Pow­der and Pellets, as thicke as mist and haile; that hee'le tread their Gray-haires to [Page 260] their well nigh retur­ned dust; strangle the Infant in the Parents eye, and arme; spoile their Virgins, rip vp their Bigge, bereaue their Mothers; Make their Men to draw in his Waggons, to grinde in his Mills, to dig in his Mines: Their Princes necks shall bee but his Footstooles; and their Young-mens backes but the Asses for his loads: Thus roare the Lions, thus hisse the Serpents, thus barke the Dogges. Nought but [Page 261] spue out their rancour, but breath out reuenge. These haue (I marke) most commonly gone together (I would like Fellowes to the Gal­lowes) the Angry, and the bloudy minded. Murder was the first fruits of Anger, CAIN rose vp in a Fury against his Brother, and slew him. So, the ‘Brethren in iniquitie:’ What of them? Fearefull! and to bee detested: ‘In their Anger they [Page 262] slew a man:’ And therefore (may such o­ther, fare no better) ‘Cursed be their An­ger, for it was fierce; and their Wrath, for it was Cruell.’ As for me, (and so sayes euery harmlesse Spirit) ‘O my soule! come not thou into their secret: vnto their assembly (mine Honour!) be not thou vnited.’

Theres yet an old Beare to bait: I would [Page 263] he were blinde, or toothlesse; it would be good sport to whip him. What must hee such haling to the stake? As loth as hee is to come thither; I would bee loth to trust him there. That bubbling Brooke was more tur­bulent: but this still and standing Lake is more violent; Old An­ger (I meane) which makes vp the slownesse, in the weight of Ire. A Monster of a tedious breeding, of an vnfor­tunate birth; a Serpent [Page 244] of a Difficult hatch, and dangerous; an ill Li­quour that being kept too long, hath tarted and tainted the Caske; a Poole that hath for­merly beene stirred, and yet can finde no time to settle: a Lion that long couches, and slum­bers sullenly; yet rouzes him in the end, and roares hideously: a Fire that hauing long laine smothered, breaks out at last into a fierce and furious flame: a mote at first, that offends; a Beame at last, that [Page 265] blinds the eye. Compari­sons are not here more odi­ous, than is the Vice. Liken (and you will) the growth of this ill Weed, to any thing that waxeth worse.

Marke how to stint, and stop it. Crush the Cockatrice in the Egge, push the Scorpion in the shell, hunt the Young Foxes, while they are yet but petty Cubs; take the Small Brat, and dash his head a­gainst a stone. Anger is a disease, with more ease, and honesty, preuented; than recouered. This Fu­ry [Page 266] doth, as doe many wilde Beasts, and Ser­pents, namely, change their Names, as they grow in bignesse, and yeares. In the infancy, they call it Haste, and Passion; in the Youth, Anger and Choler; in the Growth, Ire, and Wrath; in the Old Age, Hatred and Malice. Thus doe I distinguish the Age; wilt thou I also deter­mine it; Anger is then Old, when it liues aboue a Day. It then liues too long, when it suruiues the Ephemeron: which [Page 267] (they say) liues no lon­ger; than I said Anger ought to liue. He that bids You ‘Let not the Sun goe downe vpon thy Wrath;’ forbids withall, you should let the Sun (gone downe) to rise vpon it. Two Suns are too many for an An­gry man to see. Accession of dayes addes vnto this Euill. Haste is so turn'd batred; For so is it de­fined. Hatred is anaged, and strengthened Anger: and Anger doubled by dayes, and degrees. Ha­tred [Page 268] (for so I now call it) hauing taken long and deepe root in the hearts of Men, is not readily & easily weed­ed thence. A mans loue oft turnes to hate; his Hate seldome returnes to Loue. Implacable man, and impious! His euill lasts with his Life: Nay, when he is dead, it will be a Question (as was of Sylla) whether Hee, or his Anger died soo­nest? They story Some to haue hated so while they liued; that dead, and burned together, [Page 269] their flame notwith­standing was diuided: And Others, who slaine together, their bloud refused to be mingled. The Sinne of a Man out­liues himselfe: this Sinne especially. A Good mans Anger (they say) is soone dead: but a bad Man (I see) is sooner dead, than his Anger.

How cam'st thou (prethee) to be so cho­lericke? The Man (I know well) hath it by Kinne, it cost him nought. I was saying, the Hate and Ire of Men [Page 270] liu'd, when Men were dead. I cannot say, their Hate liues with the Dead: I haue noted, the Dead haue deriued their hatred to the Liuing (I speake not of Enmi­tie betwixt Nation and Nation; so mutuall, so continuall.) The Man hates, the Sonne hates: and why? his Friend, or Father hated formerly. Hee but euilly succeeds, that will be heire also to his Fathers euills. There is obserued a naturall Antipathie, an hidden Enmitie, or inbred A­uersenesse [Page 271] betwixt Trees and Trees; as betwixt the Oke and the Oliue, the Vine and the Cole-wort: betwixt Beasts and Beasts; as betwixt the Elephant and the Dragon, the Panther and Hyaena: betwixt Serpent and Serpent, the Spider and the Toad: Bird and Bird; the Eagle & the Wren, the Owle and other Birds: Fishes & Fishes; the Lamprey and the Conger, and the two great Fishes call Orca and Balana. No such innate [Page 272] and contrary Qua­lities are obserued be­twixt Man and Man: though indeed, the succession of Hatred would giue to note (as it were) a natu­rall Antipathie betwixt them. Wee know, and say it is their Vice, how­euer they would make vs beleeue it is their Na­ture that sets them at so cominuall odds. Harke, O Man? thou that at once proceedest from thy Fathers Flesh, and Fro­wardnesse: that this kest thou dageneratest from [Page 273] his Stocke, if from his Vice: There was neuer but one Enmitie worthy, yea necessary the propa­gating; euen that, which God (at first) prouoked, and proclaimed irrecon­cileable: ‘J will put Enmitie betweene thee, and the Wo­man; and betweene thy Seed, and her Seed.’ Ah thou Traitor to thy God, and Foe to thine owne Soule! why makest thou a Couenant with thine, and thy fore­fathers [Page 274] Aduersary? That mortall iarre was only to be deriued to Succession. How many Sonnes haue vindicated their Fathers wrongs to the full? Euen successions of Families haue continued the Strife and Debate, their fore­fathers began betwixt their Houses. Alas! that an ISRAELITE grudges at, and striues with an ISRAELITE (a Man with a Man, a Christian with a Christian) And yet rather suffers any Iniury, and Slauery; than breake an hard Couenant, a sea­red [Page 275] Peace with PHA­RAOH, the Deuill. O all yee cankred Sonnes of ADAM! Impes toge­ther of his Loynes, and Lusts: How is it ye haue forgotten the Old Quar­rell, which though it be­gan in your First Fa­ther; yet it equally con­cernes your Selues? You haue an Aduersary to you all; why wrangle, and struggle yee, one with a nother? Were you not ioyned to him; you could not thus be diuided against your selues!

Me thinks, I should [Page 276] (by this) make thee an­gry at nothing but thine Anger. If Anger (as I haue said) be a Passion so inordinate, vnseemly, Brutish, Pusillanimous, Enuious and mischie­uous; if it haue neither Ground, nor End; if neither Delight, nor Gaine; if it obscure Reason, and exclude Grace; if it bee dete­stable to God, Di­stastefull to Man, and Preiudiciall to him­selfe; What Wise man, and Good, will now be anger; Had Anger ei­ther [Page 277] Pleasure, or Profit in it; there were some en­ticement to it: But Anger is an Euill, euery wayes so euill; that it carries no colour for its entertain­ment. It is by a shew of profit, or Delight; that other Sinnes insinuate: this sinne of Anger only, intrudes vpon a Man, with palpable vexation, and losse.

Yea, but thou canst temper thy selfe, and take vp thine Anger in time; and checke it, ere it rush into these rash, and rigorous Ex­orbitances. [Page 278] Tell mee; hadst thou not better quite exclude it; than (hauing admitted it) now busie, and trouble thy selfe, to guide it? It is safer to keepe out, than get out of a Fray: and better not to hazzard the Disease, than pre­sume vpon the Remedy. The Courser (by your leaue) is not so soone taken vp; when now on his race, now in his speed: The Rocke is steepe, and thou art heady; how readily, and easily, dost thou now [Page 279] fall past recouery? Thy Sea is troubled, thy Ship is tossed, Anger sits Pilot; and (ere thou thinkst on an An­chor, an Harbour) be­hold a Wracke. A man may with more ease for­bid his Anger; than hee can command it: with more safety may hee pre­uent it, than recall it. The Entrance of many things are in our hands, but not their Issue. While yet it is not, Anger is the power of the Man: when it now is, the Man is in the power of his Anger [Page 280] Set Anger once on foot, and it runnes, not so farre as you will let it; but will hale you rather as farre as it list. I cannot but smile, thou'lt needs ac­count thee Captaine, and This thy common Souldier; to fight vnder thee, for thee: Lead him warily on, heele scarce come fairely off. While thou'lt sit Iudge, to passe the Sentence; and make it thy Cryer, to put thee in mind, and mood: be wise; thou maist soone condemne thy selfe.

How Man? Call and account thee a Coward, an Asse, an Idiot, a Blocke, a Stoicke, a Stocke? And why? be­cause thou wantest an Heart, a Spirit, the Va­lour, the Courage, to be angry at them; to check and curbe in thy Fury, the Indignities they doe thee. Tell them (and thou wilt) from me; They only are so; that so say; so thinke. What a Madnesse of Men is this, and Folly of theirs? Are we therefore senslesse, because not impatient of [Page 282] our Wrongs? Base minds! thus to play vpon not Patience. It is for Fooles, and Peasants, to iudge them sottish; whom they finde not peeuish: For Knaues, and Vil­laines, to doe him the next Wrong; because he so calmly put vp the first. I tell thee, (and so say) the Best, and Wi­sest) Anger addes Cou­rage to no Man, that is not so without it; But rather, basely inthralls him to anothers Power, and Mercy; while hee is not in his owne. Than the [Page 283] Peeuish, none more Sla­uish: So base an Affecti­on, lurkes not but in ba­sest brest. Vilest wret­ches are the rather mo­ued; because they would, but cannot be reuenged. What thinkst thou of the Body, that yelpes and yexes, at any small push, at euery sudden motion? is it not too too crazy? To cry out you hurt it, when you scarce touch it. Verily, the Minde is as corrup­ted and cankred, as the Body vlcerous; to shrinke and shrike, at [Page 284] euery push and pricke. To stumble, and wrangle at euery Offence; argues but the Minde wretched, and infirme. I neuer saw any Man in this case; whom I iudged not Boyish, Womanish, Foolish, Sickish, or (at least) Old and Peeuish. Now on the contrary: None so magnanimous (in my minde) as he that forgetteth iniuries. Nor am I of another minde, than the Wise Man: ‘Jt is the glory of a Man, to passe ouer [Page 285] a Transgression.’ It must needs be a right noble minde he beares; that he can, but scornes to be reuenged. A Man is a Lord in his Fauour: in his Anger is Man but a Slaue. He hath fought a stout, and stately Fight; that hath subdued his Af­fections. I will euer thinke the best of such an one, and speake no worse. Bold Heart, and Braue! that hath alrea­dy curbed his Passions, and cured them to a skarre: hauing only remaining [Page 284] [...] [Page 285] [...] [Page 286] in himselfe, but as it were the Sha­dowes, and Suspitions of his Affections. But a Coward is he (will I be bold to tell him) and base! that (could hee winne a World) can­not here conquer him­selfe.

Thus much I of Thee; and (vnlesse bet­ter) too much. Now heare mee of my Selfe. Credit mee; I either so am, or (at least) would be so; as I now will shew mee to thee, though so I boast mee [Page 287] not. It is Honestie, and but Modestie, that wee would so set forth our selues; as willing Pat­ternes, for others to imi­tate: and not as idle Pictures only, to be ga­zed at.

I am not (Feather­like) stirred and tossed at euery puffe and blast of Discontentment: but striue rather to stand stedfast (as a Pil­lar) maugre the winds and stormes of iniurie, and offences. I set mee like a stayed Rocke, to repell their surging, vr­ging [Page 288] Waues: and (like a Wall of Marble) re­tort their angry darts into their owne faces and throats. Men shall see my Contempt, in a no notice of theirs. Though he would ac­knowledge his Of­fence; I will (with Cato) not so much as acknowledge mee of­fended. This is a stayed­nesse, is an Happinesse of our Minds; that we daine not to answer Fooles in their Folly. You aske mee, why I doe not re­quite the Wrong? I an­swer, [Page 289] because I feele it not. No wrong (as I take it) is done to him, that will not take it to himselfe. I take Wrong, as Honour: Honour is not in him, that is honou­red; but in him that ho­nours: nor is Wrong in him that hath, but in him that doth the Wrong. Me thinks, A mans Reuenge is but the Confession, or the complaint of his owne vexation. Mine then would but tell them, how they haue troubled me. And vile Minds (I know) will the rather [Page 290] doe it, when they know how to vex me. It is enough to me; I may, but will not quit the euill. Hee that will still doe all he can; it were bet­ter he sometimes could doe nothing.

Shall I (like my Dogge) barke and bawle at the first push or rush; not knowing whether it be my Friend or Foe that knocks at my doore? Theres no greater Folly, than to be an­gry at we know not whom; and for wee know not what. Or, will I bawle [Page 291] with the Dogge that barkes at me? Theres no folly, to the enterchange of spightfull speeches. The Tongue (I know) pro­uokes more than the Hand: and Men are apt to sto­mack rather what is Said, than what is done against them. I will not blow the coales of Ire with bitter Words: my soft Answer shall rather striue to appease his Wrath. Nor (when it is past) shall he boast how he awed me, in my pre­sent yeeldance: sith I so guided him; that had [Page 292] neither the wit nor power, to rule himselfe. It is not Awe, but Discre­tion to forbeare a Foole.

I smile at BALAAM, that could be so angry at his Asse: and thinke, whether was more bru­tish, her Condition, or his Affection? He is but a Brute himselfe, that thus will match himselfe a­gainst a Brute. I laugh to read the angry Letter Xerxes wrote against the Mountaine Athos: threatning it that (vn­lesse it would make way to his Forces, and De­signes) [Page 293] he would hew it downe, digge it vp, and cast it into the Sea. Was not hee a bold champion, that durst menace, and make vnto himselfe, so huge an An­tagonist? It still moues my Diaphragme, what once mou'd the spleene of Cyrus; that he vow­ed in a rage, (and accor­dingly atchieued) to drean the profound Ri­uer Gyndes, so that Wo­men and Children might goe drie-shod in it: and all was, because the base and vnman­nerly [Page 294] Billowes presu­med to beat in the Kings face; and spared not to drowne one of his Maiesties Coach­horses. While he thus laboured to make it not a Riuer; I would thus haue iudged, he made himselfe not a Man. It is a ridiculous Folly of Men, to wreake their Anger vpon such Things; as neither can feele it, nor doe deserue it. I shall thinke that Man out of his right minde, that is angry at that thing, which neuer had [Page 295] a minde to offend him; no nor had a Minde. Brute Things and inani­mate, may haue the Hap to hurt vs; they haue no Will to wrong vs. Ha, ha; will a man be no wiser than his Dogge, to snarle and snatch at the stone, because it is flung at him? I abhor the vn­equall Ire of Pollio, that condemned his Slaue to be deuoured of his Lampreyes; for but the casuall breach of a Cry­stall Glasse: and applaud withall the iust displea­sure of Augustus, that [Page 296] therefore caused all his glasses to be broken, and his Deuourers to be stifled. It was good the vilest Dust should choke them, whom the noblest Flesh should but haue satisfied. Ah the lightnesse of such Men! whom such light things, and occasions can prouoke. The glimme­ring of a Colour wil pro­uoke a Bull, the wagging of a Shadow will moue an Aspe, the wapping of a Towell will vrge a Beare, the squeezing of Grapes will incense [Page 297] an Elephant: And what is a Man vnlike these; whom a Feather, a Straw, a Toy, a Trifle can thus incense, vrge, moue, prouoke? This is the Folly of Mans Anger; when the Passion is more, than the Cause.

I am summoned, challenged, yea cowar­ded with indignities: and yet I lothly enter the lists of Strife; or ra­ther enter not. Shall I there hazard me, where to be conquered is grie­uous, to conquer is but inglorious? Will I raue [Page 298] and trample the Dung and Dirt, whereby (the more I bestirre me, yea howeuer I behaue me) I am but the rather an­noyed, but defiled. The pursuit of Anger is as a Suit in Law: the Plain­tiffe, the Defendant, both are losers in the end. To contend thus with my Superiour, were dan­gerous; with my E­quall, were doubtfull; with my Inferiour, were base. (Anger is but a wretched euill, and for­lorne; that is authori­zed, is patronized in no [Page 299] Degrees of Men.) With my Superiour will I feare, with my Equall will I blush, with my Inferiour will I scorne to contest. Hath one or other offended me? if he be vnder me, I will be so Good, as sauour him: if aboue me, I will be so Wise, as sauour my selfe. I will winke at the Childe, and Old man, for the weaknesse of their Age; at the Wo­man, for her Sex; at the Foole, and Mad-man, for their Condition. Yet so, as to let them know, [Page 300] it was not well done, but rather taken so. This is a Mans both quiet, and renowne; that he can forbeare. His Mildnesse shall pacifie his Aduersa­ries, while they cannot but wonder at it; shall proeure him Friends, while they needs must af­fect it.

My Affections are in my Custodie, and shall keepe within my Com­passe. I will so hold the reines, as that I can curbe, or loose them; not so much when it is my pleasure, but when [Page 301] I see my time. We must leaue our liues, if we will auoid Offences: And of these, though many (when they come) may be borne with; yet are not all to be neglected. We cannot (oft times) but be mo­ued at the Euill of things. I that must loue my neighbour as my Selfe: may notwith­standing so hate his Vi­ces, as mine owne. An vnreasonable Patience, is little better than an in­ordinate Anger. This kind of Dulnesse would not only incourage the [Page 302] Bad, but euen incite the Good, to doe euill. The Zeale of a Man is ena­moured of the Vertuous; nor can it be but displeased at the Vicious Displeased, not at the Party, but his Vice: Displeased at the Euill he hath done; not so much because hee hath now so done, but rather that hee may doe so no more. I now can be an­gry; yet so, as my Anger be not a worse Fault, than the Fault I am an­gry at. I can be thus an­gry; to resist, to checke, to punish: yet not be­cause [Page 303] I am now prouo­ked, but because I now ought so to be. If (while I dispute against Anger) a saucy Fellow should spit in my Face, pur­posely to prouoke mee: I would not now doubt (with Diogenes) whether I ought so to be? but let him truly and iustly know, and feele, I am angry; for so I ought.

But if this Passion (as it is wont in most) proue exorbitant, and fall to range (yea and rage) beyond her Pale; [Page 304] prouoking mee still to hurt the other, and vex my selfe: What remedy now but Patience? I turne mee aside (with Plato) and now forget him whom I was angry at; and minde rather to reuenge mee vpon my angry selfe. I now draw mee apart, take some time to bethinke mee in, let Reason breathe a­while; and the Fitt is past. Pause then an houre, disturbe not thy stomacke; and the Hard-meats are dige­sted. This Disease of An­ger [Page 305] (contrary to many) is soonest helpt by De­layes. I take the coun­sell of Athenodorus to Augustus; count my Letters: or rather that of S. Ambrose to Theo­dosius; say my Prayers. And while my Deuoti­on warmes, my Passion cooles. Thus is it awhile delayed, thus allayed at the last. Withdraw but the Fewell of Rashnesse from this Passion, and the Fire is abated: Let but the Sun of Reason shine vpon it, and the Mist is vanished. Ah the [Page 306] Frowardnesse of a Man! that his Ire can glow and burne, a Moneth, a Yeare, a Life throughout: which a Weeke, a Day, an Houre, might (if not extinguish) otherwise asswage. It is strange to thinke, how Anger one way deferred, languishes: although ano­ther way prolonged, it is the rather enraged. Ar­chitas, Socrates, Plato; these were but Hea­thens, yet would not so much as beat their Seruants in their Anger: Shall I that am a Chri­stian, rise now against [Page 307] my Brother? Shall my Stomacke serue others one way, as I (another way) would serue my Stomacke: onely eat when I am hungry; only beat when I am angry? By no meanes. I am wiser, than to launch forth in a storme: If he haue offended mee, if prouoked mee; the of­fence will notwithstan­ding remaine, when the Prouocation shall bee past. Theres no hurt to take another, and better time, to punish, or admonish: I shall so [Page 308] shew me the Wiser; and (perhaps) make him the Better. Oh doe no­thing in your Anger! for then you will doe any thing. What profit haue you? What credit? to commit that suddenly, which you may repent at leisure. Many a Man be­cause hee hath beene so causelesly angry at Ano­ther; hath had cause enough (after) to be an­gry at Himselfe. The End of sudden Anger, was al­wayes the Beginning of late Repentance.

Another hath done [Page 309] mee wrong; I might haue done no lesse to him: His might like­wise haue been the Sor­row, & the Euill mine. Wee are all offensiue each to other; and may need each others Pardon. Hee is liuelesse (they say) that is faultlesse: And whose turne (can you tell) shall it next be, to craue mercy for his Fault? Should wee not winke at our mutuall Of­fences; there would be no end of Strifes, & Plagues, betwixt Man and Man, yea betwixt God and them [Page 310] both. Doe wee looke to finde others inexorable; sith our selues are so im­placable? Full oft hath a Man beene driuen to begge Forgiuenesse of him, to whom he denied it: and now to kneele to him for Grace, whom hee some­times spurned in disdaine. I will deale with mine Aduersary, as to tell him how I am dealt with­all: so to teach him how hee should deale with mee.

My Brother hath of­fended mee: Alas! and I my God. My Brother [Page 311] me once, and in one thing: I my God alwayes, and in all. If Iupiter (said He) should thunder downe his Darts, so oft as Men prouoke him; he should soone leaue himselfe Weaponlesse, and Men Liuelesse: If my God (thinke I) should haue beene angry with mee, so oft as I haue offended him; I should not haue yet beene, whom my Bro­ther might now offend. Hee is one, and the same Clay with mee; that now lifteth vp the hand against mee: I that am [Page 312] a vile Worme, haue kit­ked the heele against the God of Maiestie. With what face, can I begge pardon of my Lord, and Master; when I haue de­nied it to my Fellow-Ser­uant? ‘One Man (saith a WISE MAN) beareth Hatred a­gainst another; and doth he seeke pardon from the Lord? He sheweth no mercy to a Man, which is like himselfe: and doth he aske forgiuenesse [Page 313] of his owne Sinnes?’ How doth the mercifull Lord checke the merci­lesse Seruant? ‘Shouldest not thou also haue had compassion on thy Fellow Seruant, euen as J had pitty on thee?’ Oh that Men would therefore Doe, as they Pray! ‘Forgiue vs our Trespasses; as we forgiue them that trespasse against vs.’ I will doe to another, as I would another, yea [Page 314] as I would my God should doe to mee: ‘Ouercome euill with Good.’ My Sauiour stood as a Sheepe before the Shearers; they smote him on the one cheeke, and hee gaue the other: they reuiled him, and in his mouth were no re­proofes. And is the Ser­uant aboue his Lord? What Losse, or Shame is it for mee to suffer, as CHRIST suffered? What Profit, or Credit will it be for mine Enemy, to doe as IVDAS did? Oh call [Page 315] but thy Sauiours Suffe­rings to mind (the Wrong, and Scorne he tooke) and what can be too hard for thee to beare?

And I, and mine E­nemy; Who are wee, and what? Men both, and Mortall: Men mor­tall in our Nature, im­mortall only in our An­ger. Ah that we would be each against other euerlastingly; that are for our selues but a while. Nothing will more work vpon this our fierce Affection; than to thinke vpon this our fraile Con­dition. [Page 316] The Man is mor­tall, as hee ought; why should his Anger (as it ought not) be immor­tall? This is also a great Euill vnder the Sunne, ‘Ʋexation of Spirit:’ That a Man will adde Vn­quietnesse to the Short­nesse of his Dayes; and so make them still not onely ‘Few’ but ‘Euill.’

But Thou strengthe­nest thee in this inhu­mane Fiercenesse; vn­mindfull altogether of thy humane Weaknesse. Thou now thinkest to [Page 317] acquit thee, ere such a time: Alas! that thou thinkst not, that Time (perhaps) may be beyond thine owne. Thou woul­dest the Death of thine Enemy: Oh wish it not, attempt it not: Yet a little while, and Death her selfe will doe it; without thy Trouble, and Sinne. The Mouse and the Frogge fought so long, till the Kite came and tare them both to pee­ces. Oh striue not so long, till Death come and part the Fray; and so take you both away, him [Page 318] Wounded, and thee Ble­mished. When thou art now gone with, or after him: thy Name shall yet suruiue a while, as odi­ous as thy Life. When Death shall haue cooled thy courage, weakned thy hands, stopt thy mouth; Men shall thus write vpon thy Graue: [Page 319]

IS it you (& be naught) old Pouch-penny? Me thought, twas some such Scrape­ling; he came so snea­king on. It is many an honest Mans lucke (more than mine) to stumble vpon such Blocks in euery street. I would none beside mee, had more need, or vse of such; saue onely [Page 322] to know them with me: They should not seeke him long; I soone could spie him out. A Couetous Man is easily inquired, and determined, by him that is not so: But he that sees him, and is like him; can no more discouer the other, than expresse him­selfe. Pouch-penny did I call him? But hee's not so known to euery one. Hee hath more Names, than euer he was Christ­ned with. The Best call him no better, than you would call a Wretch; Silly, Needy, Cark, Snig, [Page 323] Gripe, Sharke, Droyle, and Plod: And for the Most, they call him no more, than you would call a Dogge; Snap, Catch, Pinch, Holdfast, and the like. Wee may iustly, and modestly (and then iustly, when modest­ly) call the Naughty, no better than they are. Call mee a Spade, a Spade; a Wretch, a Wretch; a Knaue, a Knaue: Neuer goe behinde his backe, and so beslander him with the Truth. Tell a Man his Euill to his teeth: yet so, as not to [Page 322] [...] [Page 323] [...] [Page 324] reuile him; but repre­hend him rather.

Wearish Wretch; so like a Flea-biter hee lookes. Say as you see; is he not mostly Wry-Neckt, crompe-shoul­dred, pale-fac't, Thin-cheekt, Hollow-eyed, Hooke-nos'd, Beetle-brow'd, Purse-lipt, Gaunt-belly'd, Rake-backt, Buckle-hamm'd, Stump-legg'd, Splay-footed, Dry-fisted, and Crooke-fingered: with a learing Looke, slow Breath, stealing Pace, squeaking Voice: His [Page 325] tall Hat, and tatterd Cloake, Threed-bare Buskins, and cobbled Shooes; a swagging Pouch, and a Spadle-staffe: And if you rec­kon him onely by his Coat, and Carcasse; one would scarce bestow the hanging of him, to haue them both. They say commonly, ill Hu­mours, ill Manners: but here certainly ill Man­ners, ill Members. For (could you see into him) he is not more ill-fauoured, than ill-con­ditioned: Theres cer­tainly [Page 326] more vglinesse in him, than appeares by him: A mind more mi­shapen, than can be fi­gured in a Carcasse neuer so disfigured. How mon­strous a Vice is Auarice, and odious? It distorts the Body, and distracts the Soule: Is Natures very Enormity, and an vtter Anomie to Grace; here quite sweruing, there farre out of frame. It makes a Man looke vgly, and to be loathed; but odious inwardly, and to be abhorred: makes him seeme a Monster on the [Page 327] outside; but makes him a very Deuill within.

Flocke here my pret­ty Birds; heres an ill fac't Owle, will finde you all worke to won­der at. See how strid­ling hee stands; hee couches and crouches vpon his Staffe; nor lookes he at you, but vnder his elbow: and say what you will; he neuer speakes but when his mouth is open. Come on then, looke and laugh, and hollow, and whoot, and whistle, and hisse; gibe and [Page 328] jest, frumpe and flour, point and play: heres a broad Butt to hit, and an Asses backe to beare all. It were good sport, to laugh and scorne him out of his skinne, for his Coyne. Loe the Co­uerous Carle! what a needy Niggard it is? Oh tis a scraping Churle! Out on him greedy Gripe! A very Gut-head, he hath Asses Eares direct; a Fore­head & it were to set his Leekes on; He sees well, and his Eyes were vn­cast; I wonder he is [Page 329] not ring'd for rooting; you may see your face in his so transparant Cheekes; a Head he hath like a Moule, and his nailes were growne; and a Foot to shouell the Street before him. Hatefull Misereant! how hath he worne and wre­sted himselfe from Gods good Making? His stee­ple Hat hath harboured many a Thousand; and his woollen Cap scrues to keepe warme his Wits. His weather-bea­ten Cloake he had by Inheritance; and hee [Page 330] meanes to make it in his Will. He hath for­got the Making of his Doublet; but it puls him (euer and anon) in minde of repairing. His Breeches are in the Fa­shion, not so much for pride, as to saue Cloth. But how bare soeuer be his Backe, and belly thinne; his Bagge is well lin'd, and he keeps it warme. Theres not a hole in his Hose, and yet not a place where there hath not beene a hole. His shooes haue cost him more the [Page 331] maintaining, than would prouide him Shooes. He keepes a free house; you may as soone breake your Necke, as your Fast: and a cleane withall; you may as readily wet your Shoos, as your Lips. The Man is oft-times so melan­choly at Home; that he is glad when he may cheare vp himselfe at his Neighbours Boord: And (vpon many occa­sions) growes so de­sperate, that hee cares not what becomes of him; only he is loth to [Page 332] be at the charges of ma­king himselfe away. What chattering about a Night-Bird? and who can keepe Countenance at so absurd an Obiect? Couetousnesse is as well worthy Scorne, as Ha­tred: and the Folly there­of as much to be laughed at, as the Iniquity to be abborred. God, and Men, haue thought Vice not odious only; but ridicu­lous. Whom God hath ab­horred, them also hath he laughed to scorne. The Couetous especially, haue beene oftner counted, and [Page 333] called Fooles, than Fiends. Ironies are an approued Rhetoricke, and an earnest Argument against Impieties. And some Euils are more pro­fitably derided, than re­prehended.

In good sooth (for all this) he lookes but sparing on't. Whatso­euer he lacks of the Spi­rit; You would iudge him a mortified Man according to the Flesh. He forbeares oft-times to feed so full as Nature requires; Though Grace was neuer in his mouth [Page 335] or minde, either before meat, or after. Hee sel­dome cats but sparing­ly; though temperate­ly neuer. Thereason of all is, because he so eats, not to subdue his Bo­die; but to saue his Meat. Like Tantalus, he stands vp in Water to the chinne, and Apples hang by closters hard at his Lips; and yet hee pinches and pines in the midst of meat and drinke. An artificiall Chymicke; he hath true Mydasses Touch: all that he should eat and [Page 334] drinke, he turnes into Gold: I would hee had Mydasses Eares withall, it would make him more knowne, and laughed at. Like one that sold a Ratt for two hundred Pence, and dyed of Hunger himselfe: so will he oft times starue his carcasse, to crambe his Pouch. A Couetous Mans Mind is a slaue to his Mony; and his Body a staue-to his Mind: He will not satisfie the Appetite of the one; because the other hath an Appetite wil not be satisfied. Oh basenesse of [Page 336] Men! to vnder-value their Affections to base Drosse; and their Liues to base Affections. Ah their Fol­ly and Wretchednes! to haue the Creatures of God, and vse them not; which they therefore haue, to vse: to preferre their Wealth to their Health, their Gettings to their Beings, their Mo­ny to their Body; their Gold to their God, their Siluer to their Soule; and rather possesse it, than en­ioy themselues.

Suppose him now set at anothers Table: His [Page 333] Knife (answerable to his Stomacke) is the first drawne, and not the last in the Dish. Now not a word with him: Aske him any thing; and he answers all with Yea, and No; not aboue a monosylla­ble at the most. Looke how hee loads a Bor­rowed Trencher? His Cheekes strut, Teeth walke, and Chaps plie apace: And lest you might hap to cut him, not where he likes not, but not enough; hee saues you the labour of [Page 338] a Carner. He now feeds full vpon Free-Cost: and sayes with Diogenes, That Wine is best, and most pleasant to him, which he payes not for. Now makes hee a full amends to his whining Stomacke, and his Guts leaue grumbling: But as the Wolfe eats one good Meale for three Dayes: so though hee feast his Body now a­broad; hee will make the poore Carcasse pay triple for it at Home. Yea and (all this while) if his Host be beholden [Page 339] to him for more than his Company; he eats double: out eats him, and eats him out. The Couetous is one of a raue­nous Generation: A very Harpy, Tigre, Wolfe, Beare, Dogge, Deuill, Pit, Gulfe, and Hell. A Cormorant begat him; ‘The Daughter of the Horsleach’ bare him: and he like a cursed Cater­piller, is continually gnaw­ing: Deuouring Widowes houses, and sucking the very Bloud from the hearts of the Fatherlesse. [Page 340] Oh all ye damned Deuou­rers! that eat vp Gods people, as if it were Bread, Bloud-suckers of BELI­AL! Surfeit yet a while in your hellish Insaciacie: Ye shall once spue out your Bowels; and empty your selues into a Pit as bottomlesse, as euer were your desires.

But I will home with him, and see what an House he keeps. Let me tell you, he keepes an open House: but you may vnderstand, it is the Roofe vnthatcht, or Windowes vntrellessed; [Page 341] for the Doore is neuer vnbolted. The Grasse growes greene vpon his Threshold; and his Dog is as good as a Por­ter, to keepe Beggars from his Doore. His Chimney smokes but seldome, and Dawes make nests in euery corner. You cannot come to visit his Beere, but you shall finde it at a very low rate, low estate, if not dead out­right: And for his Bread, Age and Experi­ence haue brought it to an hoary head. He is [Page 342] now at his owne Fin­ding, and marke how his Boord is furnished: His stall and Garnor furnisht the Market, and that his Coffers: his Garden-plot only fills his Table, & that fils his Belly. Roots and Herbs he cals his First, and Se­cond Course: and three hungry Sallets supply the places of so many hearty Seruices. He cuts vp a Carrot, and pickes out a dainty bit in a Turnep: Beets are his best Fare; and he thinks how he riots amongst [Page 343] his Leekes and Lettice? He shiues out his Bread by weight or measure; an Ounce, or an Inch; and at euery Cutting obserues the Loafe. You would thinke he hum­bred his Morsels: Hee goes so farre, and no further; not because he would eat no more, but would no more should be eaten. He eats the more Pottage on purpose, to spare the Flesh. He seldome eats like an Epicure, to please his Palate; neuer like a Man, to nourish [Page 342] [...] [Page 343] [...] [Page 344] his Body; but com­monly like a Hogge, to fill his Belly. A belly full is a belly full, and it be of Buttermilke. He may eat Gold; and yet hee feeds but grossely. Like a Tradesman, that sells off his best wares at a good rate; and keepes the worst for his owne vse: Or like him, that sells out the good Li­quour; and reserues the Dregges for his owne drinking: Like an Idi­ot, he hath the best to chuse on, and makes choice only of the worst; [Page 345] Leaues the good for o­thers, and takes the bad vnto himselfe: Or like That Asse, that carried dainty Cates vpon his backe; and notwith­standing fill'd his belly with Hay, and Straw. But if he be a Worship­full Miser, and of an­cient standing; Not the Cognisance only, but the Coat also is the selfe same, his Great Grand-sire gaue before him. He must doe, as his Father before him; or else how should he vphold the House? [Page 346] Now hath be more Dogges, than Men to wait vpon him: and his Table fills more Eares, than Bellies; and more fils Eares, than Bellies. He now quar­ters a Capon, and roasts halfe a Rabbet: and tels you an old Tale of an Hare, and another of a Pigge, that was pro­portion'd to three seue­rall Spits, Fires, Dayes, Dishes, Meales: But an approued Story, how that the Loyne of a Cocke was once a Ser­uice for a King. His [Page 347] Taylour hath not halfe so many wayes to turne his Breeches, as his Cooke to dresse his Dishes: he sends vp the same Dish seuen dayes together, disguised only in seuen seuerall Sauces. And for the cold Pie, it is so long since it came hot out of the Ouen; that it hath got on a Freize coat to keep it warme: and at last is faine to flit from his Table, to his Trough. He grudges to bestow any thing vpon him­selfe; and brawles with [Page 348] Wife and Children, as the daily meanes of his vndoing: And when he must needs dispend, he shrugges it out, and kisses euery Peece he parts from. How should a Couetous Man be good to any? since he is not so to himselfe. Will he feed the hungry; whose owne Sto­macke still complaines? Will he cloath the naked; that only shrouds him­selfe in shreds? Will hee giue to the Poore; that cannot be perswaded him­selfe is rich? Well he re­leeue others Necessities; [Page 349] that thinks there is no­thing beside him, which he wants not himselfe? Vn­profitable Earth-load is he; borne to doe good to none, no not himselfe. Nei­ther and Wife, Children, Friends, Neighbours the better for him: And for himselfe; he is, but liues not; because he is to no pur­pose: he hath, but inioyes not; because be vses not what he hath.

Tis bed time by this; and (not once minding, or mentioning his God) hee commends himselfe to the keeping [Page 350] of his Bolts and Barres. Wife, Children, Friends, Seruants, he askes them all once, and againe, if they haue made all sure? and being accor­dingly answered, he yet rises at last to resolue himselfe. Than the Coue­tous Man, none more di­strustfull. His Wife hee thinkes is false vnto him; and his Children cosen him: His Seruants he ac­counts no better than Theeues. If they be his Friends, they come to sharke vpon him if Stran­gers, to steale from him: [Page 351] His Superiour he suspects of extorting, his Equall of defrauding, and his Infe­riour of purloyning: Yea, he is oft-times anxi­ous of himselfe; nay, and will trust his God no fur­ther than he sees him. Now is the Gate shut, Bridge drawne, Doore barr'd, and Trunke lockt; and now he lyes him downe to wake; for why, he cannot, or else he dares not sleepe. The Wise Man knew his dis­ease, and tells the Cause: ‘The Abundance of [Page 352] the Rich will not suf­fer him to sleepe.’ Thoughts are entred in­to his head, and Sleep is departed from his eyes. It is his Care to get more, will not let him rest with what he hath. He now lyes imagining mischiefe on his Bed; and takes counsell of his Pillow how to deceiue, and wrong. How to adde his neighbours House, and Field vnto his owne? How to dou­ble his Talent by the sa­fest meanes, and in the [Page 353] shortest time? How to take vp, and put off at the best hand? How to let out Mony with good Security, and for the most Aduantage? How to bring about such a Bargaine? How to fore­stall such a Market? How to ingrosse, how to inhance such a Com­moditie? How to pur­chase such a Liuing? How to inueigle such an Estate? No euill can be thought, which Coue­tousnesse doth not both thinke and plot. It cares not to deceiue the simple; [Page 354] nor makes a Conscience to oppresse the poore: Neither regards it the Widowes Teares, the Bloud of the Fatherlesse, nor the Labourers Sweat. It takes no notice of Fa­ther or Mother, spares not his owne Brother, and affords not the least Fa­uour to his best Friend. It measures Honesty by Profit; and thinks no­thing not lawfull to it selfe, which may make for its owne aduantage: and so it goe away with the Gaine; it cares not who liues by the losse. Oh [Page 355] cursed Auarice! the Me­tropolis of all Euils, and Charibdis of Iniquity: Through its euill insti­gation; did EVE take, and taste the forbidden Fruit; LABAN grud­ged the goods of IACOB, His Brethren sold IO­SEPH to the ISMAE­LITES; BALAAM tooke paines to curse IS­RAEL; ACHAN in­ueigled the exercrable Wedge; DALILAH deliuered her Husband into the hands of his Ene­mies; AHAB massacred NABOTH; GEHAZI [Page 356] belyed his Master; and IVDAS betrayed CHRIST. Hee rightly said; ‘Coue­tousnesse is the root of all euill:’ that fully con­sidered, what Euills come by Couetousnesse. It nei­ther feares God, nor re­uerences Man: Profanes the Temple, forestalls the Market, corrupts the Court; swayes Authoritie, impugnes Iustice, vio­lates Lawes; Defraudes the Innocent, oppresses the Poore; blindes the Eyes from beholding E­quity, stops the Eares [Page 357] from hearing the Truth, hires the Tongue to rati­fie Falshood with an Oath, sets the Hands to worke wickednesse, and makes the Feet runne to shed Bloud. What Euill hath Hell inuented, hath the Deuill suggested: which Couetousnesse hath not en­tertained, not put in exe­cution?

Yet tumbling and tossing; but as yet no folding of the hands to sleepe. No, no, alas; his Braines are too busied, to be setled on a sud­den. He hath a World [Page 358] in his Head, and it makes him study how to get a Country into his Hands. Such a Field (he thinkes) lies com­modiously for him; such an House is plea­santly seated; is of a safe and free Tenure, and may be had at a reaso­nable rate: Such a Com­modity is both rare, and saleable; thus and thus may he ingrosse a good parcell of it; thus and thus inhaunce the price. These and these sealed Bagges are in such a Chest; and these [Page 359] and these Bonds and Bills in such another. And thus lyes he coun­ting all the night long. And if you were brought into his Bed-Chamber at midnight; (as was Mycillus the Cobler, into Grypheus the vsurers) you should euen then finde him waking: Nay, if the Deuill should come about that time to fetch him; he should hardly take him napping. The Riches of the Couetous trouble and torment him on euery part; whether of [Page 360] Body, or Minde: He Conscience hath no peace, his Knowledge finds no truth, his Desire gets no appeasment; His Belly wants food, his backe ray­ment, his Heart wants ease, his Eyes sleepe, and his Bones want rest. Si­gismundus the Empe­rour, when he could not sleepe the night throughout, for taking thought, what hee should doe with all his Gold, was newly sent him: the next day hee dealt it amongst his Captaines and Connsel­lours; [Page 361] and could say afterwards, Now I am rid of a Tormentour; I shall now sleepe in quiet. I would a Many should not so sleepe, till they had done likewise. Gape, and yawne, and turne, and tosse, and muse, and moane, and sigh, and quake yee restlesse Wretches! I will not pirty you; since you may ease your selues, if you will.

But if (thus tired with Thoughts) he fall at last into some faint Slumber; Oh how [Page 362] short it is how vnquiet? Hee dreames all the while he is posting to a Faire, crouded in a Mar­ket; either Buying, Sel­ling, Chopping, Chan­ging, Hiring, Letting, Writing, Sealing, Coun­ting: His Mind still runs vpon Mony, Wares, Chapmen, Cheatours, Theeues, or Deuills. Harke, harke; his Dog barks at Moon-shine; & he now wakes & starts at the apprehension of Theeues and Robbers: It is the Winde whiskes by his Window; and [Page 363] he imagines he heares them whisper: He hears but the Doore creake; and he thinks they now are breaking in. Vp he gets, and loudly calls vpon lusty Dicke, and Robbin, and Ralfe; when there is no more but little Iacke to heare him: Bids bring the Pistoll, Musket, Sword, and Speare; when his whole munition is a Spirit, or a Pitchforke. His Colour changes, Haire stands vpright, Heart pants, Breast throbs, Ioynts quake; [Page 364] and all this while hee suffers so much through his Feare, as he feares to suffer. Who would trou­ble themselues to get Ri­ches; that thus trouble them that haue them? Trouble to get them, trou­ble to keep them, and trou­ble to lea [...]e or lose them: Here plodding and toy­ling; there Watching and caring; and sighing and groaning there: Ma­king a Man here sollici­tous, anxious there, and there againe forlorne. Molesting the Man, that his Goods are not increa­sed; [Page 365] and againe mole­sting, lest his Goods should be diminished: It both vexes him, that he hath no more; and vexes him, that he may haue lesse. It troubled AHAB, to adde NABOTHS Vineyard vnto his owne: It trou­bled the RICH-MAN, to conserue, & enlarge his Possesions: It troubled the YOVNG-MAN, to part with his Goods vn­to the Poore. HE knew well how restlesse a thing was Riches, who likened them to THORNES: Like Thornes in the sides, [Page 366] they suffer not a Man to sit still: Like Thornes in the Fingers, they hin­der a Man from labou­ring with his hands: Like Thornes in the Eyes, they blinde a Man from beholding the Truth: Like Thrones in the Heart, they barre a Man from embra­cing the Right: Like Thornes in the Feet, they let a Man for going about any thing that is Good. To what shall I now liken the Riches of the World; but to all the infesting plagues of AEGYPT? Their Riuers were tur­ned [Page 367] into Bloud; and these haue made euen Riuers of Bloud: Frogs came into mens Bed-chambers; and these creepe into mens Bo­somes: The Dust of the Land became Lice; and this Dust of the Earth is turned to such like Tor­mentours: Swarmes of Flies infested Aegypt; and these corrupt the Land: The Murraine slue the Beasts of the Land; This (what with toyling, ryoting, spoyling) hath slaine them the whole Earth thorowout: The Men could not stand [Page 368] at ease, by reason of Boyles and Botches; nor doe these suffer men to sit at rest: The Haile destroy­ed the Beasts and Trees; and these haue done the like destructions: Locusts were brought into the Land; and these cause many a Caterpiller: Dark­nesse was ouer AEGYPT so thicke that it might be felt; and these while they are grop't and felt with the hand, they blind the eyes: All the first borne were slaine at Mid-night; and these haue torne the prime Youngling from [Page 369] the Mohers Belly, Breast, and Bed. Who is now the Rich man of the World, that is not richer in Plagues, than he is in Possessions: That a­bounds not in Restles­nesse, more than in Reue­nues. It was a Wise re­uenge of One, alwayes to inrich his Enemies, and Offenders: affirming, it was punishment enough to make them rich: mean­ing, Wealth can want no Woe; and he that hath great Riches, hath little Rest withall. But (say the Couetous Carles of our [Page 370] dayes) punish them so, and hurt them sore. Silly Asses! they are burdened most, and yet they thinke they are most rewarded: They take it for a Bles­sing, not knowing that it proues a Snare. In the Worlds eye, he is the Hap­py Man that hath House by House, Field by Field, Flocke by Flocke, Bagge by Bagge, and Chest by Chest. He goes cloathed in purple and fine Linnen, and fares deliciously euery day: Fine fed, and gay clad; His Cates and Rai­ments both farre fetcht, [Page 371] and deare bought: and the Substance and Mat­ter of neither are thought good enough for him; but both are made better, if Cost and Art can make them so. One Backe and Belly of his, how many doth it exercise and em­ploy, thus to clad, and feed? Besides, all men seeke to him; serue, ho­nour, and applaud him. O happy be! He hath an Heauen vpon Earth; that thus hath the World at will. Fooles! that con­ceit those happy, whose Miseries they conceiue [Page 372] not. They view the Pain­ting, but not the Rotten­nesse: See the best by them, but know not the worst is within them. You behold laughter in the Face; but you now con­sider not the Heart is hea­uy: You reckon what Pleasures, Profits, Ho­nours; but thinke not what Feares, Cares, Dis­contents. An honest poore Man would not haue the rich Gluttons Estate, to haue his Mind. The one hath little, and wants lit­tle; the other wants as much as he hath: The [Page 373] one could eat, and he had it; the other hath it, and cannot eat: Theres health and hunger; heres plenty and paine: This is alway timorous, that other still secure: This is Free, the other Bond: This sleepes, while the other wakes. Many a poore Man hath made merry with a belly full of Bread and Water; and after slept soundly vpon an hard Cratch: while many a Rich man hath sighed bitterly at a Banquet of Wine; and waked carefully vpon a Bed of Downe.

Alas poore man, and perplexed! his last Nights ill rest hath made him an early ri­ser: He is soone vp, and full sore at hisDeuoti­on. A man indeed is he of a daily deuotion, but of no Religion: for he scarce comes to Church aboue once a Quarter. What need he trauell to sacrifice; or come a­broad to worship? hee hath a Chappell in his Chest, and a God of his owne, his MAMMON. Each Part of his Body, and Power of his Soule; [Page 375] hath he commanded, (as did that King his Sub­iects) that they forth­with fall downe, and worship the GOIDEN-IMAGE. Hee scornes and contemnes blinde, and sluggish: BAAL, Asse-headed AN A ME­LECH; DAGON the deceitfull; and the vn­mercifull MOLECH: calls BAAL-ZEBVB but a Flie-catcher; and thinks BELL and DRA­GON but Gluttons both. He cals none Good, but God: and of Gods, none more than [Page 376] MAMMON, the God of Goods. Other Gods are either chargeable, or not beneficiall; but as for him (to make good the Deuills words) hee serues not his God for nought: Only he is oft times perplexe; lest (with LABAN) he might at any time lose his God: His God (he knowes) is Currant; and therefore tis his greatest care to keepe it. Yea and his Gods are so many of the same Mat­ter and Mould; that all his Seruice is to num­ber [Page 377] them. Hee makes much of his Mony, for the Figures sake, more than for the Vse: and thinks he hath it to in­grosse, rather than to imploy. Euery New Peece is a new Picture of his Worship: which at first he examines by the Balance of his best Beleefe; and after ad­mits it as an Image of his Adoration. HE well saw his Superstition, who called the Couetous Man an IDOLATOVR. Why did God oppose himselfe to MAMMON? but [Page 378] for that they who serue MAMMON, oppose them­selues to God: He there­fore told them truly; ‘Ye cannot serue God, and Mammon.’ Of all others then, none sothwartly idolatrous, as the Couetous. Others haue worshipped the Creatures of Gods making; but these the Works of their owne hands: Now by how much the Workes of God are more worthy, than the handy Workes of Men; by so much is this kinde of Idolatry more euill and [Page 379] odious, than the other. Nor is the Couetous Man more spiritually Idolatrous; than ciuilly Slauish. The Drosse is but base; but the Couetous Mans af­fections are baser than the Drosse: Else, how could he vnder-value himselfe to it? vnlesse he saw some­what in it, more worthy than himselfe. They call him the Mony-Master; butyou may call it the Master-Money: For which he toyles Night and Day; bides Heat and Cold; runnes through Fire and Water; hazards [Page 380] Body and Soule. Silly Slaue! thus to become a Drudge to his Seruant: As not possessing, but pos­sessed rather; not vsing it, but imployed himselfe: not daring to dispend it, as a Master ouer it; but faine to guard it, as a Seruant to it: whereof he hath the trouble only of the Custody; but no pro­fit of the Inioyment.

All the day long; and yet neither idle, nor well imployed. Yet makes he Time very pretious to him: For he (together with his [Page 381] Coyne) lets time also out to Interest. His Mo­ny flies out (like Stales, or Quoyes) to fetch in more: And (cleane contrary to Natures rule, or practice) hee makes euen senslesse things to generate their like. What a Monster now is a Mony-breeder, that brings forth thus against Nature? The Greekes not vnaptly call Vsury by the name of a Birth: be­cause there a Penny be­gets a Penny, and a Pound brings forth a Pound. Now what need [Page 380] [...] [Page 381] [...] [Page 382] Gods Creatures increase and multiply for the vse of Man: since Man can make these Creatures of his owne, increase thus beside God, to inrich him­selfe? An Vsurer thus ac­cuses both God and Na­ture, of ignorance and improuidence; in that he hath found out more waies of aduantage, than euer they ordained. Of tame Beasts, take heed of an Vsurer; he is an old Ape, a subtle Fox, and rauens more than a Tigre, Li­on, Wolfe or Beare. Marke what hurt hee [Page 383] does you, when you are the most beholden to him. What an Vsu­rer lets out, he parts with but for a time; but the other must quite part with, what comes in againe. Doe you not know, you may haue another mans Mony so long in your hands; till you come to haue none of your owne? You so may soon conuert your whole Estate into Debt. It is a Rule more experi­enced, than obserued; All that an Vsurer hath, [Page 384] is in other Mens hands: till all that other Men haue, be in his. Take an Vsurers Mony into your hands; and you take a Serpent into your bosome: It stings like an Aspe, makes you sleepe insensi­bly, and you neuer after awake your owne Man: It eats like a Canker, eue­ry sound Part: and burns like a Fire, while any Fewell lasts. But not­withstanding, what a sort of Idiots daily seeke, and sue to him, to vndoe themselues? Nay they thinke, pr­mise, [Page 385] witnesse them­selues beholden to him, for their owne vn­doing. The plaine Country Fellow comes in with a couple of Ca­pons; the Gentle Man with a goodly Gelding; the Grazier with a fat Oxe; and the Great Man with a brace of Bucks. And hee takes these now, with Con­dition of what he must haue hereafter. They must first freely take his Seruant by the hand, after, as kindly salute his Wife; and so they [Page 386] make way to whisper himselfe in the eare. He now takes them apart; pleasures them with the Presse-mony of en­gagement and thral­dome to a Churle; charmes them with a Number, and set Forme of words; binds them with their owne Hands; and (perhaps) at last hires others hands to lay hold vpon them. Oh damned Vsury, and detested! Whether Vsu­ry directly, or indirectly; yet directly damned. What is it at the best, but a ne­cessary [Page 387] Euill; like a Wo­man, which a Man can neither well haue, nor want: but an vndoing Benefit; like an ill Ser­uant, that eats more, than he earnes: but a tolera­ted Theft; Like a Sore, that is suffered, only to preuent a worse Disease: But as it is made; what it is, but the Spoyle, and Shipwracke of Estates, and States? Of Estates; for how Many haue beene thus impouerisht, to inrich One? Of States; for how should a Priuate Wealth, but hurt the [Page 388] Common-Wealth.

But (thinke you) is an Vsurer all he is? Tush Man! hee's any thing for Aduantage. Any Gaine is good, how are it be got. Em­perour-like, hee smells Gaine well from Pisse and Stale: nay Pope­like, imbraces it sweetly from the Stewes. He takes vp all Trades to thriue on: Now a La­bourer, now a Farmer, now an Artificer, now a Merchant, now an Officer: now an In­grosser, and sells all by [Page 389] whole sale; now an Haberdasher of small wares, and sells all by retale. Nay worse than these; An Infor­mer, Promoter, Pet­ty-fogger, a Pillager, Poller, Toller, a Mono­polizer, Market-mon­ger, Corne-hoorder, Huckster, Broker, Re­gratour, a Mounte­banke, Catchpole, Cut­purse, Carder, Cheater; and many such more than good: Of such like Trade, or rather Craft; which turne the In­dustry of Nature, and [Page 390] Inuention of Art, into no better but Deceit, and Wrong. There are many wayes for a Man to inrich himselfe, with­out his Euill. A due Time, and good Meanes, will bring in Gaine enough, to no Mans losse. That only is well got, for which no Man is the worse. A Man ought both to labour in, and liue by his Calling. And may (doubtlesse) so wisely, and iustly con­triue his Affaires, as to doe himselfe good thereby, and no body hurt. And there­fore are vocations of [Page 391] Men well inuented: Men only abuse them, when they make ill Inuentions, their Vocations. When Men will not labour, for that is painfull; when Men will not venter, for that is doubtfull: But will rather defraud and cir­cumuent, taking it to be easily and certainly gain­full: Hauing neither the Patience, nor Honesty to expect, till Time, and in­dustry may aduantage them; But hauing a reach beyond both, to rise of a Sudden: And so they be hastily, they care not [Page 392] how vniustly rich.

Nay but I now come neere the Man, that is so neare himselfe. Why (God be thanked) Man, thou hast enough. E­nough? No, no; For­tune hath giuen to him (as she hath to Many) too much: but hath not giuen him (as shee hath to None) Enough. Enough 3 Theres two of the Enoughs (hee sayes) and his (hee thinkes) is little E­nough. It mattereth not, how much hee hath with another; [Page 393] sith it seemes but small vnto himselfe. Little, or Much, it skilleth not; Little would haue no lesse, and Much would still haue more. And therefore, his Hooke hangs continually, and all is Fish, that comes to his Net: He hath a Plow in euery Mans Field; an Iron in euery mans Fire; and an Oare in euery mans Boat. Like a hungry Dogge, he gapes at euety Bit, and snatches at euery Bone: Like a greedy Kite, ere hee haue yet [Page 394] quite swallowed the first gobbet; he gapes and creekes for another: At once puls one Hand vnto him, with what he hath gotten, and keeps close his Fist; and o­pens the other Hand, and holds it out for more. He labours of a Disease, the remedy whereof does rather in­crease the malady: a Feuer, a Dropsie, a Dog­gish Appetite. Meat makes him but hungry; and the more he drinks, the dryer he is; and all you can apply, addes [Page 395] but Fewell to augment his Fire. The Serpent Situla hath stung him, and (doe what you can) heele die of an vn­quenchable Thirst. Powre in while you will, his Mouth is like a Sieue, or Tunnell; still open and empty: and all that is put in, doth rather stretch out, than fill vp his Belly. All o­ther Desires of men, rest satisfied in their accom­plishment: This hungry desire of Hauing only, the more it is fulfilled, it is enlarged. The Beasts [Page 396] can forthwith suffice their Appetites, only this beastly Appetite of Man will not bee satisfi'd What shall I call this Couetous­nesse? a Ditch, a Graue, a Gulfe, a Whore, a Hell: infinite all, and insati­ate altogether. ‘The Daughter of the Horseleach still cries; Giue, Giue: but neuer saith, Jt is Enough.’ He that lo­ueth Siluer, is doomed not to bee satisfied with Siluer. For, Couetousnesse [Page 397] is the Hunger of the Soule; and Mony is but a corporall Sustenance: It may well then fill his Purse; but shall neuer suf­fice his Mind. The Coue­tous Man that loueth abun­dance, shall not be satisfi'd with Increase: Because the loue of his riches in­creaseth together with the Heape. A Poore man hath little, and wants lit­tle: a Rich man hath much, and wants more than he hath. The One rests content with what he hath; and thus is hee [Page 398] ‘filled with good Things:’ The Other coueteth to haue more; and so is he ‘sent empty away.’ How much bet­ter is it, to bee Full with little; than Empty in the midst of much? And how are they Riches; which once increasing, Pouerty is increased also? That Man is Rich, not that hath much; but that wants little: And he wants the lesse, that hath the least. He that hath but lit­tle, esteemes well of a little Profit: but he that hath [Page 399] much, sets light by a small Gaine; because he lookes for more. The Man that desires many things, to him a Many things seeme a Few: but he that is con­tent with few things, to him doe euen a Few things seeme a Many. A Beggar thinkes him rich with a Penny; a Rich man scarce thinkes him so with a Pound. Many a Man hath thought such a Thing too much for him, before hee had it: which when hee hath, hee now thinkes it not enough. The Reason is, because he so seekes to [Page 400] haue, as that he sees not what he hath. Hee sees not, how he hath, what others want: but thinks he wants, what another hath. What another hath, he wants; yea and wants what he hath himselfe. But, he that will haue what he hath, and haue enough; Let him not get more, but craue lesse: For the only way to make a Man Rich, is not to aug­ment his Substance; but rather lessen his Desire. He that eats much, and is not filled; that drinkes oft, and is not slaked: Ex­pletion [Page 401] but increases the Malady; and there is no way to cure him, but by Purgation. A Man can­not haue all that he will; this he may, he may nill what he hath not. He that would but a little, may soone haue all he would. I will desire no more, when I would be sure to haue my Desire.

What (I maruell) would the Man doe with more? Hee hath more already than is well bestowed, or than he well knowes how to bestow. It is his Goods [Page 402] Increase he minds only, not their Vse. How vn­worthy is be of the Talent, that binds it in a Nap­kin, and hides it in the Ground? What is he bet­ter to haue a thing and vse it not, which is no­thing but the vse? What then would the Man with more Wealth? What? I'le answer for him; prouide for an hard Winter, and keepe in store against a deare Yeare: (yea it is the thought of an hard Win­ter, makes him he dare not inioy the Summer.) [Page 403] He will therefore (he sayes) so dine, as he may sup; and so goe to day, as he may to morrow. Yea (Oh misery, and fol­ly of Men!) therefore will he certainly scant himselfe, lest perhaps he may be scanted: and want that alwayes, which he feares he may sometimes want. But would you know why he yet so scrapes and heapes? His most end is; He therfore would haue more, that others might haue lesse: Otherwise, he is not satisfied, while [Page 404] there is any thing be­side him. Hee aduises himselfe in this case (as a Tyrant did his Offi­cers) to consider how many things he wants; and to lee that no o­ther haue any thing but he. What he hath, doth himselfe no good, doth others hurt: for he hath it purpolely to keepe it from others, rather than keepe it for himselfe. Like the Dragon that kept the Golden Ap­ples; and that other than kept the Golden Fleece: Like the Griffins in the [Page 405] Hyperborean Moun­taines, that had no vse of the Gold and preci­ous Stones were there; yet would suffer none to take them thence. Or (to compare him with what hee's acquainted with) like a Dogge on a Hay-Mow, he lies there not to eat him­selfe, but to keepe the Cattle from their Meat: Yea like a Daw, hides Mony, not that he hath need of it, but that o­thers might not find it. A Couetous Man doth good to none, no not himselfe: [Page 406] doth hurt to himselfe, and all. Wife, nor Children are the better for him; for whom Neighbours, and Strangers are the worse. He counts it an indignitie, to haue Equals neere him; and a miserie to haue Neighbours by him: And could wish there were no more men in the World but he: that so he might haue a World vnto himselfe. ADAM (hee thinkes) was well blest, when there was no more to inhabit a whole Earth but hee: but now (hee sayes) the World is [Page 407] waxt so populous, that men haue much adoe to liue one by another. His endlesse coueting hath made his Possessions boundlesse: And yet (hee thinkes) he scarce hath enough; when hee now knowes not what he hath. I will now say to him, and all; and so as my words are warranted: ‘Goe to now ye rich Men (ye that ioyne House to House, and Field to Field; till there be no roome left for [Page 408] the Poore) weepe, and howle for your miseries that shall come vpon you; your riches are corrupted, and your garments moth-eaten: your Gold and Siluer is cankered, and the rust thereof shall be a witnesse against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were Fire: you haue hea­ped vp treasures to­gether [Page 409] for the last dayes.’ Vnhappy Wealth, and euill! that doth no good to those that haue it not; and doth hurt to those that haue it: Troubling their Liues, blotting their Consci­ences, damning their Soules: and from a hell they made vnto them­selues: bringing them to the Hell prepared for them.

Oh cry him mercy! he disclaimes him that can claime any thing of him; that can say What, [Page 410] or Whom he hath Op­pressed, vndermined, polled, ingrated, spoy­led, cheated, circum­uented, or extorted. Whose House hath he hired from ouer his head, or Field from vn­der his hands; or snatcht his meat from out his mouth, or pull'd his Raiment from off his backe: Hath hee beene a carelesse execu­tour, an vnequall Ar­bitratour, an vniust Guardian? Whose Wa­ges hath hee with-held? Whose Estate hath he [Page 411] intangled? Whose Feof­ment hath hee im­bezilled? Whose Pledge hath he not restored? What Promise hath he not performed? and what Debt hath he not discharged? Or who can say, this was his, or is, or so ought to be? He de­fies a World; what he hath, he came honestly by, and it is his owne. His Neighbour (for what he euer wrought, or thought against him) hath yet both House, Wife, Child, Ser­nant, Oxe, Asse, and [Page 412] euery thing that is his. Excellent Pharisee! He hath kept the Com­mandements: But one thing is lacking; let him goe and sell all that he hath, and giue vnto the Poore. He is iustifi'd (he thinkes) because he hath done no man Wrong: Not knowing he is guilty, for that he hath done good to none. Others did he ne­uer injure; and so he is free (he perswades him) not considering he is bound to succour o­thers. Call him Coue­tous; [Page 413] and he tells you, he neuer held others from their owne: But I tell him, he is Coue­tous; because he holds his owne from others. Not only he that greedily inuades anothers, but he that niggardly detaines his owne, he also is Coue­tous. He hath slaine, that saues not; he hath hurt, that helpes not; he hath spoyled, that rewards not; he hath starued, that che­rishes not; he hath stript, that cloaths not: and he that hath not giuen, euen he hath taken away. The [Page 414] Fault is no lesse his, that bestowes not on him that hath not; than his, that exacts from him that hath. The Corne which thou hoordest, is the Bread of the hungry; the Wooll and Flax which thou transportest, is the Cloth of the naked; the Gold and Siluer which thou dost so heap and hide, is the Price of the Poore: He that wisely gaue it thee for them; shall once (in their behalfe) as se­uerely require it of thee, and thy like: ‘J was an [Page 415] hungred, and ye gaue me no meat; J was thirsty, and ye gaue me no drinke; I was a Stranger, and yee tooke mee not in; Naked, and yee cloathed mee not; sicke, and in Pri­son, and yee visited me not.’

Nay and you talke of Giuing, he is gone: This is (he sayes) no World to Giue; him­selfe is (as others are) [Page 416] on the Taking hand. Quite of another mind from the Scripture; It is a more blessed thing (he sayes) to Receiue, than to Giue: And (cleane contrary to the Prince, that thought that day lost, in which he had giuen nothing) he thinkes it all lost, in that day that he giues. You cannot beat Boun­ty into his Braines with a Beetle. A very Truant is he (and you examine him) at a lesson of Libe­rality: and if you take in hand to tutour him; [Page 417] he makes any excuse, takes any occasion to busie him otherwise, than about his Booke. You would not thinke how hee delayes the Dole to the Poore; and what Shifts he hath to shun a Beggar. If he but suspect there sits a needy Crauer neare to such a Corner; he there either turnes another way, or lookes another way: He either mends his Pace, chats to his Com­panion, or makes him­selfe musing on some hasty Matter: Now li­stens [Page 418] he to the other side, and the Poore-man is on his deafe eare. It is not the first, and a faint asking will auaile him any thing; hee must dogge him to it, for what he does. But if you once come so neare him, and follow him so fane, that hee must needes take notice though not of Your Want, yet of your Noyse: he neuer stands Iesuitically to equiuo­cate with you; I haue it not that is (he meanes) not for you: but tels you [Page 419] blunt out at once; I haue not for you. Aske him a Farthing, and he sayes a Farthing is too little for him to giue; aske a Shilling, and hee replies, a Shilling is too much for you to re­ceiue: Aske more, or lesse; he minds to serue you with a matter of nothing. Tell him you'l pray for him, if hee'l be pleased to giue; and he tells you, hee can haue Prayers better cheape: Say you'le pray for him, whether hee'le giue or no; and hee'le trust you [Page 420] (he sayes) for once. (A poore Cauill is it, to flout out anothers Necessitie.) And yet he thinkes, he hath thus put you off with as good a Grace, and as much Credit; as ano­ther could haue plea­sured you. But if hee be drawne to Giue, he giues so difficultly, so frowningly, with such vpbraidings and reui­lings; that he giues you a Fish, and a Serpent at once; and together with Bread, he puts a Stone into your Poke. [Page 421] You had better bee without his Gift; it is not so sweet in the ha­uing, as bitter in the re­ceiuing. Salute him with a Suit; and hee stampes that he cannot stay to heare you: Hee now turnes, and talkes to euery one that comes by him: and cries, I come Sir, to any one that but opens the case­ment toward him. Pre­sent him with your Pe­tition, and he puts you to petition the second time for an answer to the first: Heele put on [Page 422] his considering Cap, and bids you come a­gaine for an answer: and so you must spend more Time, Labour, Cost, for (perhaps) a further Delay; or (more likely) a flat Deniall. The Churle hates to be Poore; nor would he willingly be thought Rich: verify­ing the Saying; He had rather be rich indeed, than so accounted. (Contrary to many wauering Cre­dit-mongers, that seeke to be so accounted; ha­uing scarce wherewith [Page 423] to make vp their ac­counts.) Especially, how little doth hee set by himselfe at a Leuie, Sessment, Loane, Tax, or Subsidie? And all is because hee would doe as little good as hee could, to King, Church, and Poore. He abhors to be charged with an Office of Charge: will Fine for a City Sheriffe; and will be ready to cut his owne throat, to be made Sheriffe of a Shire. He hates Papistrie for one Point especially, because they teach, A [Page 424] Man may merit Salua­tion by his Works: He heares it, but he cannot beleeue it; No, no, his Hope is, Faith will come to saue him, though Charity be away. Ah Charity, Charity! thou faire Fruit of the Faith­full; and laudable witnesse of a Soule Sanctifi'd: Oh thou that art the Greatest of all Graces for Abiding; where dost thou now a­bide? O Loue! O Doue! to whither hast thou ta­ken thy Wings? How art thou flown out of the Arke of a wretched World? [Page 425] how art thou gone out from vs, not to returne vnto vs? Alas! how is thy beauty stained, Strength weakned, light darkned, and Heat coo­led? Helpe, Oh helpe! come once againe vnto vs, and do some good amongst vs: Now thou art gone, theres no good to be done. The Hungry pine, while there is none to feed them; the Naked starue, while there is none to cloath them; The Sicke languish, while there is none to visit them; the Captiues call and cry, [Page 426] while there is none to deli­uer them; the Poore com­plaine, while there is none to right, or pitty them. No man remembreth the Afflictions of IOSEPH. Neuer more need of an ANGEL to conuay Su­stenance to him prisoned in the Den; or of a RA­VEN to fetch Food for him banished in the Wil­dernesse: For, LABAN diminishes the Wages of IACOB; NABAL will not part with a crumme of Bread, or a drop of water to the Son of ISHAI; and DI­VES [Page 427] denyes LAZARVS to dine with his Dogges. Who releeues him with a Penny, whom CHRIST redeemed with his Blood? Who thrusts not out CHRIST in a stranger, rather than takes in a Stranger for CHRIST his sake? As the swinish GERGASENES thrust CHRIST out of their Coasts: So with a many hoggish Churles, away with the Begger (the stur­dy I meane not, but the needy) to the next Consta­ble, Stocks, House of Cor­rection. Their care is but [Page 428] to be rid of them; they care not to releeue them.

Oh ho, now I haue him. Could you not thinke all this while, to what end he is so great a gatherer? You must not thinke What onely, but Whom he is to leaue behind him. Hee hath laid vp (with the Glutton in the Gospell) ‘for many Yeares:’ Yea and (beyond him too) for more Yeares than his owne. Iust one of them, that ‘Haue their Porti­on [Page 429] in this Life, and leaue the rest of their Substance for their Babes.’ It is a Fatherly affection that vrges him thus to scrape and heap: A Father (he thinkes) does not halfe loue his Children as he ought; that plots not by all meanes to make them rich. To beget Chil­dren, and bestow them, is (thinks he) a Fathers Whole: and to endow them largely is the only Education. Better not beget, than beget to Beg­gery; [Page 430] is an Apothegme of his owne: but the old Rule he remem­bers not; Better vn­borne, than vntaught. No matter for Instructi­on, they shall haue Wealth enough. Goods are more than Good­nesse: What cares he whether they learne to liue well; his care is to leaue them well to liue. It is all one to be such an ones Hogge, Horse, Dogge; as his: Sonne: Nay, his Hogges shall haue a Swineheard, his Horse a Rider, his [Page 431] Dogges a Futerer; but no Tutor for his Child. He will haue a Shep­heard in his Field, a Bayly in his yard; but scarce a Minister in his parish: A Clarke for his Bonds, a Steward ouer his lands; but no Schoolemaster to his Sonnes. He will looke that his land be well manured; but respects not though he that must haue it, be neuer so ill mannered. What an Idiot it is, thus to decke and dresse the Seruant; whose master notwith­standing [Page 432] must be but a Slouen. Oh their base­nesse, and folly! Lesse Cul­ture shall be bestowed vp­on the Owner; then vp­on his Possessions Sonnes, or Daughters; No mat­ter what they are, but what they haue: Be shee blacke, shee's Penny white; be she crooked, her Wealth will make her stract; be she neuer so bad, her Goods are e­nough to make her Good Be he base, hee's Gold Noble; Be he sheepish, he hath a Golden Fleece, be his Demeanour neuer [Page 433] so foule, he hath a faire Demeanes. What Vn­comelinesse or Euill will not Wealth make a man winke at? O Fooles! Whether is better, and to be preferred; Wealth, or Instruction? the one a grosse Heape, the other a rare Endowment; the one as vile to the other; as is the Body to the Minde. And whether is worse, and rather to be despised; a Begger, or a Foole? the one hath no Mony, the other hath no Wit: and what the one wants of a Rich man, the other wants of a Man.

And is it He, for whom thou dost so toyle, and plod? Like thy Oxe and Asse then, thou art not for thy selfe. Thou art but the Conduit-Pipe, and he the Cesterne: It comes thorow thine hands, but is laid vp for him. Thou therefore makest thee poore, to make him rich. And what good will it doe thee when thou art gone, that thou left'st a rich Heyre behind? Yea, more Rich (perhaps) than Good. Thou hast gained for him, and so [Page 435] hast lost thine owne Soule. Did it DIVES any good, that his Bre­thren (after him) liued merrily; and (great-like) of his Goods? Say they dranke Wine in Bowles; yet neuerthelesse his Tongue was tormented in that Flame. When thou diest miserably, what art thou the better that thy Children liue neuer so brauely? What is it, that they beget iollity to them, and horrour to thy Selfe? Hereby haue they Pleasure perhaps, but it but short: but [Page 436] thou hast torment both certaine, and endlesse. A wealthy Sonne profiteth not a guilty Father: No, though he would giue all he left him, for Masses, Dirges, Pardons, and Prayers; it could not (what ere Men faine) re­deeme his Soule from Hell. Indeed, Happy (they say) is he, whose Father is in Hell. For (say they againe) A rich man is either a bad man, or a bad mans Heire. If himselfe be bad, it will once goe worse with him: but if he only be [Page 437] heire to a bad man; he is happier himselfe, in that his Father is gone to the Deuill for him. Yet further; What faist thou, but another after thee may proue as la­uish, as thou hast beene scraping; as riotous, as thou sparing; and may scatter that in a Yeare, which tooke thee a Life to gather: and what pro­fit hast thou, that thou hast laboured for the Wind? Tis true, and iust; both said, and Found: After a great Getter, there commonly [Page 438] comes a Spender. Goods ill gotten, are ill spent: The First Heire may haue them, and a Second per­haps; all which a Third scarce comes to heare of.

Nay but (I now be­thinke me) thou hast neuer an Heire: For whom is it now thou dost so toyle, and irke, yea and damne thy selfe? Thou knowest, thou must not haue them; and who must haue them, thou knowest not. Perhaps, one that neuer knew thee, or will neuer thanke thee. HE puts [Page 439] thee in minde of such thy Frailty, and Folly at once: ‘Man Wal­keth in a vaine Sha­dow, and disquieteth himselfe in vaine: he heapeth vp riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them.’ Tush! why tell you him? If no Body will lay claime to it; let it fall to the King, Church, Commons, Poore of the Parish. But for feare of such a Forfeit, thou hast chosen thee an Heire [Page 440] vnto thy selfe: One that thou louest well; yea better it seemes than thine owne Soule. One that loues thee well; and well he may, and it be but for the loue hee hath to thine. He can­not chuse but loue thee horribly, while he loues Thine so impatiently: That is, he could wish Thee, and Thine at once, both hang'd, and had: yea, to haue Thine, what cares he to curse Thee to Hell? He is one of the same Name (I am sure) [Page 441] though not one of the Kinne. So, so; Keepe the House howsoeuer in the same Name; belike the Line was not worthy of it. ABSOLON hath no Childe for his Name to liue in; shall he rot therefore out of remem­brance? no, not while ABSOLONS Pillar stands. If he haue no Monument of his Loynes; he can haue a Pillar of his Name: and thats enough to vphold his House. This is one of the last, but not the least follies of Men, to let a Title [Page 442] carry it, before the Right: To make Kinsmen Stran­gers, and a Kinsman of a Stranger: With the whole Price of an Heire­dome, to buy the Name of an Heire; or an Heire of the Name: To purchase a lying Affinity with a costly kinde of Adoption. Nay but the Heire that must be, is a Poore Si­sters Sonne: The poore rag'd Knaue (I can tell you) is like to be Lord of all. He shall one day owne all that is his Vn­cles; though his Vncle now scarce will owne [Page 443] him. Not a Farthing will he allow him to educate, and maintaine him; though leaue him all at last, to waste per­haps, or else ingrosse. You shall finde him set the first in his Will; which neuer was suffe­red to sit the last at his Table. It is the manner of the Couetous, to part with nothing while they liue; no not to those, to whom they mind to leaue all at their Death. While he liues, all is too little for himselfe; but let him take all to him, when he [Page 444] dies. His Heire is now beholden to him, not for what he hath be­stowed; but for what he could not keepe: And will therefore thanke him, when he shall not heare him; will pray for him when it shall doe him no good. Thou now liest gas­ping, and thine Heire is gaping: Euery looke he lets vpon thee, accuses the slownesse of thy Death: For he thinkes it his Wrong and Hurt that thou liuest. Hee sighs and wailes before [Page 445] thee, not that he cares for thy losse; but hopes for thy Gaine: How he howles and blubbers, while thy hands quake, Teeth guash, Eyes close, Breath stops, Heart choaks, and Soule flits; & all, not so much that thou art now dead, as that thou diedst not ere this. No Mans Death is more desired, than the Co­uetous Mans: It is al­wayes expected, plotted often, yea and sometimes vntimely effected. All therefore wish him dead; because (like the Hog in [Page 446] the Pot) he doth good to none, but after his Death.

Well, thou'lt there­fore shake off these Sha­dowes; and mind'st (I heare) to build some Hospitall, Schoole, Col­ledge; or doe some cha­ritable Deed withall. Sayes he so? The Man liues poore (I perceiue) with purpose to die rich: and dies rich, to doe good after his Death. Yea, then doe Good, when he can doe no longer hurt. He hath robbed Peter all his Life; and will now pay Paul [Page 447] at his Death. That is no Liberalitie to giue, when he can no longer haue: no Charitie to releeue one, with what he hath wre­sted from another: no Pietie to doe Euill, that Good may come thereof: and no Equitie to get ill, with a purpose to bestow it well. I would not wish thee to goe to Hell all thy Life, with an intent to win Heauen after thy Death. Dost thou of­fend still, with purpose to make amends? Wealths well bestowing, is not enough for the [Page 448] Fault in the getting. Sa­tisfaction may appease the Hurt; it cannot wipe away the Guilt of Fraud, or Oppression. But if thou wilt doe Good withall; I would aduise thee to doe it, while thou hast it in thine hand to doe. Doe well with it, while it is yet thine: What thanks is it to thee, what Good is done with it, when thou hast left it. Doe then resigne it, be­fore thou must needs bequeath it. thou hadst as good doe Good by thy selfe, as others. Euen [Page 449] now feed and cloath the Poore, that their Loynes and Bowels may blesse thee, before thou diest. He is but a silly Traueller, that so orders for his Iour­ney, as to haue his Proui­sion sent after him, when himselfe is already gone so farre before: He may well want it, ere it ouer­take him. Good Workes goe merrily with, or be­fore vs: they follow but slowly afterwards.

I dreame but too well of him; theres no such matter he meanes. He meanes (as Hermo­crates) [Page 450] to make him­selfe his owne Heire: and wishes still that his Goods might fall by succession to himselfe. Or else (with Another) will he deuoure his Gold before his Death; and so bury it in him: Or (with such Another) sow it in his Sleeue, and appoint it to be buried with him. Ah this be­witching Wealth! ha this Gold, this Gold! how it ties Mens Hearts vnto it? Once Couetous, and alwayes so. Auarice is com­monly the Vice of old Age: [Page 451] Whereas other vices then fade, this grows afresh. And as it begins with Age, so it ends not but with Life. A Couetous Man growes the fonder of his Gold, the sooner he must forgoe it: Yea, when it must needs Leaue him; euen then is he loth to leaue it.

I haue now said so much of thee, that I had almost forgotten my selfe. Who (thinkst thou) am I? Euen no better than I would; no other than thou oughtst to be. Will I (like thee) abase mine [Page 452] Affections vnto Earth; when I am bound to ayme at nothing vnder Heauen? To what can I stoope to in a World, that am aboue a World? I am more worthy, than to welcome base Pelfe vnto me, so as to wor­ship it: My Minde came from Heauen; My Gold comes but from Earth: I doe not meane to set Earth aboue Heauen, in letting my Gold ouer­rule my Minde. If it will dwell with me, it shall be my Seruant; I intend to bee no Slaue [Page 453] vnto it. Riches can I contemne, and not de­sire, and vse: can vse the World, as though I vsed it not; can passe by this present Life; be­cause I am to passe through it to another, to a better Life. Yea, can content me with a pre­sent Scantnesse, for hope of the Fulnesse I am to haue hereafter. It is not an Earth that I would; nor can an Earth suffice and appease my Will. My Heart is a true fra­med Triangle, a coyned Circle cannot fill it. No­thing [Page 454] can satisfie my Soule, but All things: He only is enough vn­to it, in whom it is. No­thing lesse than God, can suffice the Soule that is capable of God. Euery Creature is but vile to him, that knowes but his Creator. A whole Earth is too strait for him, that lookes as wide as Heauen. The whole Ocean of the World is but as a drop to a thirstie Soule; to whom one drop of the riuer of Paradise is plenteous re­freshment. Hee counts Mammon but base, that [Page 455] prizes God: And the wise Merchant cares not to part with all, to purchase the pretious Pearle vnto him. Did my Will em­brace a World, it would still aske more; A World is not enough to my Will: What then should I de­sire, but what onely and fully can answer, and ap­pease my Desire?

I haue but little, tis true; and the best is, I want but little. I haue but little, yet enough: and that can neuer be little, that is enough; and what is not enough, when [Page 456] it is at the most, is not much. I lacke but little; I haue chosen the better part than so, to be care­full for many things, when one thing is ne­cessary. ‘Godlinesse with Contentment is great Gaine;’ said One, that for his Knowledge, ‘knew both how to want, and how to abound:’ and for his Experience, ‘Hauing nothing, yet possessed all things.’ Godlinesse [Page 457] with Contentment saies he? Why thats enough for Man or Christian: Nature inuites the one, to be content with a little: and Grace aduises the other, ‘Hauing food and Raiment, there­with to be content.’ A Man will Content him with Natures lot and li­mit: so will a Christian bee content with what measure God hath mett out vnto him. Content is all: The least Portion is enough, the lowest Condi­tion happy, with the [Page 458] aequanimitie of the Bea­rer. The Man is likest to God, that lacks the least; whose propertie it is, to haue need of Nothing; and to be sufficed with himselfe. The Contented Man is rich in the midst of Pouertie: whereas the Couetous is poore in the midst of Riches. He that can be content with what he hath; wants not, what he hath not: he that is not so, wants what he hath. The Patriarch cared for no more, but ‘Bread to eat, and Raiment to [Page 459] put on:’ The Wise Man craued neither ‘Pouer­tie,’ nor ‘Riches;’ but ‘Conuenience’ onely. I will make that enough to mee, which God hath gi­uen mee with a sparing hand. God saw no more was good for mee, he ther­fore gaue mee no more Whether God giues little, or much, he giues for the best. ‘Better is a little with the Feare of the Lord; than great Treasure, and trou­ble therewith.’ Or say [Page 460] my Estate be not e­nough to my Will; I can make my Will e­nough to mine Estate: Namely, while it an­swers not mee accor­dingly; I can accor­dingly apply my selfe to it. Hee that cannot make his owne enough; will neuer haue enough, though all were his owne.

Mee thinks I yet see how Crates threw his Gold into the Sea: And heare how Phocion told Alexander, that himselfe was richer, who needed not his great Gift; than [Page 461] was hee who gaue it: And thinke how Fabri­cius thought it a King­dome, to contemne the Wealth of a King. These knew Gold and Siluer was but an elaborate Dust; Wealth was but a toylsome Heape; and all manner of Riches, not such as their owne Worth, but the Errours of men had prized, and brought into request. This vnnecessary Trash (they knew, & proued) was but an impediment to Vertue; and an in­ticement to Euill: They [Page 462] therefore (whose best Vertues, were but the best Vices) despised that for Vertues sake, which they knew to be the matter and meanes to Vice. Did the Nations abhorre, and doth Israel adore the Golden Idoll? Is Mony lesse Earth and Drosse, than it was of old, or are Mens Affecti­ons now become more vile and earthy? Haue Chri­stians more neede of Wealth, than had Pagans? Nay haue they not a nea­rer, safer, fuller Proui­dence within; than haue [Page 463] they that were, and are without? How is it now, they preferre the things of this Life before them, that had neither the Knowledge, nor Hope of another and better Life? To leaue and contemne the Wealth of the World, is an ordinary Lesson of Philo­sophie: To heape and adore them then, can be no good Diuinitie. If Nature could teach Them to neglect them; because they did them no Good: Grace (mee thinkes) should the rather in­struct mee not to regard [Page 464] them, because they doe mee hurt.

Yea (as I fay) doe me hurt: and more hurt, then for which a World can make amends. Both staine my Soule, and damne my Soule: and can a World now both wipe, and quit, this both Guilt, and Losse? ‘What shall it profit a Man, if hee shall gaine the whole World; and lose his owne Soule?’ (saith HE, that doth as much [Page 465] as quite deny, what hee doth thus demand) ‘or what shall a man giue in exchange for his Soule?’ An whole World (belike) is not worth a Soule. I were vnwise then to hazard my Soule, though it were for a world. I will tell the Worldling what I know, and what hee finds. Riches staine the Soule: For a Man doth not lightly and easily become rich, without his Euill and Sinne. Why doth he call it the [Page 466] ‘Ʋnrighteous Mam­mon?’ but because Ri­ches and Righteousnesse seldome goe together: But it is common to haue Wealth and Wickednesse at once. How gets a Man his Wealth, but by Fraud and Oppression? how spends a Man his Wealth, but vpon his Pride and Lusts? That must needs be bad out­right; which is purchased by bad meanes, and im­ployed to bad Ends Riches are but base in their Na­ture; but are euen bad in [Page 467] their Effects. He might haue beene Poore and In­nocent together; that is now growne both Guilty, and Rich. Is a man to more good for his Goods? I will neuer thinke: Man the better for his Meanes; since (I see) it is the meanes to make him worse. But I must tell him withall, what I feare, and what hee would loth to finde: Riches damne the Soule. It is (woe, ah woe!) too true. Before he beginne his Gaine, he hath quite lost himselfe: yet consi­ders [Page 468] not, how he loses all in the losse of him­self. The acquisition of his Pelfe was at the first sealed with the damna­tion of his Soule. Who but THEY (the De­uill and his Angels) were to fetch away the Rich mans Soule? He bids you vnderstand how headlong he hur­ries downe to Hell; that tells you how hardly he gets vp into Heauen: Saying: ‘Jt is easier for a Camell to goe thorow the eye of a [Page 469] needle; than for a Rich man to enter into the Kingdome of God.’ Briefly, He tells plainely of their Ble­mish and Vengeance together: ‘They that will be rich fall into temptation, and a Snare; and into ma­ny foolish, and hurt­full Lusts, which drowne men in de­struction, and perdi­tion.’

Ah but tis a miserie (me thinkes) to bee poore: And there is (we say) No Woe, to Want. The Parenthesis was well put in, both for the pith, and Truth of the Saying. Pouerty is a Misery, but it is to them that so make it, because they take it so. Pouertie is no burden to him, that can beare it out: None feeles the weight of it, but he that feares to vnder­goe it. Not trouble some is it to him that beares it; but to him that will not beare it. Nothing is hard [Page 471] to a willing Mind: to an vnwilling is nothing easie. Pouerty is grieuous to no man; but rather many a Man is so to it. This is the misery of it, that a man will needs make it so to himselfe. I am worthily wretched, when I will not be otherwise per­swaded, but that I am so. In my Minde, Hee's not poore, that would not be rich: and hee lacks nothing, that craues not many things. Tush, tush: No man is poore indeed: and (but in conceit) is no Man rich. [Page 472] He is Poore indeed, that cares to be rich: Hee's rich enough, that feares not to be Poore. Reach indeed to the Opinion of Men, and who is Rich? But stoope to the Condition of Men, and who is Poore? Na­ture hath limited a Man to liue with little: And shall a Man thinke him Poore when he hath not wherewithall to trans­gresse Natures Bounds? There is a kinde of Meannesse, and Scant­nesse to many a Man: It is their pecuishnesse [Page 473] to call it Basenesse, and Beggery: and to re­proach it so, and abhor it. Men doe miscall, what they know not how to esteeme. And as Children are skarred at Bugge-beares, and fa­bled or fained Hob­goblins: so Fooles flie this Ghostly and gastly appearing Pouerty by Fire and Water, Sea and Land. Let others thinke Pouerty a wofull mi­sery; I will deeme it (as I well proue it) an happy Security. The Poore Man, he does no hurt; [Page 474] he feares no hurt: Hee is not enuied, not hated, not cursed; incures not the treacherous Enmi­ties of Men: He sings, and dances before the Theefe; sleepes safe and sound vnder euery Hedge. Nothing hath he, he feares to lose; and lies so low, as whence he cannot fall. I should therefore like Pouerty the better, because it is lesse obnoxious to Feare, and Losse; Who would still trouble him to possesse Riches; that must once be more troubled in [Page 475] their Losse? It is safer a great deale, not to Haue, than to Lose: And hee farre merrier, whom For­tune neuer respected; than whom she hath now forsa­ken. The Lesser I am; I am Greater, than whom Change, or Chance may indam­mage.

But say Pouerty were worse than it is; and I poorer than I am: I am ot other than Others, yea and my Betters haue likewise beene. What should I tell of poore Kings, Prophets, Apo­stles, [Page 476] Fathers, Saints? CHRIST himselfe was Poore: borne of a poore Woman, brought forth in a poore Stable, lapt in poore Clouts, laid in a poore Manger, liued a poore Life: HE, euen he hungred, he wanted; he had not wherewith to pay the Due; he had not whereon to lay his Head. Now Worme of Earth, how is it thou couetest so to be rich; sith the God of Heauen and Earth, was so willing to be Poore. What was there in the World, was worthy [Page 477] of God? What cared he then for the worth of a World? Why would hee want these Things of ours? but to tell vs, that we our selues might well bee without them: Why contemne them? but to teach vs not to desire them. My SAVIOVR cared not to bee rich, feared not to bee Poore: to bid me not trouble my selfe with so need­lesse Feares, and Cares.

One thing is, (let the World goe the worst with me) I cannot liue poorer, than I was [Page 478] Borne; and so must Die. ‘Naked (said the Poore man) came J out of my Mothers Wombe; and naked shall I returne thi­ther.’ And the wise man; ‘As hee came forth of his mothers wombe, naked shall he returne to goe as he came: and shall take nothing of his Labour, which bee may carry away in [Page 479] his hand: Jn all points as he came, so shall hee goe; and what profit hath he, that hath laboured for the Wind?’ Come naked, Goe naked; Bring nothing, Carry nothing: To what pur­pose then doe Men get and gather those things which they once had not; and once must not haue? These things of ours; here only we haue them; and wee leaue them here. Said I of [Page 480] Ours? How are they Ours, which at first were not so; and at last shall not so be? That is ours, which we bring with vs; but that anothers, which we get vnto vs: That is Ours, which we keepe with vs; but that anothers, which wee leaue behind vs. That is a mans Owne, which is not added to a Man; which is not taken from a Man; which is not one mans more than anothers. A Mans Soule is a mans owne: Riches are not so. Oh hazzard not your [Page 481] owne, to haue the Things that are not yours! He fitly called them ‘vn­certaine Riches:’ They vncertaine to vs; and we likewise to them. They Vncertaine: Now ours, now others; now gotten, now gone. Nothing is Certaine in Riches, but vncertainty. So He expresly; ‘Riches Certainly make themselues Wings, They fly away, as an Eagle towards Hea­uen.’ An Eagle flies [Page 482] suddenly, flies swiftly: So are Riches gone in­stantly, gone irrecouera­bly. These things of ours, they goe from vs by more wayes than one. Either thy Fade of themselues; or we Consume them; or others Depriue vs of them. Our Food is sub­iect to putrefaction; our Garments to the Moth, and fretting; our Gold and Siluer to the rust and canker; our Lands to barenesse and bar­rennesse; and our Hou­ses to rottennesse and ruine. Fire may deuoure [Page 483] them, Water swallow them, Enemies spoile them, or Theeues pur­loyne them. O vaine Man! How is it thou now trustest in a Thing so vaine? ‘Trust not in vncertaine Riches: Set not thine eyes vpon the Thing that is not:’ Yea, let mee say to One, and All of you: ‘Lay not vp for your selues Treasures vp­on Earth, where Moth and Rust doth [Page 484] corrupt; and where Theeues breake tho­row and steale: But lay vp for your selues Treasures in Hea­uen, where neither Moth and Rust doth corrupt, and where Theeues do not break thorow and steale.’ We also are vncertaine: Did not Riches leaue vs; yet must we leaue them at last. Death is not drawne to partiali­tie; nor can she be cor­rupted: [Page 485] Gold and Siluer will not hire her to winke at the Wealthy. As dieth the Poore Man: so dieth the Rich. Shee knocks as readily, and equally at the Kings, as at the Beggers Doore. Death (when she comes) comes not to take his Wealth from the Rich man; but rather the Rich man from his Wealth. That Rich Glut­ton had laid vp enough in store for many yeares: but that Night ‘They’ (Death and the [Page 486] Deuill) they fetcht away his Soule. His Goods were yet laid vp; but his Soule now was fetcht away. Trustlesse, yea and Witlesse Wretch he was! Trustlesse, in that (denying the Proui­dence of God) he laid vp for so many yeares: Witlesse, not conside­ring how (for his owne Frailty) he could not promise that Night vn­to himselfe. To what end should I lay vp for many Yeares; when I am not sure, my yeares shall bee many? Why [Page 487] should I so greedily get That to me; which I know not how readily I may be fetcht from, or it from me? Where­fore should I prouide for so long, when my Iourny is not farre? The little I haue, may (for what I know) out-last my Life. I haue (I know) but a little way Home; and I doe not meane to make a Burthen of my Prouision. I would haue my Shooe but fit­ted to my Foot: a Cloake too large or long, would but tire mee to [Page 488] trauell in. It is to Liue, as to Swimme; easiest for him that is the lightest. So I haue sufficient for to Day; let to Morrow take care for it selfe. Why should my Care be for the Morrow; when I am not sure the Morrow shall be mine? He that likes not my Resolution, let him read my Warrant, and vnderstand it. ‘Take no thought for the Morrow; for the Morrow shall take [Page 489] thought for the Things of it selfe. Sufficient vnto the Day is the Euill thereof:’ I doe not meane to make it the worse to me, by ad­ding mine owne vnto it. Neither will I riot and waste, because I may die to Morrow: nor yet Couet and scrape, be­cause to Morrow may be mine to liue. He that so spends the Things of the World, as if he were to Die now; so spares, as if he wert to Liue yet: the [Page 489] same vses the World, as if he vsed it not: And is richer in the Inioyment of a small Portion; than is the other in the Keeping of the largest Heape.

Churlish Death! (thou saist) and the rather so; to threaten a Separation betwixt Thee & Thine: than betwixt Thee and thy selfe. Thou irkest lesse (I know) thy Body and Soules finall Disso­lution; than thy Mind & Monies least Diuision. Thou art married to thy MAMMON: ty'd in a Knot vnto it, which [Page 490] Death onely must vn­doe. Thou art one with thy Wealth: and ere thou wilt not be coue­tous, thou wilt not Be. Hugge thy Heapes yet a while; and kisse euery Face of thy Coyne: Where thy Treasure is, there let thy Heart yet be: Death shall scatter thy Treasure, when she hits thy Heart. While thou thinkst on what thou hast laid vp; that Night (thou thinkst not on) shall come. Then shall their Heape stay behind thee; and their [Page 490] Guilt onely shall goe with thee: And thy Money moreouer shall merit thee this Memo­riall: [Page]