The publishing of the Croysado, and the manner how it first beganne. CHAP. I.

THE people of God, now for the space of 480. yea­res, had patiently endu­red a most intollerable and cruel seruitude, not ceasing continually to cry vnto God for mercy, and compassion vpon their [Page 154] deplorable state with vnspeakeable teares, deepe groanes, incredible sighs perpetual prayers and oraisons, beseeching him, through his diuine goodnes and clemency, to haue pitty on his afflicted people; and pardoning their offences, to turne away the rod of his indignations and displea­sure against them. Til at last being now falne into the depth of al mise­ryes, inuoking te Abisse of mercy, they were heard by him who is the God of al consolation The forme or model whereof, or rather the first occasion taken of their redemption, I wil here declare in breife.

The holy Citty of God Hierusalem, sometimes most deare vnto him: being thus in a miserable bondage, subiect to infinite oppression vnder the tyranny of the Infidels and Saracyns, among those who of deuotion went thither to visit the venerable places of our Redemption, being led with the same feruour; came likewise a very no­table man of the Church, called Peter the Hermit by name, borne in the [Page 155] diocesse of Amiens in France.

He was a person but litle of sta­ture, and for the exteriour, carying no great part with him? but of a great viuacity of spirit, and fit for high at­cheiuements, being interiourly ac­complished otherwise with singular vertue and prudence, as one that could wel explicate and deliuer himself and his affayres. This Pilgrime entring into the Citty with the rest, and no­ting the wretched & calamiteous state of the faithful people liuing therein, & thither repayring for deuotiō sake, re­senting the matter and taking it vnto the hart, found the meanes to acquaint himself with Symeon the Bishop the­reof, a very good man, of a tender conscience, and fearing God, to con­fer with him thereof, and to consult vpon some remedy. When Peter vnder­standing from him the lamentable sta­te of that City, groaning vnder the intollerable burden of the Saracyns and Enemyes of the Faith; was so moued thereat, that he could not refrayne from teares, but demanded [Page 156] what helpe there was for so great mischeefs and euils: the good Pa­stour replyed. The sinnes of the people are cause of al. But if the Christians were so zealous of the honour of God, as they bee, some helpe might yet be found, but there is none wil take our cause in hand. Whereuppon the pious Hermit vn­dertooke, that if hee would write to his Holynes, to the Emperour, and to the rest of the Kings and Princes of the west: and giue them to vnder­stand at large the miseryes and affli­ctions the people were in, confirming it with the authority of his seale; hee himself would bee the messinger if hee pleased to make vse of him, and would most faithfully discharge [...]he trust. And would moreouer viua voce, make a fuller remonstrance vnto them, of what his eyes had seene; adding spurrs where neede required to incite them to so noble an enter­prize.

This free promise of his, seemed to come from heauen, and pleased the [Page 157] Patriarch & the assistāce of the faithful beyond measure; and therefore most affectuously the holy man thankt him for his offer, and addressed letters of that tenour with those of credence as the matter required. In the meane while, the poore man finding his shoulders too feeble for a busynes of that importance, began to faynt, but yet his great Charity put him on mo­re hotly vpon it. And the rather ha­uing receiued a Reuelation from God in his sleepe, to encourage him to it, which signifyed thus much. Arise vp Peter, and bee diligent, not fearing to performe what thou hast vnder­taken; assuring thy self I wil neuer forsake thee, but wil be allwayes with thee. For the tyme shal come, that the holy places shalbee purged and cleansed from al pollution, and my seruants succoured. Whereupon Peter awaking, leapt vp, wholy comforted with the vision, being encouraged thereby to prosecute the busynes; and so taking his leaue of the Patriarch, with good diligence [Page 158] arriued at Rome, where finding Pope Vrban, he presented him the letters, and faithfully made him a perfect rela­tion of the state of Hierusalem, and did it so efficaciously, as moued him not a litle to apply what remedy he could. And therefore immediately, being the yeare of the Incarnation of our Lord. 1085. Pope Vrban called a Councell at Cleremont, wherein he assembled al the Prouinces beyond the Alpes. So as on the Moneth of Nouember following, was gathered togeather in the Name of our Lord IESVS Christ, a holy assembly of Arch­bishops, and other Prelates of the Church, accompanied with a good number of Princes of the Kingdome of Fraunce. And Vrban remembring his promise to Peter the Hermit, in a most eloquent and prolix Oration, recommended to the Councel the important buisynes of Hierusalem: and hauing liuely set downe the de­plorable state of those countryes, hee graunted that famous Indulgence of the Croysado, in these words.

These Indulgences of the holy Pa­stour, were receiued as come from hea­uen, and al with one consent applau­ded the same, and embraced them wil­lingly. Whereby may easily be iudged how the words of Christ were accom­plished [Page 161] heere. I come not to bring peace into the land, but the sword. For present­ly you might see the husbād to absent himself from his wife, fathers to aban­don their children, Children their pa­rents. In so much, as the Religious who had vowed a recluse and solitary life, went forth of their cloysters. Now it was ordeyned, and as it were dy diuine commaundement enioyned, to al those who would employ them­selues in this happy warfare, to weare on the right shoulder some signe of the Passion of our Lord IESVS Christ, for example, a Crosse in testimony of the vow they had made, to go visit the Land, wherein was literally accom­plished the precept of IESVS Christ inLuc 9. the Ghospel. Hee that wil come after mee, let him deny himselfe, and take vp his Crosse, and follow mee.

Thus much I haue set downe, of the first origin of that famous enter­prise which then began, and which hath been diuerse tymes vpon sundry occasions since renewed. Whereof one was after two notable victoryes [Page 162] which the Christian Princes had got vpon the cōmon Enemy which gaue them encouragement to aduance the Croysado anew, being vnanimously resolued vpon, in the Councel of Lat [...] ­ran, one of the greatest and most famous assemblyes that euer Chri­stendome had seene: where besides the Embassadours from al Princes were two Patriarcks, 70. Archbis­hops, 402. Bishops, and eight hun­dred other Prelates.

Andrew the King of Hungary and Transiluanie the aforesaid father of our Elizabeth, was chosen General of the Christian forces at that tyme, which he willingly accepted for the zeale of Gods glorie, and desire of honour. But perceiuing noe good successe of the enterprise, he gaue ouer and returned home, re infecta. After which, al Europe being now in great dread and amaze­ment, for the late happy successes of the infidel Army in Egypt. Frederick Babarossa the Emperour, who had es­poused the daughter of the King of Hierusalem, was entreated by al the [Page 163] Christian Princes to succour the de­cayed & declyning state of Christen­dome. Wherefore hee assēbled a great part of the Christian Princes at Cremo­na to consult thereof, among which was our noble Lātgraue the forwardest of al, to promote the enterprise, so as hee was held the fittest of any to haue the cheife Cōmaund, if any such thing were resolued vpon: which were the occasions of those former seruices and attēdances on Frederick the Emperour in Apulia, wee mentioned aboue.

HOVV THE CROYSADC being published anew, the Lantgraue secretly receiued the Crosse, and went to meete with the Emperour in Sicily. CHAP. II.

THe holy Citty of Hierusalē ha­uing been [...] subdued & sub­iected to the power of the enemyes of the Christian faith, for our demerits, endured the yoke of an intollerable and calamitous seruitude about so­me 490. yeares at least, vnder diuers [Page 164] reuolutions and mutations of states In which tyme, as often as things had their seueral vicissitudes, following the diuerse alterations and variety of the tymes, so often had this Citty changed their Lords. According to whose gouernment and disposition, it receiued sometymes ioyful, and somtymes sad alterations of fortunes, not vnlike to the accesses of a bur­ning feauer in a sick man, without euer being able wholy to recouer it self, and a perfect state of health, vntil the first publication of the Croysado aforesaid: when through the instiga­tion of Peter the Hermite, and the glo­rious atcheiuements of Godfrey of Bul­loigne; It was conquered and recoue­red from them: though relapsed after­warde for the sinnes of the people into the state as before.

And this was that, which moued the Vicar of Christ, and Pastour of the vniuersal Church at this tyme; considering the chosen people of God, to bee now come Slaues to the Turkish y [...]ake, & the royal Preisthood [Page 165] and the holy Citty of God, the Prin­cesse of Prouinces, to be subiect to those seruile tributes, to promulgate a third tyme the said Croysado for the re­demption of that Citty and to vindi­cate the sacred pledge of the Sepulchre of Christ, from the Infidel power. For what Christian hart could endure the holy places whereon the feete of our Sauiour Iesus Christ, so familiarly had trod, & which haue so plentifully been dyed with his pretious bloud, should so impiously bee prophaned and pol­luted by those miscreants, that tyran­nically held them by strong hand. Who is he that cōsidering these things would not melt into teares! Who is hee, that considering these things would not melt into teares? Who is hee whose hart would not pine and languish quite, reducing these things to memory? Who is hee, that would not bee moued to hazard his life to en­franchize his brethren enthralled in so cruel a captiuity.

Whereupon it being now three yeares since the Prince returned from [Page 166] Apulia, by the Popes decree, the Crosse began to bee preached againe, throughout al Christendome against the professed enemyes of Christ: and the Christian name, who h [...]ld the captiue Hierusalem in their possession with al the Countryes adioyning thereto, commonly called the Holy Land. This same besides other sum­mons vsed and confederations, la­boured with the greater Lords, both Princes and Bishops, allured the no­ble Lantgraue and Prince of Thurin­gia, as I said, to prepare himself for this expedition of the Holy Land, and to shew himself as forward as any, to receiue the Crosse from the Bishop Heldesam, which hee fixed on his habit: The only care hee had, was to conceale it from his Wife for a tyme, that hee might not greeue her too suddenly, or make her lāguish for sorrow any time before his voya­ge, being priuy to the great affection she bare vnto him.

But alas, the Crosse thus cōcealed, not­withstanding all the diligences vsed [Page 167] that possibly could bee, to keepe the secret from her. Elizabeth ere long came priuily to the knowledge there­of, while according to custome shee searched the Princes purse, to find some money to giue vnto the poore, presuming on the general leaue and liberty afforded her in al such occa­sions. Whereupon though shee loued the Crosse very wel, yet was shee neuer so troubled at the sight thereof, as shee was at this tyme. For being quick of apprehension, & vnderstanding of the publishing of the foresaid Croysado, with the knowne zeale and valour of her Hushand: shee soone concluded against her self. When you might haue seene a notable conflict of sundry pas­sions, now of loue, now of feare, by en­terchanges of white and red, to ap­peare in her countenance. One while the absence of his dearest personage seemed to wound her hart; encreased with the feare of seeing him no more? Oh what a knife was this to her gentle breast? Then againe, she would cal to mynd, the noblenes of the enter­prise [Page 168] it self; the honour that would redound to God thereby, and profit to the Church. Considering which, at last she yeilded; for what was she, who­se priuate interests should poyse with­al these high and honourable respects, and especially with the greater glory and seruice of God.

With this she stood as it were like a Satue, when behold the Prince sus­pecting nothing, and entring in, as he was wont perceiued how the matter went, and not being able to hold any longer, most louing and cheerfully spake thus vnto her, taking her by the hand. ‘How fares it with my Si­ster now. What a la mort? And is it euen so? You were not wont to looke so sadly; those clouds vsed not to shadow the serenity of your face. Something deare Sister is amisse.’ Oh what disastre I pray hath obscured the cheerfulnes of that brow wont to entertayne mee with a gratious smile at my entering. Oh speake deare Sister, and put mee out of paine. Whereto Elizabeth answeared. ‘[Page 169] You must pardon mee Deare Lord and my louing Brother: if I bee not now as yesterday, or as I haue for­merly beene since I am of flesh and blood and subiect to the sense and passions thereof; Whereas were I otherwise, or wholy spirituall you might well expert so euen a tenour of mynd and countenance as you speake of. Alas (good Brother) how should I bee otherwise, when I am to loose the staffe of my estate, the comfort of my hart, the apple of myne eye, the moytie of my self, euen my second self. How can I choose but bee heauy at all these disasters surprizing mee at once, how can I choose but bee sensible of the Crosse which you haue taken on your shoulders. Whereto the Prince replyed, the truth is deare Sister I haue taken vp the Crosse you speake of, which our Redeemer hath layed vpon mee. Would you not haue mee to correspond with his seruice. The Temple of our Lord God from whence Iesus Christ, being iealous of [Page 170] his honour and moued with diuine zeale, draue away the prophane Marchants, not suffering the howse of his Father, to become a denne of Beasts, or retraite of Theeues, is now vnfortunatly made a hell of in­fernall inhabitants. The Citty of the king of kings, which to others hath giuen rules of true faith, is now at this present extreamity out­raged and constrained to serue the superstitions of the Gentils. And would you not haue mee set my hand to the redemption of these places? I know you would, your zeale to Gods honour, I assure my self, will not permit you to enuy him the same, nor your charity and loue to his flock, suffer you to barre them the succour: and therefore deare Sister let mee intreate you to [...]esigne your self in this, to the espe­ciall ordination of God.’ Noe my deare Lord, (said she) may it please you to know, I am not trou­bled at your voyage or enterprize soe much for any thing as that my [Page 171] sex and condition will not permit mee to accompany you thither, since I assure you, if my blood and life would excuse the whole voyage, for my Sauiour and my neighbours sake, I should freely and easily lay downe the same; but consider I am a Woman of flesh & blood, and noe senseles image, or a meere spirit de­uoyd of passions and affections, and therefore pardō my infirmity herein, while in the Superiour I am wholely resigned to that which is yours, and the will of God. And soe she dryed vp her eyes, and from that tyme forward, gaue her self to prepare for the voyage, as she had beene to haue gone her self.

Till at last, things now being put in a readines, the compleate armour prepared for his owne person, his Esquiers, and Estat [...]sions appointed and ordayned, his steeds brauely ca­parisoned, his Sumpters & all things now in goodly equipage. Rodulph the Princes Cu [...]bearer who had the office assigned him comes into the [Page 172] roome vnto the Princely couple, and tells them, it was now tyme to take their leaue of each other, since his Marshall troupes expected his coming, and were ready to march to the randeuous. The good Eliza­beth notwithstanding, would go along with her dearest Spouse on the way, not willing to leaue his company, till of force she must, soe long then as they were in their owne Territoryes, she accompanyed him till they arriued to the confines thereof, when it was not fit, she should passe any further.

They are now then come to the place assigned▪ when behold no ton­gue tan possibly expresse, the amou­rous, and dolourous significations of the chast Spouses in their last adiew: such Spouses as the world had not a better paire, if wee re­gard the piety of their minds, the purety of their hartes, the integrity of their bodyes, inuiolably kept for each other, in that honourable state: besides the coniugall vnity betwee­ne [Page 173] them which is euen the very hap­pynes thereof, wherein these things are truely found, as with them it was in the greatest punctuallytie that might bee, as appeares by those speciall and mutual appellations of of Brother and Sister, which passed betweene them. For now were words of no vse with them, nor could expresse a last adiew; the eyes with teares were faine to supply that office, and shaking the hands to each other a far of, was al they could do. While the noyse of fi [...]e, drum­me, and trumpets with other warli­ke instruments, had made the ton­gue vnprofitable in that Ceremony.

Elizabeth returning home with her sad company, for lo they were al touched very deepely with the sorrow of this so loth depart of these true Louers: like an other Iudith, she layes aside, the attires of her glorie and magnificence, and tooke to her self [...] Widow habit she was wont to weare in her husbands absence, and for as much as she was now [Page 174] more desolate then euer, as hauing, as she thought, much more cause of discomforts then she had at any time before, she addicted her self to a greater retirednes, acting as it were her Widowes part before her tyme, in outward shew. But for the interiour, she was now more free then euer, to attend to her spiritual Spouse. For neuer any one I thinke, so mingled two such seeming con­trary loues as th [...]se, with better har­mony and temper then she; so as her heauenly Spouse had no cause to enuy the others part, nor her earth­ly one, to say she was too religious & altogether vnapt for the Wedlock state. Because indeed she knew right wel what it was to loue God aboue al things, with al her hart, and with al her powers, and the Neigh­bour as her self, her parents with the loue due vnto Parents, her Chil­dren with that belonged to them, and lastly her husband with a loue transcending al other earthly loue, but farre inferiour to that of God.

THE ARRIVAL OF THE Lantgraue in Sicily, where the Emperour was: his Death, and the Lamentation made by Elizabeth for him. CHAP. III.

SVch is the inconstancy and mu­tability of earthly things; so va­rious are the aduentures of this lyfe, and so diuers the euents of humaine actions, as nothing seemes more constant, then a kind of incon­stancy in al things, nothing more steedy then a perpetual vnsteedynes and mutability of fortunes: and fina­ly, nothing fuller of Varietyes, and viciscitudes then is the life of this glorious Princesse, the sport of for­tune, a Sceane of enterludes, a tra­gedy ful of sad Catastrophes, in a word a paterne of al patience, expo­sed on the spacious Theatre of the [Page 176] world. For she being now setled in her vidual way; a course which gaue her extreame contentment wherein she might with fuller scope attend to the affayres of her soule: Posts continualy passe to and fro, stil certifying her of the safe arriual, and good health of her Lord the re­nowned Lantgraue in Sicily, with the great expectation the world had of him, and how the voyce went, he was to bee the General of al the Christian forces, in that great expe­dition: a thing sutable to his zeale of Gods honour, and his heroical hart, matched with a singular prudence in him, and dispose fit for so great a manage, by whom likewise she particulary vnderstood of the great entertaynement made him by the Emperour Frederick: and how for the present they were busied with setling of affayres in those parts in visiting of Forts, Castles, and cittyes for the greater security of Christen­dome, with a thousand other things of good importance and of much [Page 177] consolation to her in her Spouses ab­sence. She heard withal, that the Prince would happily find the ley­sure to visit her yet before the voya­ge to the Holy Land could bee who­ly prepared. The Posts stil brought nothing but comforts to Elizabeth insatiable to heare from him, ouer ioyed with the hope to see him ere long.

But fortune, or rather diuine Or­dination, so disposing when the Prince now tho [...]ght to haue taken his leaue of the Emperour, to retur­ne to his Country for dispatch of same particular affayres, which pressed him much; Tydings was brought, that the Sultan the profes­sed enemy was in readynes to make some notable attempt vpon the Christians. The newes amazed them much, and doubtesse had not the Princes valour and expectation rea­red their hopes, their harts had fay­led. So as now it was necessary the Prince should stay, and his returne was growne vnpossible Wherefore [Page 178] taking pen and incke in hand, in­stead of going himself in person, hee was fayne to write to his dearest Elizabeth, his true and vnfayned ex­cuse in these words.

Deare Sister, by this you may read how poore a thing Man is: hee often determines this or that, but God disposeth al things: I had my foote euen ready in the stirrop, to haue seene th [...]e once more, accor­ding to my purpose in my last. But behold the face of things is altered, through the hot vnexpected char­ging of the Enemy on our frontiers; and wee who at ley sure had thought to haue found him out to confront him, are now enforced to prouide for our selues to repel him: Wee must needes therefore sudainely ma­ke head, and hasten sooner then wee thought, commending the whole enterprize to thy prayers, and espe­cially my life and person, that wee returne victorious and triumphant ouer the enemyes of the Christian Name, and I may see and enioy thee [Page 179] once more, howsoeuer I trust that I haue so prouided for thee, as what­soeuer become of mee, thou shalt bee able to liue of thy self, and that if I dye thou wilt be myndful of my soule, so as at least wee may happily meete in heauen. Til when I bid thee adiew. And so putting to his wonted subscription, he sealed it vp in al hast, dispatching the Post as soone as might bee.

These last words were as certaine presages of what immediately fol­lowed; For af [...]er hee had laboured much to animate the army disconso­late and dismayed with the former newes, spending his spirits too prodigally, fell into a Calentura or malignant f [...]auer, and being youth­full and full of blood, the malignity of [...]he malady encreasing, his lyfe was vtterly dispayred; and finally receiuing the Sacraments, of the Pa­triarch of Hierusalem, hee gaue vp his happy spirit on the eleauenth of September.

It can not bee told what expres­siōs [Page 180] of mourning there was through the whole Campe, and but for that the Body was to bee conueyed by his Freinds into Thuringia, neuer gene­rall had been more honorably enter­red by the Emperour and the Army, then hee: how soeuer they spared it not, in a marshall manner to condole with his Hearse, soe long as they had him present in that sort. When the Newes of this vntymely death was brought vnto Thuringia, the former Post was permitted to deliuer his letters from the Prince vnto the Dutchese his Spouse, written with his owne hand, immediatly before his infirmity, which they all sup­posed would bee a good disposition to prepare her against the last en­counter, that should bee giuen her of his certaine departure out of this world; which she read and tooke as discreetly as was to be expected From her; But then all the care was taken that possibly could bee, how to breake the latter tydings vnto her, Whom they knew to bee soe [Page 181] tender and affectionate to her Lord.

Wherefore by common consent of the Peeres of the Land and Coun­cell of Estate; it was resolued the old Dutchesse Sophia, the Prince his Mo [...]her, should warily and discreetly acquaint her with it: For they ve­rily feared, that if she came to the knowledge thereof by any other wayes abruptly and of a suddaine, some great inconueniencies at least, would ensue thereof. Sophia for the present, like a wise and discreete Matron, hauing as well as she might disgested her proper sorrow, for the losse of soe hopefull a Prince her sonne, taken her fairest occasion, and the best opportunity she could, as is were, vpon an ordinary Visit, went to see her at her Castle, where she lyued a Vyduall and retired lyfe in the absence of her Husband, ha­uing lately read and receiued the last Tydings as she tooke it, from her neuer sufficiently honoure Spouse and Lord; And hauing saluted her according to custome; she cheare­fully [Page 182] spake to her in this sort.

Madam I he [...]re you haue heard from m [...] son [...]e your husband; if soe; how fares hee I pray? [...]ul well I hope (sayd she) And soe doe I, quoth the Dutchesse straight. Why Madam, answeared Elizabeth: and is hee soe soone taken prisonner, and his person in safetie, if it bee soe, Lady Mother, by Gods grace and the bounty of his freinds, hee shall soone bee ransomed againe. Hee is taken indeed Deare Daughter, (replyed she againe,) not as you imagine, Captiued by his enem [...]es, but led in tryumph by the hands of Angells, to the heauenly Hierusa­lem; so happy an issue his voyage hath had, as that insteed of a ter­ren and earthly land, but Holy in name onely and meere denomina­tion; hee ha [...]h made a conquest of the heauenly Countrey, the celestiall Hierusalem, the true Holy land indeed.

Whereat the Princesse was truly pierced through the heart with the [Page 183] sorrow of Sorrow, and wringing her woefull hands, wept most bitterly, till recouering her self againe, she sayed: And if my Brother bee dead, I heere doe promise hence forth to dye to my self, and to the world, with all its vanit [...]es. Soe great and intense her sorrow was, and soe deepe sighs and sobbs she fetched from the center of her heart, as there was none able to comfort her, they being all now likewise nigh dro [...]vne in teares, as well as she, to behould her mourning. And the calamity w [...]ich but now seemed vniuersall, [...]or the losse of a Prince, a Pat [...]on, and a common Father of his Country; in a moment is turned into a priuate condolement, and tender compassion on a desolate Princesse.

Thus alas, the dolefull Widow was assayled with the batteryes of a hard disaster▪ whic [...] ha [...] been able to haue made her onstant mynd to haue surrendered to impa­ [...]ience, had not the Cittadell of her [Page 184] heart been well fortifyed before hand with most noble and heroicall resolutions and well practized with the mortifications of self-loue and her proper interest, and aboue all preuented with peculiar fauours from heauen, the Holy Ghost reuea­ling to her what crosses and tri­bulations she was to suffer heere­after; and how this was but only a Praeludium of the rest: and there­fore it behoued her to buckle her self for them, and to bee armed with the compleate harnesse of Fortitude against the volleys of misfortunes which our Lord would send her, for her greater Crowne, according to the measure of her patience. From which tyme, the Ro [...]all Princesse offered her self to suffer whatsoeuer fortune, or to say better, the execution of the diuine Will, could any wayes powre vpon her. Thus it pleased the Al­mightie to comfort his pore distres­sed Seruant in the midst of her greater calamityes. Whereby she [Page 185] was now growen a Lyonesse, as it were, euen daring fortune her self to doe her worst.

HOW HENRY BROTHER to the deceased Lan [...]graue vsurped the Dukedome: and eiected Elizabeth and her Chil­dren from al their▪ right. CHAP. IIII.

ALthough the affections and il dispositions, yea the rancour and enuy of the freinds and kin­dred of the deceased Prince Lewes, and of al the Nobles and Peeres of that state, had been euer poysonous and malitious, and were growne inueterate in them, against the royal and most vertuous Princesse Eliza­beth, yet during the Lantgraues life, they were but raked vp, as fire in the ashes, nor euer durst they so much as [Page 186] let them appeare, for the extraordi­nary loue and respect the Prince did beare to Elizabeth. But hee was no sooner departed this transito [...]y life beyond al expectation, being yet in the flowre of his youth; but the fire of their indignation, rancour, and [...]nuy, against the innocent Lady brake forth, and now they al beg [...]n­ne mainely to oppose & to set them­selues against her. To this was ad­de a greedy, and most vnsatiable ap­petite, and thirst of rule, in Henry the Brother of Lewys, egged and set on by the wicked and maleuolous [...]ac­tion, diametrically opposit to the weale and prosperity of the desolate Widow and her princely issue. Who ruling; they thought they should not bee able to beare such sway in the gouernement as they ambitiously de­sired. There wanted not reasons to aduance the busines, alleadging that Herman the vndoubted heyre was yet an Infant, and the Mother Regēt vnfit for gouernement. The state stood in neede of an able Gouernour [Page 187] for yeares discretion, and mature iudgmēt. That Henry was amply en­dowed with al these, & the neerest of blood, and consequently by al rea­son hee should mount into the Throne, at least til the Infant were come to perfect, age to bee able to sway the scepter himself. Besides, that hee was apt for chiual [...]y, and wel trayned in armes, whereby hee might be able to defend his Coun­trey at least, if not to augment and propagate the same, and was euery way a compleat Prince to comply with the gouernement, and to giue contentment to al.

They laboured so effectually in the busines, as what with their reasons, and other more powerful meanes which they wrought, they brought it to passe: and Henry was inuested with the Princely robes, and ador­ned with the markes of the Signory of that state, and proclaymed Gouer­nour of Turingia. Being then thus esta­blished in the gouernement: the first thing hee did, of consequence after [Page 188] the same, to giue the World more plainely to vnderstand, the il affec­tion he had towards the Princesse Elizabeth and her issue, and to do a thing most grateful as hee tooke it, to his complices and abetters who had promoted him [...]o it, was to ex­pel her from her Castle or Pallace, where she innocently liued a priua­te and retyred life, by reason of mourning for her Princely and loyal husband, with all her mayds and Damozells about her, without any furniture, prouision, or necessaryes to liue, and to maintayne her family, or soe much as food to sustayne na­ture with, commaunding besides, all those of the village by, that none should harbour or receiue her into their howses, to the end, the Sub­iects beholding her reduced to that miserable estate, might neuer in­termedle or once goe about to re­store her againe into her Princi­pallity, vniustly vsurped by him, or to vindicate the Infants wrongs, who by all good men, were held [Page 169] most tyrannically and iniuriously dealt with.

But then, what did Elizabeth the while, the noble Imitatresse of the Apostles, deseruing well the purple of Martyrs? She bare her self with an incredible and most prodigious patience, farre transcending the power of nature, wholy heauenly and aboue all nature. For in her hart was no reuenge soe much as imagined, much lesse intended or harboured; in her mouth noe word of impatience, or any interiection that might any wayes seeme to ex­presse the same; for how could it bee, where there was noe spleene? And for her outward gestures they were all soe composed, as she had beene in the greatest tranquility that might bee.

She murmured not, she com­playned not, for being soe iniu­riously put forth of her chamber, and Royall bed, to seeke her lodging on bare boards against all reason and iustice. But rather inwardly reioyced [Page 190] to see her self, soe ill entreated and soe litle respected, for that in truth her whole hart and confidence was placed in God, and soe went she away, saying with Bias the heathen Philosopher: Lo, I carry what soeuer I haue along with mee. She carryed indeed noe transitory things of this world about her, but others much better, and not on her back, but all in her mind, which could not bee vsurped or taken from her.

Being thus driuen out of her owne howse, she went to the towne in the botome of the Castle hill, where she entred in with her Mayds that were with her into a common Inne; some say into the cottage of a poore wo­man, where she remayned til mid­night, when the Fryars of S. Frauncis, began to ring to Ma [...]tins, and then went to the Monastery, at that hower of the night, and finding the doores open, entred into the Church, where she humbly be­sought the Fryars they would please to sing Te Deum with much solem­nity [Page 191] for her, in token how ioyous and ful of consolation she was in her self for this first encounter of fortune Comforting her self with that of the Apostle writing to the Romans, whe­re hee sayd. Hee comforted himselfe and gloryed in his tribulations, and gaue infi­nite thanks to God for them. From that tyme forward she edeauoured by al meanes possible to procure her self a roome or lodging of her owne, where she might freely liue by her self, and not depend of others. But those of the towne for feare of Hen­ry and his Complices, durst not af­ford her any, so much as the meanest Houel, and therefore she was fayne for want of a hole to put her head in, to remayne in the Church of the fore said Monastery al that day fol­lowing vnto the Euening; which being come, her greife, and affliction was augmented the more, for that Henry her Brother in Law, to bee more free in the gouernement of the State, cast forth of the Castle al­so the Infant Herman, Heyre appa­rant, [Page 192] with his two little Sisters, whom now she beholds to descend downe the hil, to come to their Mother, in the Monastery where she was, for as yet she had no other dwelling, but the Church porch, whom notwithstanding she recei­ued with a magnanimous & vndaū ­ted courage, though otherwise she could not choose but tenderly weepe to see those Innocēts so insensible of their estate, as to smile vpon her, amidst their greatest disasters, reioy­cing no doubt to haue so recouered their Mother, whose litle absence the while, had beene a bitter pil vnto them. Ah litle Babes (she sayed) lit­tle do you know the wretched state you are in, and where to lodge you (alas) this night, I know not; poore harts where are your delicate and soft Couches, where are now your attendants. Nay where is any mea­te to put into your mouths? The Foxes haue holes to harbour in, the Birds haue plumage of their owne to keepe them warme, and when [Page 193] their yong lye gaping in their nests for foode, their damme is at hand to afford it them, your only little In­fants more vnhappy in this, then Birds and Beasts, haue not a morsel to put into your mouths, and yet you smile vpon mee, and soone I feare wil cry as fast, when I haue it not to giue you.

Wherevpon to lodge and repose her Children, she repayred to the howse of a certaine Clerke, who poorely entertayned her in a roome, without hangings, money, or fur­niture, or any thing to eate. Where she remayned for certaine dayes most incommodiously, and in great misery; partly through the straight­nes of the place, for her whole fa­mily, and partly also through the great penury of al things there, for the susteynance of man. After that she remoued her self into greater and more ample roomes, to bee able to accommodate her children and family the better. But there she remayned not long, but soone [Page 194] she found out that one commodity of a larger roome, did bring a thousand discommodityes with it: for the Owner of the howse and the inhabitants there, were so cros­se and peeuish to her, as she could find no rest amongst them but in­finite vexations of euery side. Whe­refore hauing no other helps in that place, but what the bare walles we­re able to afford her, departing thēce and bidding them farewel, which had somewhat defended her and hers from the asperityes of the Win­ter, for it was at that tyme, vsing these speaches to the bare walles. I thanke you Walles most hartily, for the harbour you haue giuen mee this while, and would haue binne glad to haue yeilded as much to the Inhabitants, had they been as ciuil; And so not able to find any other lodging in the whole Towne; she betooke her self to her former cot­tage or litle ease.

Thus this great Lady and Prin­cesse Elizabeth in a moment as it [Page 195] were, cast downe from the throne of eminent dignity into the Abysse of temporal miseries, and she, who the other day harboured thousands of poore, now poore her self, could find no entertaynement or harbour any where: She that cherished In­fants and Orphans, was glad her self to begge for hers, and to craue an Almes from doore to doore, and seeke to her Enemyes themselues. Oh instability of human things! and which is yet more admirable, who could discerne in al this while any least signe of pusillanimity in her, any least wonder, or murmure against God or his holie Ordina­tion to proceede, but rather perpe­tual blessings and benedictions to flow from her; saying euer. Blessed bee the Name of God; and with holie Iob: Our Lord hath giuen, and our Lord hath taken away: and a thou­sand other iaculatoryes besides, which she how rely sent vp to hea­uen.

While Elizabeth was yet in this [Page 196] distresse, there happened a thing to her which I may not let passe. She going one day alone by her self vpō some occasion or other, and being by the way to crosse ouer a certaine durty or myery Lane, where was no passage, but vpon stumps and stones, placed for steps here and the­re for the purpose, and the good Lady, standing with her self in a study how she should do to passe ouer, hauing no staffe to sustaine her self withal, in case her hart should fayle in the way, nor practi­zed in this kind, hauing euer beene caryed til then, in coaches and lit­ters. Behould who should she see on the other side, but a certaine old woman whom she knew very wel, being one, whom shee had in her better fortunes exceedingly fauou­red with many extraordinary bene­fits: this womā likewise, as she ima­gined, stood stil on the other side, as pausing with her self what to do. Wherefore they both stood awhile immoueable as pinching courtesie [Page 197] who should first passe ouer. The Lady thought for respect sake she had forborne, or through gratitude for former courtesies; but she like a Monster in nature, purposed a worse matter. For the Lady not to stand ouer long vpon such ceremo­nyes aduenturing first, being now in the midst of the steps trembling as she went for feare of falling, the other more practized in such wayes, susteyning her self with a staf in her hand, met her in the midst, and thrust her downe into the dirt, and hauing so donne, went her wayes, ieering and laughing at her. Ah monstrous impiety to deale so with an innocent Lady, in the extremity of her miseryes! The holy Elizabeth came forth of the dirt in so fowle a plight as you may ghesse: and ha­uing wiped her self as wel as she might, went on her wayes, and tooke the iniury so patiently, as she returned not the least word of dis­content thereat, but inwardly smiled with the excessiue ioy she [Page 198] felt, to see her self soe basely affron­ted without cause, which she offe­red vp in vnion with al the indigni­tyes her Sauiour suffred at the hands of the Romans & Iewes in the howse of Annas, Cayphas, Pilat, and Herod; and for this act, she re­ceiued of her Spouse incredible fa­uours, as shal immediatly appeare.

THE ESPECIALL FAVOVRS, and sweete consolations from God, which Elizabeth had in hearing of Masse, and otherwise. CHAP. V.

THe more Elizabeth suffered the bitter stormes of the Sea of this world, the greater were the fauours she interiourly receiued from God. It happened then that Elizabeth in the holy tyme of Lent, according to her ordinary deuotion [Page 199] hearing Masse religiously on her knees, considering the inestimable price, of that most dreadfull and heauenly Sacrifice, and feeling her hart by little & little enflamed with feruent meditations on that subiect fell into this prolixe Colloquy, as followeth. ‘O then let mee loue thee my deare Spouse, may I couet thee, desire thee, thirst and hunga [...] after thee; may I tast, eate, and drinke thee. Osweetenes of loue, O loue of sweetenes; let my soule feede vpon thee, and my bowells be replenished with the sweete liquor of thy loue, that my hart may bee inebriated therewith. Oh Charity, my God, sweete hony! most sweete milke! most delicious food! Oh sweetenes! and suauity of my will, my Loue, and the desire of my hart! Why am I not wholy enflamed! wholy burned with the fire of thy Loue? Why am I not all and wholy transformed into thee through Loue? Soe as in mee there may bee nothing els but [Page 200] Loue! O diuine fire! O heate, O fire! Why am I not wholy conuer­ted into thy Loue? Why is there ought els in mee then Loue? Why am I not wholy enthraled with Loue? Let thy charity burne in my hart: let thy Loue kindle and flame in my soule! Heere now with a smiling countenance she cryes out. O ioy! O pleasure! O solace! Oh my comfort! O my Iubiley! enlarge mee in thy Loue, that I may learne in all my interiour affayres, to tast how sweete a thing it is to loue, to liquify; and swimme in thy Loue. Let mee sing to thee the Canticles of Loue! O good loue, that louest most per­fectly! O increated Loue! O diuine Loue! O diuine charity! O em­bowel'd dilection! O wholy amiable! O wholy desirable! O most blessed light, fill the most in­timous part of my soule and en­kindle the fire of thy consuming Loue in mee, that in me may no­thing remayne but thee,’ With that, [Page 201] she pawses awhile, and then breaks forth agayne, as followeth. Ah, Ah, Ah, my Lord God. Bee thou to mee, and I to thee. Oh what is this my Lord God, my loue, my Sainct? Thou all myne, and I all thine: Lett mee loue thee my God and my Lord aboue all things, and more then my self, and let mee not loue my self but for thee, and all in thee. Let mee loue thee with all my soule, let mee loue thee with all my memory, let mee loue thee with all my power and forces, with a most streight, feruent, and soue­raigne loue, with a loue, not fa­miliar to all. I will not rest most blessed Diuinity, and one most louing God, and surely I shall neuer rest, till I loue thee with a most burning Loue. O let mee enioy thee, Let me enioy thee. O most blessed Trinity, one God, let mee enioy thee.

Hauing sayed all this within her self, because she was in the open Church, mouing but her lipps only, [Page 202] as Anna did when she begged Samuel at the hands of God, which proued a Prophet, & consequently Seeing God, as all Prophets are said to doe; she obteyned very speciall graces, and the vision of strang and mysterious things. For lo, she was suddainely rapt into an extasy, ele­uating and raysing her soule and vnderstanding soe vp to heauen, as she seemed to be kneeling, fixed in the place, without iudgment, or operation of the senses, with eyes notwithstanding as glued to the Aultar. Till at last returning to her self againe; Isentrude her dearest and most faythfull seruant, being con­fident of her loue and respect towards her; presumed soe farre as to presse her much, after many re­fusalls, to declare vnto her, what she had seene, while she was soe rapt, and alienated in her senses, with her eyes fastened on the Aultar. To whom at last she ans­weared, and said. O daughter, I may not make any mortall wight [Page 203] priuy to those heauenly secrets which I saw. But this I tel thee, since thou vrgest mee, and coniu­rest mee of al loues; that I was re­plenished with wonderful and vns­peakeable ioy, beholding with the eyes of my mind such heauenly my­steries: and this is al good Isentrude, I can say vnto thee in this matter.

Isentrude was forced to rest satis­fied with this answeare, though her much curiosity, could hardly brooke the denial, so curious are mortals of immortal secrets: But re­solued if euer the like happened agayne, she would be so refused no more. From thence then they returned to their poore and most pityful lodging againe. Where the holy and blessed Elizabeth, was fai­ne to restore nature, with such poo­re pitance as she had, after soe stran­ge an extasy and alienation of mind. Which though it wrought on the soule, yet was it doubtles laborious and toyle some to the body, to bee so long suspended from the fun­ctions [Page 204] and operations of the powers thereof, they being so deare and in­diuidual companions during life. But being of a weake constitution, a litle sufficed her; then after refe­ction, she desired to be priuate, as willing to rest and repose her self in her Chamber with Isentrude alone. And being as I said extreame weary with the former excesses of the mynd, she layd downe her head on Isentrudes lapp: and soe began to fall asleep, and soone after to weepe as she slept, and then againe to smile of a suddaine, shewing a chearefull and serene countenance withal, as she had receiued extraor­dinary contentment at somewhat or other. Anone she would weepe againe, and then smile, welnigh as soone: and those alterations and strange viciscitudes of diuers and opposit feelings, went and came all that day vntill the euening, yet seemed she oftner to smile then weepe, and then at last she vttered these words. Yea truely my Lord soe [Page 205] it please thee, to remaine with mee, I will neuer depart from thee, but still perseuere to abide with thee for euer. When she had once expressed these words, which Isentrude directly heard and punctually obserued; she awaked, nor can it be imagi­ned how great was the desire which Isentrude had to heare the mysterie, and therefore laid soe strange a battery of importunityes against her Ladyes humble resolu­tion, as she was forced to yeild to her, and to reueale the whole passage as it was, saying in this manner. I saw the Heauens to open, and our Sauiour Iesus Christ, to appeare vnto mee, and to com­fort mee for my trauayles and tri­bulations past, in whose presence as I stood, I was extraordinary chearefull and glad, but as sad and full of heauynes againe, when hee offered to depart and goe away from mee; whereon taking pre­sently compassion, hee immediatly returned againe, and at last, after [Page 206] many alterations in this kind, hee said to mee.‘Tell mee Elizabeth, wilt thou remayne with mee, as I will doe with thee.’ Whereto I answeared these wotds you heard mee vtter euen now.

ELIZABET VISITSH her Aunt an Abbesse, and then her Vncle, the Bishop of Bamberg: who plotted to haue her marryed, but in vayne. CHAP. VI.

THe fame of the calamitous sta­te of the Princesse Elizabeth, who as before was famous for San­ctity, now as remarkable for mi­sery; conteyned not yt self within the bounds of the Territoryes nea­re at hand, or the borders of Thu­ringia it self, but had dilated yt self to forrayne and remote places. Soe as [Page 207] indeede there was nothing more in euery ones mouth, then the hard di­sasters of so noble a Lady, some blaming her fortune, and some were caryed so farr into passione, as nigh to murmure at the Ordinance of God, to see soe innocent a Lady, without al desert of hers, to fal so suddainely into so great an abysse of miseryes, calamities, & afflictiōs. And others the while, for so diuers are the humours of men, spared not to traduce the innocence and re­ligious simplicity of the admirable Lady, with the impious aspersion of foolish stupidity. For els they say, how should it bee, ‘that she being the Widow of soe great a Prince, and daughter of soe puis­sant a king, should be soe iniu­riously entreated by Prince Henry, and the Nobles of the land, were she not altogether forlorne and de­stitute of freinds to right her cause, she being so innocēt and her wrong so patent to al.’ Thus diuerse accor­ding to their fancyes shot their [Page 208] bolts, but few so wise and versed in spiritual things, as to hit a right, or to measure the drift or scope of the eternal Ordination herein, to dispo­se al to his glory and her greater crowne, through the exercize of so Heroical a vertue as her inuincible Patience was, in al these things.

Saue only an Aunt she had, being Sister to her Mother, and Lady Ab­besse of a famous Monastery in tho­se parts, who hearing of the sa­uage vsages and proceedings with her Neece, framing a farr higher conceipt of her deserts, then the ordinary sort could diue into: Partly moued with the respect of blood, partly out of charity, and partly also for the rumour of her sanctity, which amidd all her aduersityes and contradictions more and more dilated it self, in the opinion of the best iudgments, and all such indeed as were not caryed away with ignorance or sinister passions. This Aunt of hers, tooke such order, what [Page 209] with her louing inuitements, and what with the meanes she contri­ued to bring her to her, which wanted no difficultyes, by reason of her great necessityes, that she and all her Mayds, hauing taken in the meane tyme the best order for the children that might bee; were brought to the Grate of the Monastery, humbly attending the good pleasure of her Aunt there ready to expect her: Where who could expresse the tendernes that passed betweene them. The Abbesse was much moued in seeing her Neece soe poorely clad and accom­modated for all things, conside­ring the diameter of both her for­tunes. That soe great a Lady, soe delicate, and highly discended, should in so short a tyme bee brought into such extreamity.

When hauing mutually saluted each other as became then, and falne vpon many vertuous, spi­rituall, and diuine discourses, they gaue no place to murmures or [Page 210] complaints at al: whether it were that Elizabeth was vnwilling to be drawne vnto them; or the Abbesse not willing to renew the soares of her Neeces sorrowes: The Abes­se differring those matters rather to some conference more at leysure with Isentrude, whom she noted to be greatest in her Ladyes fauour. And hauing now at last wel vnder­stood her cause, she knew the bet­ter how to apply comforts in the rest of her discourse with her, which she did most aptly indeed: in humouring the affect of voluntary Pouerty in her, yet tempering the same with the wil to recouer her right againe, to bee able to make a larger and freer donation of what she had to the benefit of the poore, rather then by such a general renun­ciation, mixt with a kind of violent compassion to suffer her meanes so silently to remayne in the hands of iniurious Extortioners, greatly to the detriment of the poore, whom she desired to releiue so much; in re­ferring [Page 211] the innocence of her cause to the latter day. Wherefore she aduised her to repayre as soone as might bee to her Vncle the Bishop of Bamberg: a man of prudence, charity, and power noe doubt, to restore her to her Dowry, and Vi­duall rights: at least to prouide soe for her, as she might bee able to maintayne, that poore family of her self, Children, and Mayds, being the only ambition she seemed to ayme at.

The desolate Widow was som­what reuiued heerewith, and yeilding many thanks to her Aunt, for her graue and discreete coun­cells, promised immediately to put them in practize with all speede. And soe taking their leaues of either part with such assistance as the Lady Abbesse could giue her, and very efficacious letters to the said Bishop, she went to Bamberg.

Where being come, the Bishop was aduertized thereof, who could hardly beleiue the same, til he saw [Page 212] and read the letters from his Sister her Aunt, which she sent him be­fore she came into his presenee. The Bishop, good man, could by no meanes hold from weeping, at the sight and reading of them, much lesse when they met, which moued the harts of al the Clergy about him, considering the strangnes and rarenes of the accidents of this poore Lady. When appointing a Lodging neere his pallace, for her and hers, they had good commodi­ty to meete often, and to conferr of matters concerning her weale, and recouery of her dowry; and if it we­re possible, which hee proiected, and she maynely resisted, to restore her againe to her estate as amply as euer. Which designe of his by de­grees tooke so great impression in him, as hee not onely apprehended it possible to take effect, but as it happens in such cases, held it in a manner as done already. So as no­ting his Neece to bee young and beautyfull, he began to plot with [Page 213] himself, how to marry her honou­rably, a second tyme, and to match her in some potent family to streng­then her cause, the more easily to purchase her right. And therevpon till he were better, and more fully resolued thereof, what Prince she might be espoused vnto, and how to deale in the matter, he sent her, with her humble trayne to a cer­taine Castle of his, to be accom­modated with all things fit for her Calling; at least what was ne­cessary for her in that estate, till she might bee better prouided, as oc­casion serued.

The innocent Lady her self was nothing aware of al these plots and workings in her Vncles head, as being a matter she least dreamed of, so farr she was from fauouring yt in the least, or giuing any way thereunto. Howbeit her Mayds some way or other, (who knowes) had got some knowledge of the Bishops intent. And being priuy to their Ladyes most chast purpose, [Page 214] and little lesse then a setled Vow, and partly iealous of their owne, least their Ladyes resolutions once being violated, theirs might suffer wrack, and they likwise be draw­ne some way or other to embrace the coniugal state, notwithstan­ding their Vowes of Chastity; beca­me very sad and anxious, discour­sing thereof now and then sollici­tously among themselues, what were best for them to do to preuent the same, and whether it were not fit to proue their Ladyes constancy or no, for their better satisfaction, and to giue her notice of the daun­ger she stood in; which happily she aduerted not, a thing so farre per­haps frō her innocent apprehēsion.

While they were in this de­liberation with themselues. Eli­zabeth comes in, suspecting nothing lesse then that their whole discourse was touching her: but yet could easily per­ceiue her Maids were greiued and perplexed at some what; for [Page 115] they al stood looking on each other, as if they had something to say to her, but were not wel de­termined who should beginne. Wherefore, to breake their silēce, she thus beginnes her self. Mayd­ens, what is the matter with you, you are so troubled in your mynds? for I discerne some sudden change amōg you. Are wee not welcome heere and fairly entreated in our Vncles howse? Tel mee, I say, are you not wel vsed, hath any discour­tesy beene done you since your co­ming hither, or tel mee what is the matter with you? When lo, they all stand looking on Isentrude, thereby insinuating as much, as she should speake & expresse their cōmō greife & lay open to her their feares & iea­lousies. Which she did, presuming of the liberty & freedome she had of­ten giuen her to be a faithful Admo nitresse to her.

The truth is Madam (sayd she) my Sisters are al in a great perple­xity about your Ladyship, least [Page 216] your Vncles royal entertaynement here might haue some sinister end, so farr they are, from what your Ladyship misgaue, of their al vsa­ge, as that from the contrary they gather a worse conclusion. Madam in a word they feare least your Vn­cle intends to assault your noble re­solutions of vidual chastity, and goe about to plot and contriue how to violate the same by a tender of some honourable match to your Lady ship, which in reason he may thin­ke you cannot refuse, your stare and condition being such, for your present temporalities as they are. This Madam was the argument of their discourse, and these their fea­res, grounded on the tendernes they haue of the honour of your Ladyship, and somewhat to of their own imbecilities who rest so much on the rock of your constancy Which causelesse iealousies, as I sup­pose, I haue been labouring to sup­plant and roote out of their harts. But one word Madam▪ from your [Page 217] self, wil effect more then al the reasons I am able to alleadge against the same.

To which Elizabeth with a chea­reful and serene countenance, smi­ling, sayd. ‘Take you no care my daughters: nor trouble your selues any more about this matter. I trust in the diuine protection for my part, that looke what I promised in the life of my honoured Lord, I shal performe and accomplish pun­ctually euē after his death, likewise to the end of my life. And though it should fal out, that I were prest by any authority or commaund whatsoeuer, or otherwise were menaced by power, or were allured with al the flatteryes of freind­ship whatsoeuer; I shal neuer suffer my self to be drawne from that man, whom not for man I took but for the holy Sacrament of Ma­trimony. Nor do I feare a whit, what force can do against mee, since let them vse what violence they can, yet still I shal reteyne en­tire [Page 218] the liberty of my free will,’ and shall shew my self to bee such a Mistresse of my self, as I shall neuer yeild consent thereto, but sooner disfigure my selfe for a last refuge.

With these her resolute, and heroicall words, her Mayds were well satisfied, and comforted. And the Venerable Bishop who as yet had done nothing in the matter, but only reuolued the thing in mynd, hauing religiously commended the affayre to God, being moued and touched by the diuine spirit, let fall his designes, and desisted of himselfe from the enterprise, without hauing euer made the least intimation thereof to any. Giuing order, that Elizabeth might stay there where she was, as long as she would, and be left free to dispose of her self, or goe wher­soeuer she pleased.

HOW THE BODY OF Prince Lewys was brought out of Sicily into Germany to bee buryed. CHAP. VII.

IT hath beene euer the manner of great Princes dying forth of their Count [...]yes, to haue their bodyes transported to some honou­rable place or other to rest with their Auncestors in peace: and besides to be caryed with great pomp in their funerall solem­nityes, especially men of more emi­nent note. Hence it was that the hopefull Prince Lewys dying in forrayne parts, and in soe Noble an Assembly of Princes and Lords, in company of the Emperour himselfe, gathe­red together from all parts [Page 220] of Christendome: I may say in­deed the flower of Europe at that tyme; Yet the desolate Freinds of the deceased Prince would by no meanes yeild his corps should remayne behinde, and that his owne natiue Country, and na­turall Citizens should be depriued of his bones, whose life they had lent for the Christian Cause: and where they could not haue him aliue, should likewise bee dispoyled of so deare a pledge and precious depositum being dead. Wherefore the deuotions and gra­teful offices of al, being now satis­fyed, those noble Gentlemen of the Prince his Family, who had accompanyed him thither, and who in this had accomplished their promise to the letter, in fol­lowing him to death: and who moreouer were better then their words, in not leauing him af­ter death: disposed themselues to order the conueying of his hearse, into their owne Country in [Page 221] the best equipage they could.

The body then being taken out of the tomb? wherein it lay; and the flesh consumed by such artificious meanes as they vsed, by the diligence, of the most expert therein, they tooke the bones and enclosed them charily, in a certaine Chest, or pretious Casket, and being attended for a good space by a world of Prin­ces, Dukes, and Marquesses, and of Counts, Barons, and Knights without number, in mar­shal order, they went with Ensi­gnes folded vp together with a doleful and dismal sound of drumms, al clothed in black, and other warlike instruments in like sort. Thus went they on in goodly order to a certayne place appointed, where they were solemnely met with, by other Princes and Gentlemen of the Countryes they passed thorough, where the Marshal troups too­ke their leaues in warlike, wise [Page 222] And soe went on through Vil­lages and townes, and where­soeuer they came, were freshly encountred with new companyes succeeding by turnes, and all with lamentable expressions of dolour for the losse of soe Noble a Prince, their sorrowes being re­newed afresh with the presence of the Corps.

Thus euery day they carryed the body, going in manner of Procession, deposing it in some Church at night, or els in a Monas­tery, causing Masses, Dirges, and other suffrages to be saied for his soule, offering vp many Gifts and donaryes▪ to euery Church, where the Offices and Rites were performed, as Tapers, Herse-cloths, and Blacks. In this goodly order they marched into Franconia, and when they arriued at Bamberg, the Bishop of that Church came forth in Procession to me [...]te the Body, hauing giue [...] [Page 223] order before, that all the Nobility, Knights, and Gentlemen there, should accompany the woefull Elizabeth with her desolate and truly disconsolate Trayne, giuing in charge especially that some few of the choycer sort, should bee allwayes at hand with the sorow­full Widow to comfort and su­stayne her, as neede should require, which they did.

At last the Seruant of God came forth with her Mayds in mourning weedes, with minds more sable, and mourning farre, then that cou­lour could expresse, yet she bare her self most discreetly in that assem­bly, in bridling soe the current of her teares, for the present; as euery one iudged, measuring the cause, the great and absolute commaund she had ouer her pas­sions, and what she powerfully restreined in her self, they as pro­digally showred forth for her sake, soe as hardly besides her [Page 224] owne, were seene, any cheekes vnwatered, and some with the eyes in teares to the brimme.

But then entering with the Corps into the Church, espe­cially when the Hearse was vn­couered, and the Casket of the bones set open to satisfie her request, the Ca [...]aracts of her eyes, soe violently kept in and restrayned before, burst forth against her will, who [...]ayne would haue moderated the same, but the great excesse of her affe­ction to the Prince, at that tyme got the vpper hand, and cruelly tirannized her poore hart: Which the people seeing, excusing her, bla­med the indiscretiōs of those about her, in giuing such way to the opening of the shrine: but in truth, her former demeanour and tem­per she shewed, was cause of the scope and liberty they gaue her at her request.

Which she perceiuing, and she­wing the soueraignety she had of [Page 225] her passions, as before giuing a check as it were to her naturall propension, was presently com­posed and serene as if noe such matter had been. And changing the key of her former dolou­rous expressions, into a more greatefull and pleasing note; She rendred thanks to the heauenly Father, that since it had plea­sed his diuine Maiesty to dispose soe of her honourable husband, to take him thus into his hea­uenly▪ Tabernacles, soe seaso­nably for himself, being ready for him; though most importu­nely for her, and the whole world, and that she could not any longer enioy him aliue, he had vouchsafed thus to doe her the fauour before her death to afford her the meanes to kisse and embrace his honoured bones, who in soe holy an enterprise had giuen vp his life to his honour, and in his quarrell.

The body, by reason of the [Page 226] greater solemnityes here vsed, in respect of the Bishop allyed, and the presence of the woefull Widow her self; made a longer abode there then in any other station on the way. Whereby the Princesse Elizabeth, had good leysure to condole with the Lords who came out of Sicily with the body, and they wither. When after a competent tyme afforded them, for sad repetitions of old matters, such as dolorous Widows are apt to find out concerning the sicknes, of her honoured Lord, the man­ners, and how he dyed, what mention he made of her, and his children, and a thousand the like, and especially of his last words; in which questions they satisfied her to the full, but with a thousand interruptions the while to put her off, for feare of ag­grauating and renewing her greife. At last when she saw they were willing noe longer to [Page 227] mainteyne th [...]t discourse with her, wihch by her good will she would neuer haue ended; She craued their patience to heare the narration of her own story, since the death of her deceased Lord: vnfolding to them without any acerbity of speach, that it had pleased God for her sinnes to dis­possesse her of her estate, being by her aduersaryes turned out of doores, and v [...]terly stript and dispoyled of all she had, soe that she, her children, and Mayds, were forced to begg: till it plea­sed the honourable Abb [...]sse her Aunt, and her Vncle the Vene­rable Bishop of this place, to send for her, and to accommodate her as they found her.

While the Lady continued her discourse, and before she could fully finish her sad nar­ration, and close vp the tragicall Catastrophe, the Noble Gen­tlemen, being now already [Page 228] enflamed with choler, and with high indignation against the Prince and his adherents, had instantly vowed the ruine of her Aduer­saryes, had not the Princesse her self, fearing some great disa­stre might follow thereof miti­gated their furyes, especially against the Prince her Brother in Law, by laying the fault of all to his wicked Councellours, whom she pretended not to know, or at least would not discouer to them, for feare of further incon­ueniences; and finally excused the Prince with greenenes of yeares, and too great a facility to bee carryed away with sinister Coun­cells, most opposit as she saied to his owne swe [...]ter disposition: signifying to them that all what she required, and the end why she made her complaint to them, was but only that they would please to let him see his owne errour in a sweete manner, and as faithfull Councellours in deed to possesse [Page 229] him with sager and more whole­some aduice, affirming she doub­ted not, but the Prince hearing it from their mouths, would giue eare vnto it, aud from a Lyon become a Lamb like himself, for she could not bee otherwise perswaded of his good dispo­sition.

The Lords by this tyme, were growne more temperate, being sweetely pacifyed with the reasons and faire demeanours of the Lady; admiring her Patience and heroicall Vertues, especially in soe easy pardoning her professed enemyes, and those who had done her such open wrongs, whe­rein rather she shewed her self an Euangelicall follower of Christ, then a secular Princesse discended from the loynes of Kings, and earthly Monarke, more apt for reuenge then pardoning iniuryes. And therevpon they agreed among themselues at their arriual in Turingi [...], to treate with the [Page 238] Prince in a gentle, and mild man­ner, but yet fully, and wholy gi­ue him to vnderstand his owne er­rours, and cruel dealings. And so satisfying the Princesse herewith, they went on with the honoura­ble pledge as before, with the greatest pomp, and solemnity that might bee.

HOW THE NOBLEMEN expostulate with Prince Henry, and obteyne what they desire, and what Eli­zabeth did the­re vppon. CHAP. VIII.

THE body of Prince Lewys, after many a tedious iour­ney, and much difficul­ty vanquished: was at last brought to Thuringia, and there, with magnificent funeral pomps, [Page 231] very solemnely buryed, by the Gen­try, and Commons of the land, not without very liuely expressions of much dolour, and extraordi­nary sense, and feeling of the Nobility, especially of the best affected to the former gouerne­ment, and wholy misliking the present state of things, togeather with the vniuersal condolement of al the said Clergy, and Com­mons, and generally of al good men, and aboue al of the poore; who in his death hauing lost a com­mon Parent, and particularly by the despoliation of Elizabeth goods occasioned thereby, had been left to the mercy of extreame Necessity, made a lamentable cōplaint through the whole City, and Countrey the­reabouts, deploring their miserable and wretched state, and not sparing in the bitternes of their anguishes to let fal murmures, and bitter words against the new Prince, and his mercylesse dealing with Elizabeth their tender Mother.

[Page 232]Wherevpon the B [...]rons and Knights aforesaid and some other of the cheifest note amongst them with one accord assembled them­selues in a mild and peaceable manner, to negotiate with the Prince touching the common aggreeuance of al, through his vniust vsurpation of the Princesse Elizabeths right, and that of her Children; and especialy for his inhumane and sauage procee­dings with her, against al right; equity, and Lawes, both humane and diuine. The principal amongst these freinds of Elizabeth, were Rodolph, Ludolph, Haruing, and Gualter: who finding a faire occasion and opportunity, went confidently to the Prince, where Rodolph as the cheifest of them, and the best spoken, after the ac­customed salutations vsed, sayed thus vnto him.

May it please your Excellence, what sinister same is this, which since our arriual hither, hath [Page 233] landed in our eares. Are these the courtesies and thanks you yeild to your deceased Brother, that most renowned Prince of happy memory; so to thrust his Spouse and most innocent Children out of al, and force them to go from doore to doore? Oh vnhappy man, a blot & dishonour to your howse, to commit so fowle a fact: (I say) so fowle, which so long as you liue shal liue, with you, and after your death shal bee an endlesse and perpetual obloquy to you, and euen wound your conscience for euer as wel in this world as in the next. Do you beginne thus young so iniuriously to Violate al Lawes, both Ciuil, Moral, and Natural, and perticularly the Lawes of Chri­stian Charity, and common hos­pitality? Tel mee I pray by the im­mortal God who sees and beholds al things: what could a silly Wo­man ful of peace and piety offend you, that so against al iustice and right of Nature, without any [Page 234] cause at al, you should thrust her out of al her Goods, and not con­tented therewith, deale so inhu­manely with those Princely In­nocents, as to engage them also, so yong, and tender, in the like calamityes with her. Whereas if had you no bowels of Mercy, towards your own blood, yet might you at least haue had some compassion on the tendernes of their yeares, vnmeete as yet to suffer such iniuryes.

But yet (Sir) thus much I must confesse, I vnderstand that you your self are not altogether in the fault, whom wee know to haue beene bred and endued with a mil­der, and more generous dispo­sition, but rather the lewd, and vngodly Councel about you, who hauing impiously abandoned al piety and goodnes, haue labou­red to entangle you likewise in their wickednes, and seeking to make you degenerate from your owne blood, haue first endeauou­red [Page 235] to dispoyle you of al feeling of common sense. Pardon mee I pray, most noble Prince, if I speake with more vehemency, and boldnes then becomes mee: for I cannot flatter nor sooth vp Princes in their humours, but must sweetly put them in mynd of their dutyes when they seeme to swarue; and tax and vprayd the vices which I note in others. You haue beene hitherto abused with the venemous perswations of the maleuolous: Now follow my councel then, and correspond with the Votes and de­sires of al these Gentlemen here, who wish the increase of your ho­nour, and reputation. Put Elizabeth entirely into her state, and dignity againe, and I wil vndertake she shal be reconciled vnto you, and re­turne to the auncient freindship agayne with you, as no such thing had euer beene, and such capitulations, and conditions shal bee had betweene you, as greatly shal redound to your [Page 236] honour, and the greater profit and aduancement of all yours.

Thus spake the stout and va­lorous Champion of Elizabeth, as ready to enter into the mar­shall lists in her behalf, as to pleade soe like an Aduocate her cause, in whom was no lesse fortitude and magnanimity to goe through an enterprise, then sa­gacity and discretion to contriue the same. His valour and heare of courage, made him not precipitous a whit to attempt any thing vnaduisedly, but gaue him force and vigour to atchieue what soeuer he had sagely premedi­tated before. He was no lesse rich and potent, then stoute and pru­dent: all which soe concurring in one man, gaue a powerfull and efficacious energy to his speach. Wherefore the Prince, besides the pregnant and conuincing rea­sons he gaue, being moued not a litle with the authority of the man; relented somewhat, and [Page 237] anone surrendred the Citadell of his hart, wholely into the power and disposition of the Baron: the rest of the Lords reioycing the while, to behold soe great a change and alteration in him. For his eyes now standing all in teares, his lipps being full of lenitiues and sugred words, he now de­sired nothing more then to haue his hands appeate as effectuall in works. And therefore immedia­tely offered to Elizabeth, not only her proper demeanes of Dowry and other Viduall rights belon­ging to her, but euen likewise the gouernement of the state as she had before.

These newes were almost as soone brought to the eares of the vertuous Elizabeth, as vttered from the mouth of the Prince, so ioyfull they were all, to heare them soe ingenuously to proceede from soe franck and liberall a hart. Only Elizabeth when she heard the same, most candidly answered, she would [Page 238] by no meanes yeild her assent to ta­ke the gouernement of Thuringia vpon her, or to charge her weake shoulders with so insupportable a burden; and that if it pleased the Prince to restore her dowry againe and other rights belonging to it, it was al she desired, that she might vse them for her owne saluation, and the behoofe and benefit of her hushands soule: and as for the gouernement she regarded it not, but left it wholely to their dispose.

Herevpon they carryed her with a great trayne into her auncient Castle againe, where she liued be­fore, and whence she had beene iniuriously expelled. And Henry thenceforth regarded her as a great Lady and Princesse, desiring obsequiously as it were in al things to accomplish what she required; she no sooner intimated her plea­sure in any thing, but hee was ready to see it executed to the ful, and especialy he besought her at [Page 239] least, to vse the marks, and orna­ments in vse with Princesses like her self. Who would haue thought now but this Lady would haue taken some complacence at this happy returne into her owne agay­ne, and howbeyt to be eased of the burden of the gouernement she might refuse indeede the char­ge; yet for the rest which she wel, and lawfully might enioy without dommage, and preiudice of her religious purposes, to lea­ue so meerly for the loue of Po­uerty was an act indeed of heroical fortitude.

For lo the Seruāt of God, remay­ning thus for some dayes in her said Pallace, re-installed and re-invested againe in al that belonged thereto, fearing least perhaps through aboundance of al daynties, delicious fare, pomp, attendancyes, and worldly glory, wherewith she was now entreated, she might come to loose in a moment the diuine grace, wherewith [Page 240] she had hitherto beene copiously endued, she refused wholy those speciall cherishments they gaue her, and freely and voluntarily left that delicious and dayntie life, and immediately betooke her self, to an humble Cottage the­reby, with intention to liue and perseuere in that manner of lyfe now of her owne election, which of force heretofore she was fayne to lead: and this for the loue of her Sauiour IESVS CHRIST her heauenly Spouse.

HOW THE POPE TOOKE notice of Elizabeths Sanctity, and receiued her into his protection: and how she made her pro­fession of the Third Order of Saint Francis. CHAP. IX.

AS the wisedome of this world, is a meere folly in the sight of God, and his blessed Angells and Saints in heauen: soe [...]rue wisedome to sensuall men is indeed, a rock of scandall, and block for euery one to humble at; they make a wonder of all those things which they can­not vnderstand, because they being carnall and sensually giuen, per­ceiue not the things which are of God. Hence it is, that Elizabeth embracing the folly of the Crosse, as worldlings accompt of it, was [Page 232] not only condemned by her aun­cient ill Willers, for superstitious, hippocriticall, and a meere dissem­bler; but euen her best freinds, and such as hitherto had stood most for her, began to dis-esteeme her by litle and litle, till she lost them quite, holding it a madnes in her, soe in the flower of her youth, now they had procured her to be restored to her former di­gnity and estate, to disclayme from it of her owne accord, and soe much to neglect her self, and contemne the world as she did by that act of renunciation which she made, es­pecially when they saw her to respect Pouerty soe much, as to preferre it farre before all the ho­nours, riches, and delights of the world, and to prise Deuotion be­fore the Court, and the delights thereof: soe as they now could hardly looke on her with an equall eye. But the Seruant of Christ, vpon the warrant & testimony of a good conscience, knowing she did it for [Page 233] the loue of her deare Sauiour, set light by all, and endured all their affronts, scornes, and reproaches, with such patience and constancy, as she reioyced not a litle to be able to suffer any thing for the loue of him, Who had vouchsafed her the fauour to suffer: Who as she was now growne a wondering stock to the world, and by the foolish followers thereof, adiudged & held as a meere distracted Woman, for those her extrauagancyes, (as they tooke them) to fly industriously, what they al ambitiously sought for and soe eagrely aymed at; as honour pleasure, preferment, and the like; vtterly refusing the Regency of those estates, with the liberty, delights, and pompes of the Court, abandoning all in pursuit of Po­uerty, soe greatly in contempt with them. Soe was she, in another sense as much admired and beloued of the pious, iust, and all good people, for a mirrour and pat­terne of all vertues. Soe as [Page 234] now, the Pope at that tyme being Gregory, hauing heard the fame of her excellent vertues, tooke espe­ciall notice of her, and for her better encouragement therein, admitted her as his Daughter into the protection of the Sea Aposto­lique, and vnderstanding how that famous Conrad the venerable Preist, had some practise and dealing with her heretofore in spi­rituall matters, he recommended her more ouer particularly by letters vnto him, to haue more speciall care then ordinary of her, in guiding her in the way of per­fection: pursuing the pious and religious inclination he found in her to the vtmost scope and extent she was capable of; sending her withall in the said Letters, Which purposely hee was to shew vnto her, most graue and holy admo­nitions and words of exceeding comfort, instructing her by the example of the blessed Saincts, to the practize of Patience, Chastity, [Page 235] and perseuerance in all vertues, giuing her to Vnderstand, there was noe other way to Heauen, but that which Christ, with all his Saints had trod before her, and as it were euen leuelled for her, with continual paynes, inuincible la­bours, and infatigable trauaills: assuring her moreouer, he would not forsake her, but euer esteeme her as his deare Child and louing Daughter, if she went forward and proceeded with constancy in the course soe happily begun.

These letters, you may imagine were accordingly shewed by Conrad, to the vertuous Elizabeth, and gaue her incredible content, to vnderstand, his Holynes, the Vicar of Christ, should take soe especial a note and regard of her, and therefore now more then euer, determined to aduance her self what possibly she might, in the way of perfection: beseeching Conrad, according to the Popes instruction, to take a more special [Page 236] account of her, then hitherto he had done, giuing him from then­ceforth absolute power of her. Which accordingly he accepted, and she thereupon made a surrender of her self into his hands, to be wholy guided by him, submitting her self to a punctuall obedience to him in all things, for her greater merit.

The Father then with a graue and venerable aspect, made a large discourse vnto her; vnfol­ding many Texts of scripture, and alleadging for her comfort, many testimonyes and examples of Saints in approbation of the act she had done, in making a voluntary Oblation of her self, into his hands, by soe free a Donation and entire surrender of her self; and encouraged her also, to a con­tempt of the world, chastizement of the flesh, and to an vtter diuorce and full renunciation of all transitory things, in affect at least, though not in effect [Page 237] for speciall ends.

This Seruant of God was soe enflamed with these sweete spee­ches of her Master, as she was now more set on fire then euer, soe as she would needes arriue at once to the vtmost perfection of Pouerty and humility: and for this end entreated her Master, she might bee suffered to begg her lyuing from doore to doore; but the holy man by noe meanes would condiscend thereto, saying. It was not conuenient that a Princesse of that blood, and soe tender and delicate of Comple­xion, should goe vp and downe the streetes a begging. And for that she persisted still in her suite with many teares, hee chid her for it, saying: where was her Obedience now, had she soe soone forgot her holy purpose? that Obedience was a Sa­crifice, and litle lesse then a kind of Martirdome; and that if aymed [Page 238] at perfection, there was noe other way, more secure, more com­pendious, and sublime then to yeild vp her self, in a whole and entire holocaust, by a perfect ab­negation of her Will in all things, through a voluntary obedience, and a most exact accomplishment of her Vow. Whereupon she passed noe further with her hum­ble sute.

But yet was not a little troubled that she might not be suffered to renounce and abandon all at once protesting priuately to her Mayds in familiar discourse with them, that she accompted the World as meere dung, and had neuer here­tofore affected wealth or worldly riches half soe much, as now she had a loathing, not only of the property and dominion ouer them, but euen the vse and handling of them, euen for the vse of others, if she might haue her will; but my Master (she would say) will haue it otherwise, and soe will I to, [Page 239] since hee will haue it soe. And for her Children, she professed more then once, that she loued them with the same affection she loued others, since she had now com­mended them to God, and left them to his heauenly protection. And finally for the pure loue of God, that she willingly endured all the slaunders and contumelyes of the enuious, and the reproach­full mocks and scoffs, abstracting from their sinnes who soe freely and prodigally brake them on her, she both desired them, & delighted and gloried in them, as the Apostle in his infirmityes.

Wherefore seeing her former designe tooke noe better effect; she soe submitted her will to the necessity of obedience, in that point of not begging from doore to doore, as she thought her self as yet left free in the other; to dis­poyle her self at least of all domi­nion or power in what she had assigned for her dowry, and other [Page 240] Viduall rights allotted by the Prince in the agreement made betweene them, thinking it enough to content her self, with the vse only of what should be necessary for her, from the said rents. And therefore she watched but occasion to abandon such property and do­minion in them, to follow as she desired euangelicall Pouerty, and the example of her deare Sauiour, the neerest she could possibly. When presently this occasion was offered.

It was then the holy Weeke, when vpon Good Friday she went with her Maister, together with her Mayds to the Monastery of Saint Frauncis, to bee present at the Ceremonyes, and to heare the Sermon of the Passion on that day. After which, the solemnityes en­ded, they retired themselues, to a certaine Chappell of the said Monastery, for their particular deuotions, where fynding the Aultar dispoyled likewise of all [Page 241] the ornaments, as in all other places vses to bee on the same day: Vpon the sodaine in a feruour, she went to the said Aultar, and laying her hand thereon, with a solemne Vow made her self formally a Nunne of the Third Order of Saint Frauncis of the Penitents, wherein she re­nounced her Parents, her Chil­dren, and al her freinds with the pomps and Vanityes of the world; and finally her proper Will, and was euen about (and certainely had effected it) to haue renounced the property and dominion also of all her terrene possessions; If the Reuerend Father Conrad at hand, with his sage wisedome, and sweete and apt words, had not hindred, and suddainely interrup­ted her speech, commaunding her to stay there, and to passe noe further in her Vow; saying, she had promised enough, that first it were fit to put in practise what she had already taken in hand, ere she rashly aduentured on the [Page 242] rest, without sufficient aduice and mature deliberation. The seruant of God was immediately checkt he­rewith, and very willingly obayed her Maister, in a matter very mainely repugnant to her inclina­tion, but not her will, since now her will was growne to be wholy the same with that of his. Yet fearing she had done against the former Vow of Obedience, made vnto him, in offering to doe a thing contrary to his lyking, she craued pardon for it. Beseeching him she might presently take the secret habit belonging to the said Third Order, from the hands of the Guardian there present, and make her absolute profession thereof, in all their sights: and further for a more assurance on her part, desired she might likewise renew her par­ticular Vow of Obedience to him, Which was graunted.

HOW ELIZABETH BVILT her selfe a poore Cottage, while her howse was building in the Citty: and what a holy life she led after­wards. CHAP. X.

SPiritual Children are to ob­serue three things, with their Superiours, and spi­ritual guides of their soule. First to loue them truly indeede as Fathers, and not to iudge their workes, but rather if their Su­periours, haue any apparance of euil in them, they are to co­uer them with loue, and to seeke reasons to excuse them. They are also to haue compassion on [Page 234] them, for the paynes they ta­ke in guiding them, in the way of perfection: and continually to implore at the hands of God, to afford them light, and gra­ce, to gouerne, and direct them to the greater glory, and honour of his diuine Maiesty, and the good, and behoofe of their Subiects. Secondly, to re­uerence them as Fathers, who are in the place of Iesus Christ, and are his Vicars as it were, and Vicegerents on earth. The third, is to obay him in al things, and by how much the thing commaunded bee dia­metrically opposite to proper wil, so much the more is hee to enforce, and to vse violence with himself, to effectuate the same, vnderstanding the great merit which comes thereof. And especially to obserue these seauen conditions of perfect Obedien­ce. The first, is to obay with [Page 235] great promptnes, and readynes. Secondly, with a good wil. Thirdly, simply, blindly, and without reply. The fourth, wi­thout sadnes, or rather with mirth, and very chearefuly. The fifth, with fortitude, and wi­thout impatience. The sixt with perseuerance. And the seauenth, and last, with humility.

These things this great Ser­uant of God obserued very pun­ctualy towards her Superiour, whom she had formerly cho­sen, and whom his Holynes had now especially recommended to her, and lastly, whom she her self had accepted by a formal Vow on that behalf for her spi­ritual guide. Hence it was, that louing her Maister dearely, and reuerencing him so highly as she did; being desirous to bee trayned vp, and practized in holy Obedience, which she could not wel exercise in his absence from [Page 246] her. Hee then hauing vrgent, and necessary occasion to reside at Marpurge a cheife Citty in Hassia, the holy Elizabeth by no meanes would stay behind, but follow him to the same Citty. Where being arriued, fynding the aun­cient enmity (as yet) not quen­ched which had vniuersally, and most iniuriously beene conceiued euery where against her: And hauing no howse there as yet conuenient for her, she left the Towne for a while to liue in the Countrey neare at hand, gi­uing order to haue one built the­re according to her mynd. And for that, she would not be troublesome to any the whi­le, she setled her self in the ruines of an old Palace thereby. Where fynding the shaft or tun­nel of the chimney lying open to the foresaid Palace yard, she caused certaine prongs to be pit­ched some distance from the [Page 247] wal of the said chimney, and a sory beame to be laid a crosse, from thence she raysed very slen­der poles insteede of rafters, to susteyne the reeds, thatch, and boughs she intended to lay vpon them, which she did as wel as she could, and so built her a howse, such as it was. Where so long as she made her aboade, we may imagine the many in­commodityes she suffered: partly by the smoake, partly by the heats, and sometymes againe by the wynd, and raine; where hardly blew any great blast but put her in feare of being vn­howsed: al which discommodityes she chearefuly endured, stil praysing and magnifying God for al.

In this meane while was her howse finished in the Citty with more speede then expences, when presently she returned thi­ther: Where she began afresh to serue God in al holynes of lyfe; [Page 246] [...] [Page 247] [...] [Page 248] more like an Angel in Paradice, then a Nouice in her new Insti­tute. Whatsoeuer she heard or saw in any other, she euer would imagine, they spake or did them with a good intention, though the contrary rather appeared, be­cause humane iudgments, and suspitions, are easely deceiued. She despised none, nor spake any thing tending to her owne praise to any how familiar soeuer with whom she conuersed, not so much as with her owne Mayds, in whom notwithstanding she was very confident; but laboured rather to couer, and hide her vertues from them, then her vices. She listened more willingly to heare one prai­sed, then to be dispraised neuer so litle. Whensoeuer she spake, her words were few, graue, and most commonly of God. When any se­cular chaunced to speake any vay­ne, and vnprofitable thing in her presence, she endeauoured to cut of the discourse, and apply▪ it to [Page 249] God, or diuert the speach some other way, til at last she had brought it to some pious matter of edification. She tooke little care for any thing that happened to her or others, nor would be troubled for Aduersities, or puffed vp with any Prosperities whatsoeuer; she set light by al things, and praised God in euery thing. She shunned al tatlers as much as might bee, as holding it better to hold her peace, then to speake sometymes, though to the purpose, out of a loue she had to religious silence.

If she noted any thing in an other which seemed not wel, she would consider with her self, whether she were not sub­iect to the same vice; if she were, she would be confoun­ded thereat, and if otherwise, giue thanks vnto God for it, and craue to bee deliuered from it: whe­reby each thing became as a glas­se vnto her. She would not per­tinaciously affirme or deny any [Page 250] thing, but al her affirmations, and denyals were as prudent doubts. She kept her self from al manner of laughing, or euen from smiling, vnles very seldo­me on good occasions, and that with exceeding modesty, more like a forced, and fayned smile then open laughter. Finally al her words, and speaches were such as caused no doubts, suspi­cions, or iealousyes in any that heard them, but were alwayes very playne, and simple. Soe much for her words, and Tongue, the most difficult instrument of the rest to bee wel ordered, and gouer­ned. And now for her actions, and workes of her hands.

She was very hospitable, and charitable to the poore, now more then euer, as she arriued to a grea­ter perfection, and knowledge, and consequently a more ardent loue of God, whom she cheifely regarded in her Neighbour, and for whose sake she respected him [Page 251] wholy. She often visited the hospi­tal, which she had formerly built at her owne cost, stil cherishing the members of Christ, with al the comfort she was able to affoard them. And how beyt, she gaue al­mes in common to the poore, accor­ding to her ability, yet she made perticular choyce besides, to place in her hospitals such, as eyther ex­celled in the exercize of the Chri­stian Religion, or els were the most infirme, and disabled of the rest. And many tymes she inuited to her owne table the most impotent, and miserable wretches of al, bidding them hartily welcome, and serued them likely from her owne tren­cher, and if any thing were more dainety, and choyce then other, she would be sure to share, and diuide it amongst them, wherein she estee­med she fed Christ; and therefore no maruaile she was so respectful, and tender of them.

Now then the venerable Conrad seeing her manner, how she enter­tayned [Page 252] such so familiarly to her owne Table, considering the di­gnity of her person, esteemed it vnfitting; saying it was too much rusticity in her to do so, and that better it were to recommend such offices to others in her owne name, which would bee as acceptable to them, and perhaps more, while they could not bee so free with her, as with others. Wherefore it were much fitter for her to forbeare from them, and to addict her self vnto more solid vertues which had not so much of the extraordinary, and a kind of daungerous singularity in them. Whereat the reuerent Matron besought pardon of him, if she he­rein had donne amisse, protesting indeede for her part, she found no such inconuenience therein of self complacence, vanity, and the like; but a great deale of submission, and lowlynes of heart, in that rather then any other wayes, and for any difficulty or auersion therein, she found none, nor the company of [Page 253] such, gaue her any offence at al, but a great deale of sweetnes which hee might depriue her of, if it pleased him, and she would obey, affirming that her scope therin was, but to mortify her self, and to satisfie for her too much curiosity, nicenes, and dainetynes in those very things in her former life as holding that Euils were best cured by their contraryes. Whereat her Maister was silent, and thereby tacitly licenced her to do what she would, since therein be noted the Vnction of the Holy Ghost to worke in her, and that it were no discretion for him to debar her thereof. But intended to proue her in some other things for her greater spiritual aduancement.

HOW CONRAD DISMIS­sed two of Elizabeths cheifest Mayds: and how strict a life she led in extreame pouerty. CHAP. XI.

TRue it is, that our perfection, consists not essentially in mor­tification, but in Charity rather, and in the ardent loue of God, and to say true, a Man is soe much the more perfect, as he is more vnited with God through loue. For euen as a stone remayning aloft, in ta­king the impediments away which hold it there, against its naturall inclination, presently hyes to the earth its proper center: soe our soule being a spirituall substance, and created for God, in taking away the letts and impediments of disor­dinate [Page 255] appetites, and euil inclina­tions, which dispose and encline it to things beneath, being presently assisted by diuine grace, goes dire­ctly to God as to her Center, and last end, and through loue embra­ceth him, and vnites her self with him. My weight is my loue, thither am I swayed whithersoeuer I am carryed. That which is the weight, in the elements, and natural bo­dyes, is Loue in rational creatures, and as natural things do moue dow­newards according to the weight they haue: So the reasonable Crea­tures are moued according to the loue which predominates, and swayes in them: because indeede that same is the weight that belon­ges vnto them. Now then if the loue of things beneath predomina­tes in vs, and particularly the appe­tite to priuate familiarity sway with vs, our motions, and desires shal be sensual, and enclining to the earth: But if wee vntye our selues [Page 256] through mortificatiō from the loue of all those sensuall things, the loue of the Creator shall rule in vs, and that shall bee our weight, and our hart shall presently fly vnto God with more lightnes and agility then a stone to its center.

Wherefore like a wise and dis­crete mā, perceiuing how Elizabeth with all her forces and endeauours, laboured to attayne to the highest pitch of all perfection, and that es­pecially by the workes of charity; thought himself to bee strictly boūd in conscience, to haue an especiall care to promote such a subiect, the best he could, to some higher point of perfection, then he had hitherto done, as conceiuing now more highly then euer of her greater ca­pacity and longer extent in spiritual matters, intending on his part, that nothing should be wanting to fur­ther the same, nor any impediment be put that might any wayes hin­der greater aduancement in spirit. [Page 257] While Conrad was in this serious deliberation with himself, contri­uing what was fit to be done, he bethought him of a certaine thing, expedient to be practized with her for that end: and that was this.

His long experience now by this tyme, in guiding of soules, had let him see how great a hinderance it was in spiritual warfare, euen in the choysests spirits and best refined, to haue any priuate affections to any freind or acquaintance soeuer, not only in worldly conuersations, which infaillibly destroyes the spi­rit quite, but euen in things directly spirituall, and wholy tēding to hea­uenly matters. And therefore con­sidering the great loue and affection which passed betweene Elizabeth and two of her Maydes aboue the rest, namely Isentrude and Guta, he thought it good to send for them both, and fairely deale with them about their remoue from their Lady [Page 258] for certaine reasons of his, which he presumed they would not disallow of, if it were conuenient they should be acquainted therewith: in the meane tyme he wished them to sub­mit their wils and iudgments the­reunto, and they should be other­wise prouided for. The sober and discreet Maydes they had likewise, together with their Lady, as he knew, giuen vp themselues to his dispose, so as there remayned noe more for them to effect his will, then to know his pleasure. That saied, and they departed; he calls for Elizabeth her self, and told her his mynd very plainely, without any manner of circumlocutions or ambages at all, that his pleasure was, for some reasons which she was not to examine, or enter into, to dismisse presently two of her mayds: Who supposing it had beene to ease her of her charge of some that might seeme to him super­s [...]ous, and might well bee spared; [Page 259] replyed: She was ready to obey, but fayne would know who they were and vnderstanding, that Guta, and Isentrude were they, her coulour al­tered alitle to and fro, and inter­changeably went and came, and presently againe hauing gathered, her spirits together, with a cheere­ful and serene countenance, gaue her consent, to haue the diuorce ef­fected out of hand, since it was his pleasure. They were therefore im­mediately sent for in, to come be­fore them, to whom Conrad very peremptorily deliuered the sentence of their separations from their Lady and Mistresse, not without the teares & tēdernes of al partyes. For though the superiour parts were as­signed in all, yet were not the infe­riour soe composed, as not to disco­uer their imbecillityes, saue only Elizabeth soone recollected her self againe, leauing her Maydes discon­solate, to see themselues depriued of the Solace they were wont to [Page 260] receiue in her angelicall company and religious conuersation. For she well considered with her self, that Obedience consisted not in the ex­teriour execution onely of the thing commaunded, but in the confor­mity also of the will and Iudgment, with that which the Superiour willes and thinkes fitting, holding the foundation of Obedience to be a firme faith that the Superiour is ruled & gouerned by God in what he commaunds, since he is in the place of God, and our sauiour Christ saith: who heareth you, heareth mee: and therefore is to be obayed in euery thing wherein noe sine ap­peareth. She remembred the saying of her Maister at other tymes, that a true obedient Child should carry himself as a dead body which hath neyther Vnderstanding nor will▪ Like a Crucifix which suffereth i [...] self to be moued eyther this way or that way, without any difficultie at all, and considered besides how this kind of Blind Obedience, soe much [Page 271] recommended by Saints, cōsisted in this; that a man accomplish what he is commaunded to doe, for the rea­son onely that obedience cōmaunds and for that the Superiour stands in the place of God, without any other reason or discourse at all. And that, euen as in maters of faith, one yeilds and submittes himself for this cause onely, that God reueales, and deli­uers what is commended to bee be­leiued, and for the onely authority of God, which is the highest truth: Soe likewise one obayes and eff [...]cts what the superious commaunds for this onely reason, that it is the com­maunds of the Superiour, who is in the place of God, and that to obay him is to obay God, nor obayes hee for any other reason. For which cause, the same is called a Blind obe­dience, as the aforesaid faith is cal­led Blind. Thus discoursed the holy Matron within her self vpon the act of Obedience which her Maister soe put her to; Which truely bred a most singular effect [Page 272] in her. For being thus bereft of the comfort she formerly tooke in the sweete familiarity of those two Maydes, so gratefull to her, the riuer as it were soe dammed vp on euery side with churlish banckes, made the waters of spirituall graces to abound more in her, & to mount vp to heauen with more facility. For as a pipe or Conduite which leakes in many places at once, discharges lesse waters into the Cesterne then otherwise it would; Which being stopt, deliuers them forth with a greater aboundance: Soe needes must the Soule being a copious Cesterne of heauenly gra­ces, appeare to be lesse redundant, and to yeild fewers acts of loue and charity to God, by how much more are the leakes of terren loue it is affected with. Which being heere stopt in the Seruant of Christ, made her to spring vp soe high to soe heroicall acts of eminent Ver­tues, as she did heere vpon.

[Page 273]For after this, lyuing in great po­uerty with her other Maydes, her foode but lettice and other hea [...]bes, commonly sod in fayre Water, through her extreame loue of Po­uerty without any Oyle or butter, or soe much as Vineger or Salt, which sometymes through her great neglect of such things, would bee, as they say burnt too; for which fault being sometymes her owne Cooke, she disdayned not to bee rebuked of her owne Maydes, and many tymes when she lighted on a morsell better then ordinary, she would spare from her selfe, and depriue her self thereof, to impart to the poore which were in the howse with her. She receiued at the hands of her Maister a habit made of the coursest cloth, without any other dye then the naturall tincture, and a short cloake exceedingly patched with diuers colours, which cloake because it was held too short for her grauity, was afterwards lengthned [Page 247] with an other peece of a differente colour. Whensoeuer she had neces­sity, as sometymes she had to mend her owne clothes, she was soe vnskillfull in that art, as she might bee sayed rather to marre then to amend awhit. She was fayne to spinne wool, for want of skill to handle flax, wherewith she seemed to gayne her lyuing which was fare more gratefull to her, then all the pleasures of Princes: and to this kind of work, she applyed her selfe soe earnestly as that being sickly, and keeping her Bed, she would haue the rock and distaffe in her hand to spinne with, when she could hardly lift vp her head, which if her Maydes, as sometymes they would, had snatched out of her hands, to auoyd Idlenes she would prepare and dresse the same with Garding or the like, and spinne it afterwards in better health, and being sorupulous, would abate some part of the price she was to haue, as fearing and [Page 275] mistrusting her worke deser [...]ed not so much, soe done in sicknes. Nor may wee thinke she did these things out of a base and deiected mynd: for while she was thus lowly spinning in the Chimney Corner, her mynd would bee cōtemplating most high & sublime points, of the huswiuery our Lady vsed in her humble Nazareth, What Ioseph did the while she was spinning, and what the Infant Iesus did, when they both were soe busily em­ployed. She would meditate how vnworthy she was to haue dressed vp our Ladyes worke for her, how gladly she would haue carded or reeled for her, and a thousand such conceipts she reuolued in mynd, and yet her hands, her head, and body were as busy, as she had myn­ded naught, but what she was doing. And though in presence she enioyed the cōpany of her Maydes heere beneath, yet in spirit her whole conuersation was with the Angelles aboue.

A CERT AINE NOBLEM AN of Hungary endeauours in vayne to perswade Elizabeth to returne with him to her Father, & what acts of humility she shewed. CHAP. XII.

SVch is the peruerse condition of some wordly men, that ha­uing Children, and consequently being Parents onely, as touching the extraction they receiued from them, and not hauing any power ouer the soules of their Children, being immediately created of God, and infused into the organized bo­dy, they take vpon them (I know not how) and vsurpe a kind of ty­rānical power ouer them, diuerting them too oft from vertuous courses, when they are wel giuen, and [Page 277] religiously disposed. Pressing them ouer hardly with the fourth precept of the decalogue of honouring Pa­rents. For euery one is free in whatExod 2 [...] 12. concernes the choyse of a state of life; nor may the Parents force the Sonne or Daughter to match against their likings; nor doth Parental power extend so far. And though wee Owe vnto Parents much, for giuing vs these bodyes which wee take from them; Yet wee owe more vnto God, who hath giuen vs also these very bodyes in a high­er nature; and for our soules, him­self hath giuen them vs alone. God, is Father of Body, and Spirit both; they Parents of the Body only; God for our owne profit, and saluation becomes our Father; and they for their honours sake, their inheritan­ces, and perpetuityes on earth, to lead vs often into hel with them. Wherefore in the affayre of our sal­uation there is no duty neyther with Father or Mother nor other [Page 278] Parents, while Christ sayeth, wee are to reiect, and refuse them al in this case.

Hence it was, that Elizabeth be­ing wel instructed in eyther dutyes, could answeare wel to a certaine Count, who in behalf of her Fa­ther, came from Hungary to visit her where she remayned in Hass [...]a. Who fynding her in that state wee mentioned aboue, and half besides himself to behold such a spectacle, could hardly beleiue it was she, but being strooke with astonishment, endeauoured with al the rhetorique he had, to diswade from those courses, so vnfit (as he sayed,) and misbeseeming her state, and dignity, as the Widow of such a Prince as Lewys was, and Daughter of so great a Monarke, as his Master: Telling her that hee was sent a purpose to bring her into Hungary, where she should liue according to her dignity, & not bee forced to liue in obscurity, in that vile, and abiect [Page 279] māner, assuring her besides, that her tender Father now hold no longer, hearing in what extreamity she was, and therefore by al meanes, she was to resolue vpon the matter, and to prepare for the iourney since hee was sent to her a purpose to bring her to him. Whereto she answeared, her state, and manner of life, she ho­ped, did noe wayes derogate from a Christian Woman, and so long, One had not degenerated awhit, or wrō ­ged her Family frō whēce she came, and therefore she entreated him, he would bee pleased to satisfy her Fa­ther, that though otherwise she we­re the wredchedst sinner on earth, yet for her duety towards him, she found not her conscience touched with the least remorse, for any dis­paragement of his howse or family that she had incurred in hearkning to the vocatiō of her heauēly Father who had called her to that state, and māner of life. The Count replyed, the state, and Nobility of Princes, was different frō that of others, & how [Page 280] it was each thing should be rankt in its order, according to the digni­ty thereof, and where the harmony of Order was once broken, there could be no lesse then a meere con­fusion in things. That those courser habits, which she wore, became her il; that so much maceration of her body had greatly decayed her goodly complexion, which she was bound to cherish, to the honour of the Creatour, and not so iniuriously to deface the workmanship of his hands with such excesses as she vsed. Hee sayed besides, that if the state of the Continent be holy, the marryed state is likewise, to such as holily embrace it. And that S. An­thony frō the desert, & S. Francis frō his Cel was conueyed to heauen: so likewise, with the cares of royaltie S. Lewis most gloriously mounted thither. And if the affaires, and traffiques of the world bee so great an impediment to attayne to hea­uen; What hindered S. Maurice in [Page 281] the libertynes, and negotiations of warre: and SS. Cosmas and Damia­nus in their practizes of Phisique, and a number of other holy soules in other professions, you wil thin­ke very ful of distractions, but in­deede most neerely conioyned with God in that state, and why might not she returning to her Father in Hungary, and restored to her for­mer dignityes, betake her self to a second match, such as hee shal easi­ly find out for her, and lyue as hap­pily, and securely in that state as she had done in her husbands life, through her great liberality to the poore, perseuering in such workes as she formerly had practized du­ring his life, and gaine as great a place in heauen? Alleaging also, the knowne example of the Abbot Pa­phnutius, Who hauing once de­maunded of God whom he resem­bled neerest in this lyfe, learned di­uers tymes from the mouth of an Angel, that a certaine Player of the [Page 282] flute, and a Marchant of Alexandrie were his equal in merits. So that if they in these exercizes which are accompanied with so many dis­stractions haue been able to attaine to such a degree of perfectiō, What great disturbance is it, trow you, should she find in such a state as would better agree with her cal­ling, and condition, then that which now she had vndertaken.

Thus spent this faithful Embassa­dour his breath in vayne, preuailing no more with this constant hart; then the winds and waues of the impe tuous seas are able to moue a huge rock; & therefore was dispat­ched by her, ful of wonder, and asto­mishmēt to heare her admirable wi­sedome, & to note her discretion in giuing answear to al this, which she did so iudicially, & piously to euerie poynt, as he now began to thinke she had great reason of her side, and that his agreements on the cōtrary were but friuolous, and to no pur­pose: as he affirmed at his returne, [Page 283] perswading not only her Royal Fa­ther, but al the Court of Hungary to cōceiue most highly of her courses, so as her Father began now to pro­mise to his howse more honour to redound to it by such a Daughter, then heretofore he had euer surmi­zed dishonour.

In the meane while, Elizabeth now deliuered of the earnest impor­tunityes of the solicitous Embassa­dour, considering with what indu­stry, & diligence those of the world endeauour to go forward, & aduan­ce themselues more, and more, & to make themselues more excellent in any manner of profession as of Learning, Armes, or the like, and how a rich man the more he hath, the more he couets to haue, and la­bours more to make his gaine, and all for fraile and transitory goods: she bethought her self how much rather she should addict her self to the purchase of celestiall and eter­nall goods: And therefore knowing of what auayle the Workes of [Page 284] Charity were, & especially of Hu­mility: She now applyed her self to acts of humiliation more then euer. And her singular humility, & fami­liarity was such with her Maydes at home, as she made her selfe their equal at least, if not inferiour, so as to lay aside the name of Lady or Mistresse, she would onely be cal­led by them by her proper name, and that as familiarly as, they vse to style it.

Finally Causing them to sit dow­ne with her at the same table, she would bee their Cooke sometymes in her turne, and eate together of the same dish with them. Which humility of hers, when one of her Maydes admiring, sayed: Good Woman you litle regard, it see­mes, our daunger heere, while see­king to encrease your own merits, you put vs in hazard to be easily tempted, with proud cogitations by being made so familiar with you, and vsed as yous equals, Whe­reby [Page 285] we may loose the fruite of our conuersation with you. Whereto Elizabeth replyed. Why Daughter if it trouble thee so to sit by mee at the same Table, thon shalt eate, and take thy meate from my Lap, and made her so to do in good earnest. This her humility and Mildenes▪ of behauiour, was likewise adorned with a wonderous gratious kind of speach, Which she alwayes pra­ctized among her Maydes. And as she had a strange, and extraordinary Care, that noe words of vanity should come from them, or peeuish or distastful speach, be vtered by them in her presence against each other, as with the best disposed wil happen now, and then, eyther by words, signes, or otherwise, she would readily, and handsomely checke them for it in a very good manner▪ saying: Where is our Lord now Sisters, who promised assu­redly to be present with his Ser­uants whensoeuer they talked of [Page 288] him: Her sharpenes was mixed with such sweetnes, that as she would dissemble and winke at noe faultes: soe she was not austere in punnishing any, While her fami­liarity caused not impunity, nor her rebukes carryed any acerbity with them.

Of the exceeding Charity of S. Elizabeth towards her Neighbour, especially the sick: With her great humility. CHAP. I.

SEEING wee are al pertakers of the self same nature, and euery lyuing creature, is apt to loue and af­fect [Page 292] another like to it self, and that Man especially is borne without weapons or corporal defence, as other creatures are, as being wholy made for peace and concord: it followes by consequence how greatly wee stand in neede of each other, and this same, so ordayned of God, for a stricter bond of mutual Charity and assistance one of another. For while one loues or hates his neighbour, he loues or hates the Image of God, framed by his owne hand. Noe maruaille then, if Elizabeth considering these things, (as doubtles she did,) was found to bee so charitable towards the poore vpon al occasions, in whom shee considered the said Image of God, to remayne so liuely imprinted, as it were in the nature of Man. But then considering him againe, as redeemed by the pretious Blood of our Sauiour Christ, though otherwise he had had no such dignity at al, before in his Creation, she wel vnderstood the Ransome had beene able it self to haue made him farre more pretious [Page 293] [...]en heauen and earth; and conse­cuently she laboured by al meanes to [...]leiue these Images of God, so pre­ [...]ous, and soto be valued for either [...]tles. And she wisely pondered [...]ithal, what good soeuer was found [...] her Neighbour, was the goods [...]f God, and common to al; and what [...]uil, a common calamity and detri­ [...]ent to al; & that, as wee are al mem­bers, as it were, of the same body; she considered how careful wee ought to [...]ee, to succour & releiue one another; [...]s wee see in the body of a man, how sensible are al the members of the hurt [...]r dommage of any particular one.

Besides, these common induce­ments to moue her vnto Charity, towards the needy and afflicted neighbour; she would likewise help and excite her self thereunto, by this special reason. That euen those wh [...]m she beheld to bee in great extreami­tyes, either of pouerty, sicknes, or greiuous infirmityes, she might happily one day see & obserue to bee heyres of God, and coheyres of Christ resplen­dent [Page 294] as the Sunne, in the kingdome of their heauenly Father, Citizens among the Saints, and Dearest to God, and might behold there, as so many Aultars of incense, as so many Kings of glorie, and so many Organs to praise and exalt the most holy Trinity.

The deepe apprehension no doubt of these things, had bred that enfla­med Charity she felt in her self, in re­lieuing, assisting, and comforting her Neighbour in al distresses. This made her, when she went to visit the poore, in their owne howses, (as often she did;) to be allwayes at­tended by one or other, to carry along with her sundry sorts of al kind of prouisions, as meate, drinke, and clothes for the purpose, not omitting the while, fit medecins for the sick, as she vnderstood they were in need; and would minister to them with her ow­ne hands, and deale & distribute to the poore, what necessary things she had brought with her, and accordingly examine their apparel and other neces­saryes, [Page 295] for their howses, as bedds, sheetes, couerlets, and blanckets, and euer supply what was wanting, if she had wherewithal; and if she had it not, she would prouide it for them, by selling her rings of gold, her bra­celets, and iewells, which stil she had for the same purpose; so as she was forced at last to sel with much disaduantage, certaine apparel she wore in former tymes, as yet left her, to furnish them with things which she held to bee simply needeful for them.

Amid these spoyles which she made so of her owne goods, she being now exhausted, not hauing wherewith to ful-fil the suite and humble request of a poore man, who begged but a sory fish at her hands, on a certaine day of abstinence; she made her prayer to Christ very anxiously for him; when arising from prayer, whether it were that she expected what followed, as the fruits and effect thereof, or that otherwise she had neede of some water for some vses of hers, I cannot say▪ [Page 296] but she going to the Spring to draw thereof, where no fish at al could bee any wayes expected, she fetched vp one in her bucket, for the satisfying of the hunger, or the longing of the poore man: this is certaine she drew vp the fish, and giuing it to him, sent him away exceedingly wel satisfyed. And verily it is thought she had done the like before and after diuers tymes, which stil for humility she sought to conceale, but could not now do it in his presence; who doubtles went away satisfyed, praysing the works of God, being so miraculously fed through the prayers and merits of Elizabeth, the great Seruant of God.

Her Charity likewise much appea­red in a certaine difficult thing; for being a woman of that condition as she was, so delicately bred vp, as she had beene; tooke vpon her to tend an Orphan, sick of many irksome and greiuous diseases at once, as of the palsey, catarrhe, and bloody flux, so as very often in the night, she was [Page 297] fayne to take vp the child, in her tender armes, not being otherwise able to wield it self; and did it with such willingnes and alacrity, as asto­nished such as were witnesses the­reof; and to shew that she did it ve­ry freely and willingly indeed; when as after notwithstanding the care she had, the Child dyed; as if she had lost some notable benefit by its death; she was not quiet til she had priuily taken to her charge, to tend a certayne Mayd wholy destitute and forlorne, and sorely infected with a greiuous leaprosy, whom she serued with such Charity, as she not only dressed her meate, made her bed, and fetched her water to wash her hands, but being so great a personage, dis­dayned not to abase her self euen to the ground to pul off her hose and shooes, and the like. Which when the venerable Conrad vnderstood; considering the loathsommes of that disease, and the daintynes of her complexion, he gaue on the [Page 299] suddaine expresse order, the leaprous Mayd should be remoued thence, and the Lady debarred from comming at her, prouiding otherwise for the party.

Though Elizabeth by some, might wel be thought to be throughly mor­tified herein, to be so peremptorily barred of her wil, (as they might imagine) in so pious a thing, she ha­uing as it appeared, so seriously set her mynd thereon, yet in truth it troubled not her awhit, for weighing with herself, that charitable acts, how great soeuer, do loose their vertue and efficacy, if they be not discreete withal, she was satisfyed with the wil of her Superiour, whom God had appointed ouer her. For she considered indeede that true Cha­rity principally required two things: First, not to content our selues with the only shadow of Charity, which is sweete and tender feeling towards the Neighbour, but such an effect alsoe, as properly bereaues a man of al self-loue, as not to seeke nor mind [Page 299] any thing but the glory of God, and to ful-fil his blessed wil, And what­soeuer any wayes befalls him, eyther interiourly or exteriourly, to accept from the hand of God, in doing al to his greater glory, and not to seeke what is pleasing to himself, but what is most agreeable to the wil of God. The second is, that howbeyt the Loue of God can not be so great, but that stil he is worthy of much greater, yet are the exteriour works and practizes thereof, to be measured with a certaine moderation of discretion, least being neglected, they hurt either our owne health, or hinder the edification of our neighbour. And therefore she wisely considered, there was no greater se­curity herein, then wholy to stand to the iudgmens of her lawfull Supe­riour. Who if he grant and afford vs, to do lesse then wee willingly would do, yet shal a supple and plyable mynd herein, relinquishing its pro­per wil, bee a great deale more gra­teful to God, then the hardest and [Page 300] most difficult thing that may be enterprized, without the same re­fignation.

Yet could not Elizabeth forbeare, such was her Charity, to receiue a Boy into her charge, whose head was al become bald, by reason of the S [...]uruy or Scurfe, which had ouer­growne yt, whom she out of hand, what with washing, anoynting, and the attendance she gaue him cured, or rather with the feruour of her fai [...]n procured his recouery from the hands of God▪ [...] she had none, yet wrought she ma [...]y cures, no doubt vnder the colour of some manner of skil at least, through her charitable di­ligence doing therewith many admi­rable things.

And lastly, this excellent Charity of hers, was euer accompanied with humility, as Sisters hand in hand. For besides her ordinary employments in the exercize of al vertues: she would often wash the dishes, euen out of her tu [...]n, with the p [...]ts and other vessells belonging to the kitchin, sending [Page 301] away her Mayds many tymes about other busines, that she might more freely attend to her owne humiliatiō, so as often they found her busyed eyther in wiping them vp, or but newly making an end, to their singular edification, in beholding the humility of the Seruant of God.

HOw ELIZABETH DE­liuers the soule of the Queene her Mother from Purgatory, with her prayers only: and likwise procured the vocation of a certaine libertine vnto Religion. CHAP. II.

AS it is noe ordinary thing, but wholy miraculous, for soules being departed this life, to returne to [Page 202] this world, from whence they pas­sed so it cannot be denyed, but that sometymes they appeare vnto vs, where, when, and how, through diuine dispensation, the same is per­mitted vnto them. Now for their owne commodity, because thereby they are the more succoured by the lyuing when they are suffered to ap­peare to them; and somtymes for our instruction and profit, because that in hearing or in seeing them, wee are not only the more confirmed in the faith of the immortallity and resur­rection of the dead, but do likewise receiue many other benefits withal: & likely allwayes they giue vs a faithful testimony of the prouidēce which our Lord hath as wel ouer the lyuing as the dead. And howbeit, al soules which haue left the body haue proper power of their owne nature, to moue them­selues from one place to an other, yet haue not al the licence or liberty to vse the same, some for being perpetually condemned to prison in Hel it self, [Page 203] others in Purgatory for a tyme, in pu­nishmēt for sinne, though not against their wil, which is wholely confor­mable to God, nor can the one or other come from thence, without ex­presse order from the supreame Iudge of the lyuing and Dead.

Now then it happened in these dayes, in the night tyme, while Eliza­beth was setled to sleepe, that the Soule of one, of a suddaine, appeared to her in her dreame. Which vision how beyt in her sleepe, yet appeared it as sensi­ble vnto her imagination, as shee had been perfectly awake at noone day, and had seene an obiect indeede very subiect to the senses; appearing at first in a mourneful guise, and not ma­nifesting as yet who it was: and after the inuocation of the most holy Tri­nity, with the signe of the holy Cros­ [...]e, shee demaunding who it was: The Spirit seemed to answeare in her slee­pe, she was the Queene of Hungary her Mother, and falling on her knees, besought her most earnestly to haue pitty and compassion on her, as soone [Page 304] as might bee: Whereupon awaking she immediately offered vp to God her deuout' prayers, not without many teares in behalf of her Mother, and so layed her downe to sleepe a second ty­me, and againe the same very soule ap­peared to her in a glorious manner, and gaue her infinit thanks for her suddai­ne and speedy deliuerance, assuring her besides, that her prayers had so great an energy with them in the ears of the diuine Maiesty, and were so gratiously efficacious in his sight, as they were auaileable as wel for the lyuing as for the dead: which shortly she found to bee true, by her owne experience.

For hauing now already shewed how for [...]ible & efficacious the pray­ers of Elizabeth haue been for soules departed. Let vs see heer how effe­ctual they are in behoofe of the liuing.

It happened as then the manner was, that diuers Ladyes and perso­nages of good sort; some for deuo­tion, and some for curiosity, and some (no doubt) to carpe at the manner of [Page 305] her life, came to visit her; such was the fame and opinion they had of her; she being so rare a patterne of Contempt of the world, and especially, of voluntary Pouerty. Among which, one day, came a certaine Lady of her acquaintance, with a good intention to keepe her company, being vshe­red by a sonne of hers, a proper and goodly Gentleman, and who excee­dingly set forth himself, being ex­traordinary braue and gallant in ap­parel, and extreamely in the fashion; so as easily appeared no litle paynes and care had been taken by him in al his habit wel perfumed, to exhibit [...] a perfect and compleat Cour­tier: in a word, in his garb and whole comportemēt, he seemed a true Cour­tier, to comply with ladyes in their element. The salutations betweene thē were hardly passed, whē Elizabeth, not much accustomed with those sights, foūd her self to be touched with a double zeale, the one of the honor & glory of God, seeing his Image to be so [...]owlely polluted with secular va­nityes, [Page 205] for so she esteemed those tric­kings and deckings of the body; the other for the soule of that poore yong man, so vainely giuen and carryed away with the gentle streame and sly­ding vogue of the world. And there­fore knowing him wel to bee a youth of a good disposition, and perhaps made acquainted heeretofore with some other better inclinations and intentiōs of his; could She not choose but ingenuously say to him.

‘Good Sir, how happens you are now so braue at this tyme, & growne such a Gallant; I haue knowne when it hath been farre otherwise with you: Are al those goodly designes of yours, now come to this, thus vanished into a smoak of so much vanityes, what trick you vpp so trow you, but a mas­se of flesh, a tru [...]se of hay, and no more; to day very goodly as you seeme to your glasse, to morrow a fee for the wormes. Goe to, my Child, away with these toyes, and reare your mind to higher things, that soule of yours is too precious to be drowned so in these [Page 206] transitory waues of these secular pomps; Looke back againe into those former reflections of yours, you were wont to make, when your iudgment was better then now it is; and make now at last a firme resolution to brea­ke with al these transitory things. Thus shee. To whom the Gentle­man replyed. True it is Deare Madam, your Ladyshipp is in the right, and I must confesse I haue been too much to blame, to frustrate the good inspi­rations which God hath sent mee, and whereto for a tyme I lent my eares, but now Lady through my owne in­gratitude, I know not how I am fal­len into so strange a tepidity in such matters, if not stupidity, as I cannot thinke thereof, without a great aridi­ty of mynd, so as I feel my self now wholely possessed with a dullnes and lethargy as it were of al good things, that they take vp entirely al the facul­tyes of my soule. This only remedy remaines for me Madam, that your Ladyship would be pleased to implo­re and beseech our Lord in my behalf [Page 308] to take mee forth of this dangerous state wherein I am, and to giue mee his grace I may breake insunder these chaynes that entangle mee, and so inueagle mee in the snares of secular appetites and desires, and make me vnapt for al goodnes. To which shee replyed. And do you wish mee indeede to pray for you as you say, and are you in earnest? Madam, sayd he, it is my de­sire and the height of my ambition. Marry then, sayed shee, you must ioy­ne with me, and vnite your vowes with mine▪ & second my prayers with yours.’ Which when hee had yeilded to; Shee crauing pardon and licence of his Mother, tooke him into a priua­te Oratory hard by, where they prayed together a prety space, and it was not long ere the young Gentleman began to cal vpon her, saying: Cease now your pra [...]ers Madam, and giue ouer, for I find my self so enkindled with their feruour, that I can not endure their heate any longer. When; shee prayed more hartily and more earnestly then before, and wi [...]h grea­ter [Page 309] vehemency then euer, stil called vpon God, he would please to looke downe vpon that Wretch enthralled in the snares of this world, and cal him efficaciously into some family of his, whereby wholely to bid adiew to the vanityes of the world. But hee feeling his body and especially his hart to be more and more enflamed within him, and his strength by litle and litle to fayle him quite, being al ouer in a sweat, sometymes hot, sometimes cold, panting and striuing for breath, as it were; called out mo­re lowd then before, and casting out his armes for wearines, yeilding a puffe withal, as the last of his breath, cryed out amaine, saying interru­ptedly as wel as he could: Cease, cease ô my deare Lady, for al my entrailes and bowells, and euen the very marrow of my bones are ex­hausted quite, and nigh consumed with extreame feruour of your prayers. When two of the Mayds together with the venerable Matron his Mother, coming in al hast, with [Page 210] hearing the cryes hee made, who were hardly able to hold him vp by the wast, from sinking to the ground, or to stay, so that hee might not take any harme by a fal through weakenes, or that in aswoune, he might passe away and re­turn no more vnto himself. His body the while was so hot, as they could hardly endure to touch his flesh, being bathed al ouer with the sweat that started forth of the pores of his body, a liquor expelled & put forth, through excesse of heate within him.

At length, while she stil perseuered in prayers, the young man now able hardly to fetch his breath, stil called vpon her with a voyce as lowde as hee could, saying with al submission, and greatest importunity he could. O Madam, I pray giue ouer your prayers for the loue of IESVS Christ, that I may not vntimely thus end my dayes, whom you haue so designed to a better life. Whereupon Elizabeth ma­king an end, the young man beganne presently to come to himself, and to coole in his body, the heate ceasing, [Page 211] and he coming at last to a more na­tural temper, promised the Lady out of hand to receiue the habit of Saint Frā [...]is of Assisium, which shortly after he performed, to his vnspeakeable comfort and ioy of his Mother, who loued him truely as Mothers ought to loue their children, not barring him through carnal affection from his spi­ritual preferrements; where hee conti­nued to his dying day, stil magnifying Elizabeth as the Authour next vnto God of his chiefest happynesse and greatest felicity. Besides which act of hers, it is commonly reported, this blessed Matron procured the salua­tion of many, by the efficacy of her prayer.

THE GREAT LIBERALITY and mercy of Elizabeth, shewed after she had recouered her portion into her hands. CHAP. III.

AS in al species or kinds of things, euery one hath some manner of [Page 312] excellence aboue the rest: as in flo­wers, the Rose: the Lyon, among the foure footed beasts: the Delphin, with the fishes: in stones, the Diamant: the Fire, aboue the rest of the Elements: So Mercy among the rest of moral ver­tues seemes to carry away the pal­me. But if wee speake of the mercy of God, of al the diuine attributes that are, there is none more ad­uantageous to man, nor any found more glorious to himself: in this ver­tue God hath lodged perfection, which the Sages haue constituted in a heape of al vertues; so as the merciful by meanes of this, may be saied to possesse al vertues. Secondly, o [...] Lord hath placed felicity therein, and made a Beatitude thereof. And lastly in mercy God hath delineated a per­fect draught as it were, according to the image and ressemblance of him­self, where he sayes. Bee you merciful a [...] your heauenly Fathers is. A holy vertue no doubt which so dignifyes men that it makes them not onely as An­gels, but euen like God himself.

[Page 313]When Elizabeth therefore had re­couered from the Prince the por­tion due vnto her in consideration of her dowry, she was to receiue of him, by a certaine accord, ma­de betweene them; Shee desired to haue it reduced into a grosse summe, that she might according to the Ghospel▪ sel what shee had, to haue meanes to shew this mercy wee speake of, to the poore: Which shee did, remembring the examples of the old and new Testament: That whereas Adam Gen. 3. being naked after his sinne; God though much offended with him, insteed of punishing him, present­ly tooke care to cloth him: and therefore shee would cloth theLeui [...] 25. naked. The Iubily which was orday­ned in the old law, in fauour of debtours, that in that holy yea­re they should be freed of all their debts: taught her to releiue the needy and miserable in their ne­cessityes. The ordinance of God [Page 214] to leaue the shatered eares of corne to the gleaners in the feild during the haruest, was a lesson to her, to disper­se what she had among the poore.

In the new Testament, she had a [...] assurance giuen her of a liberal rewar [...] at the hands of God, for a dish of wa­ter giuen to the poore in his name▪ The Parables inuiting the poore to the banquets of the rich housholders were as so many instructions to her, to shew mercy to them. The remem­brance of that sad catastrophe of the rich Glutton for his want of compas­sion to Lazarus, and his vnmerciful dealing with him, was a caution and terrour to her. And she weighed withal, how the dreadful sentence of that terrible Iudge at the latter day; vpbrayded not, the cōmitting of sin­nes so much, as the omitting of the works of mercy. Considering there­fore how in the harmony of mans bo­dy, one member succours an other without any manner of discourse a [...] al, by the only impulse and inclina­tion, they haue of correspondences [Page 351] one with an other; shee held it vnrea­sonable and against nature not to suc­cour the needy members of the mysti­cal body of the Church, with whom she was one among the rest. And behol­ding how beasts of the same kind do flock together, to defend each other [...]n al occasions, she held it a shame her reason should be put to confusion by their want of reason, or to be found more brutish then beasts themselues, not to help, succour, and releiue her Neighbour of the self same species with her. But that which seemed to [...]ouch her most, was that saying of1. Ioh 3. Sainct Iohn. Hee that beholds his brother [...]n necessity, and shuts vp the bowels of [...]is mercy against him, how is it that Cha­rity should rest in him? For this she considered, who hath not Charity hath not grace, and by conse­quence not life, but euen remaynes in death; and lastly that he is not [...]ike to find any mercy at the hand of God who shewes it not vnto an other.

Wherefore, I say, Elizabeth hauing [Page 316] gotten these treasures into her hands, she hid them not in the earth, as on [...] that were feareful of wants her self▪ nor lockt them vp in Coffers, a [...] one that were couetous: but relying rather on the prouidence of God, and hauing an eye on the immense profi [...] and returne shee was to make therof in the next life, shee intended to put them forth to vse, into the hands of Christ, by dealing them to the poore, in hope I say of an excesse vsury of [...] hundred for one. Shee sent them into euery Coast of the countryes round about to assemble the poore togeather at a certaine day designed by her, ap­pointing likewise a certaine place, least through ignorance perhapps any might erre and misse the Deale. When lo at the place and tyme appointed, an incredible multitude of the poore of al sorts, came flocking thither, so as the like number of them had neuer beene seene in Thuringia or Has­sia either: it was a world to see how great a multitude there was: some [Page 317] lame, some blind, some deaf, some Orphans, some Widowes, and some aged persons, and some with their whole familyes at once, as hauing noe resting or abiding place. There might you see a mother carying one child on her back, and an other hang clinging to her breast. A child leading his blind father, and the father ca­rying his lame child. The lame who had his eyes, but wanted limmes, was caryed and susteyned by him who had his limmes but not his eyes, being guided by him that sate aboue. If there were any with stump armes who had no hands, but his tongue very voluble and free, he would ioyne with him that was dumb, and begge the one with his tongue, the other with his hand stret­ched forth; & Elizabeth her self would stand the while extteamely edifyed with the mutual charity which ap­peared amongst them. They shewed being altogether, like a huge army scattered after a discomforture giuen, discouering their wounds and maymes [Page 318] receiued in seruice, repayring to their Captayne for pay, & stretching forth the hand to receiue the same.

Elizabeth therefore appointed some, both men and women to keepe good order, in the distribution of the almes she intended to giue, and to cause the multitude to sit downe in certaine files and rancks, and to quiet them if they chaunced to tumultuat among themselues, as vsually such people do, complayning of each other for the lightest cause, and many times without any cause at al; she prescri­bed a penalty of a publique con­fusion, to the faulty and delinquents, by cutting off the hayre of any who­soeuer should once presume to goe forth of their place, while the dole was made, or were noted to molest their fellowes any wayes, or to offer to take a double almes, to the preiu­dice of the rest, who might happily want by such an abuse.

Besides these poore, were present likewise an innumerous multitude of other people to behold the sight, [Page 319] whom the rarenes thereof had moued to come and view the same. When this religious Comforter of the poore would walke among the midst of the rancks distributing the monyes her self, which howbeit she might wel haue recommended to others, yet such was the pleasure she tooke the­rein, as she could not be satisfyed, if she did it not with her owne hands; doing herein like the careful and sol­licitous husbandman▪ who though he trust others to plow his land, yet wil hee sow the seede himself: being wel aduised, that who sowes sparingly shal as sparingly reape, and who shal sow in benedictions, shal reape in be­nedictions. And this she did with so pleasant and cheareful a countenan­ce, as wel demonstrated the confiden­ce she had of her future haruest in the next life. So as besides the treasures she layd vp there, she gaue forth a most excellent odour of sanctity to God and Angels, and a most liuely example to men to follow her therein. [Page 320] In which distributions at one tyme only, she spent little lesse then fiue hundred pounds sterling, to the in­credible releife of a world of peo­ple

When lo the dole was ended, and the company were now broke vp, they returned to their homes, al pray­sing God with hymnes and Canticles of ioy, and magnifying this his trusty Stewardesse & faithfull Dispensatress [...] of his goods, extolling her to the skyes, and powring forth a million of bles­sings vpon her. Yet some there were who by reason of some sicknes or other infirmityes, were fayne to abide there al night, and lye here and there al scattered vp and downe in the Hospital, the place appointed for the said dole, of whom this zea­lous Seruant of Christ, not satisfying her self with what shee had most cha­ritably and liberally done already, tooke a most tender compassion, and presently commaunded good fires to be made euerie where of Charcoales [Page 321] and billets, which shee there pro­cured at her owne cost and charges, and the poore to be called to the same, and that euery one, besides what they had already, should haue a loafe of bread and sixpence a peece; and some who had the greatest neede should moreouer, haue their feete [...]oth washed and annoynted. Whereat the multitude brake forth into shouts of ioy and harty acclamations in her prayses, crying out with one accord, Long liue Elizabeth great Saint and ser­vant of God: and she reioyced the while, not to heare her owne prayses, [...]ut to see the members of Christ so wel contented.

OF A CERTAINE ACCIDENT which shewed how Elizabeth had likewise the gift of Prophecy: With her charitable acts in relief of the poore. CHAP. IIII.

AS the glorious Elizabeth was thus renowned for her bounteous almes, and the exercize of al vertues, which illustrate and eternize Saincts to the end there might nothing be wanting to adorne her lyfe, it appeares she had likewise the Gift of Prophe­cy, and reuelation of future things Which before we set downe in par­ticular, wee wil glaunce a litle vpon the doctrine of the Catholique Church, in this point of reuelations in general, to engender a more constant beleife of such things being related in particular. Now then a [...] diuinely▪ declares Pope Boniface th [...] [Page 323] Ninth, in the Bul of the CanonizationIn [...]. Brig. of Saint Bridgit; euen from the begin­ning of the world Reuelations haue beene. For that (according to the Apostle) to some is giuen the grace to work myracles; to some Prophecyes &c. and it is a matter of faith to be­leiue there haue beene such; and he were Heretique, who should deny the reuelations of the Prophets, and perticularly the Apocalips of Saint Iohn. The Popes recount the visions & Reuelations of many Saints, when they canonize them. Besides that, ma­ny Saints haue written Reuelations of other Saints: as S. Basil those of S. Co­lumbanns and others: Sainct Paulinus: Bishop of Nola, wrot those of Sainct Faelix: S. Bernard those of S. Malachy: S. Bonauenture of S. Frauncis. And finally al those who but write the Liues of Saints, recount their Reuelations and Prophecyes, as heere wee shal do of our Saint. Thus it was: At what tyme, that great and general doale was made to the poore wee mentioned aboue, [Page 324] vnder the penalty of cutting off the hayre of delinquents. A certaine Damsel in the company was brought to Elizabeth, and accused, as one who had transgressed the aforesaid Ordi­nance made by her. Which shee vn­derstanding, and not respecting her singular beauty and feature, nor yet her goodly hayre layed forth to view, without more adoe, not re­garding her plaints, or listning to her freinds who speake in her behalf, caused the same to be quite cut off; whereat the Virgin wept most bit­terly, pittifully lamenting she was vndone, there being some who con­stantly affirmed the yong Mayden had committed no fault at al, and there­fore had great iniury offered her, by them who wrongfully accused her, she coming thither not for any gree­dynes of almes, but to see a sister of hers there present. Whereat Elizabeth not moued awhit, smiling, replyed. Goe too then, the mayd hath com­mitted noe manner of offence here, [Page 325] tis wel, tis wel, so much the better; and now by the losse of her hayre she is like to gaine her soule, and hereafter I trow she wil refrayne from her dauncing, and the like. And sending for her, she appeared with a sad and desolate countenance, hauing lost so, that goodly ornament of her head; the deare Seruant of Christ demaunded of her, whether she euer had a desire or resolute pur­pose or noe, to haue lead a more re­gular and spiritual life then shee had donne. Whereto the Mayd answea­red with a modest looke, as being not a litle confounded at the question shee made her. ‘True it is Madam, I must confesse, nor if I would, without impiety can I deny, but that long since I had the mynd to haue entered into Reli­gion, in some one of the best refor­med orders; and surely had done yt, if the gaynesse and beauty of my hay­re, which is now cut off, had not [Page 326] cooled my desire and frustrated the same.’

‘It is wel then, replyed Elizabeth and therefore am I now glad thy hayre is cut off, for that I s [...]e it hath beene a great hinderance and impediment to thee, in a spiritual course: and this I say to thee besides, that I should not take so much com­fort to haue my sonne proclaymed Emperour, and see him seated and established in that Imperial Throne, as I shal do to see thee in so faire a way to become a Religious woman as thou first intendest; pray for mee and blesse the occasion that made you thus to enter into your self. How say you, are you not content to abandon the world, and to betake your self to a stricter life for his sake, who hath so mercyfully expected this long?’ Yea Madam replyed shee, I am content, and more then that, to do any thing els your Ladyshipp shal appoint for my good. Whereupon shee tooke the Mayd and gaue her worse apparel then that she ware, and placed her as a [Page 327] Seruant in the Hospital; which office shee faithfully and piously executed so long as shee liued. And the stan­ders by were greatly moued at the accident, concluding al, that infal­libly shee had the gift of Prophecy, and reuelations of things remote, hidden, and future: and now they began more then euer to regard her, while nothing is more specious in the eyes of men, then Gifts of these kinds, and such especia fauours from God. But leauing these, let vs returne to her wonted work [...] of Charity againe, whereof I find no end.

Although a man would verily haue thought, to haue seene the pro­fuse largesse of this incomparable Stewardesse of Christ, shee might wel haue sate downe with what shee had already done: Yet as one but now to begin, and who as yet had done nothing to the purpose; shee had a good mynd with the like boun­ty, to haue disposed to the releife [Page 328] of the poore, the remaynder of her portion stil in her hands; whereof shee was to liue and sustayne her self: shee was so extreamely enamoured of that vertue, and so wonderfully af­fected to the needy and necessitous people. And surely shee had done so indeed, had not the Reuerend Father and Guide of her soule, her dearest Maister, preuented her in taking care for her temporaltyes: and therefore wisely foreseeing and prouiding for future necessityes, forbad her the same with a strickt commaund, making vse of the ab­solute power and authority he had ouer her; appointing some hard and seuere persons to accompany her alwayes, and to obserue very dili­gently all her actions, and to inti­mate to him and complayne of her, if shee obayed not his commaunde­ments, to wit, if shee were obserued to passe her stint assigned her, in dea­ling almes.

An order was taken, that if any [Page 329] one had complayned of her, shee was humbly to come, and take cor­rection for it, both by words and stri­pes as the matter required; so as some­tymes shee was smit on the cheekes, in which kind of correction shee much reioyced, remembring the bo­xes of the eares which Christ had in his passion, especially that same of the Souldiour with his armed fist, in the presence of Annas; holding them all as too light in regard of the same; shee would haue wished their hands more hard and a great deale more heauy to suffer more for his sake, and the loue of that special vertue. Which fault when shee had once committed, and accordingly been punished, shee was commaunded to distribute no more then a penny at once to a poore body. Wherein with a pious breach, and yet a litteral obseruance, shee so obeyed her Maister, as shee neuerthe­les gaue reasonable satisfaction to her tender and merciful mind. For now shee would giue to many, one by one, what shee had wont [Page 328] [...] [Page 329] [...] [Page 330] to fewer in greater peeces: Which when her Maister once perceiued, be­cause shee obeyed not his wil therein, he forbad her to giue any more mo­ney, and onely permitted her to giue Bread, which when shee began to deale more bountyfully then he would haue her, he restrayned her to giue peeces of bread only, whereas before shee had dealt whole loaues at once to seueral persons, and so with a wonderful variety, was both Obe­dience exercised in her, and compas­sion prouoked.

If shee had beene commaunded at any tyme to refrayne from giuing of almes or to meddle with leaprous or diseased persons, or else to discharge and dismisse such as shee had already▪ it was a wōder to see how vpon a sud­daine, her coulour would goe and come, as shee had verily beene in a strange dilemma what to do; When indeede it would bee no more but a terrible conflict in her self betweene the superiour and inferiour part of her soule, or the soueraigne power [Page 331] which Obedience exercised vpon her owne inclination to communicate her meanes to the poore, and to pra­tise such works of piety. So as now and then, shee would bee in such a perplexity of mind thereat, as the good Father knew not what to do in the case. For one while he feared least the disquiet of her mynd shee felt therewith might bring her into some inconuenience of her health, which was the thing he doubted so much, by dealing so boldly with such lea­prous people; otherwhile againe he would feare as much, least her exces­siue liberality would bring al to naught, and he be blamed for guiding her no better. And lastly otherwhi­les but very tenderly he began to sus­pect her promptnes in Obedience, that found such maine opposition inthe in­feriour part of her soule: til weighing the matter with more deliberation, he found it to be rather an emulous strife between two noble and eminent ver­tues in her: of Charity to the Neigh­bour, and Charity to God; Piety to the [Page 332] poore, and a perfect Obedience to her Superiour. And therefore commen­ding the matter to God from thence­forth he was resolued in those things to leaue her to the vnction of the Holy Ghost, to inspire and direct her in the best.

Which liberty, as shee perceiued to be afforded her from her Maister, fea­ring shee had violated the Lawes of Obedience, and that her Maister had beene fayne to condescend to her in­firmityes, shee resolued with her self thenceforth, shee would be more exact, precise, and punctual, not only to obey him to the letter, but euen likewise to the vtmost extent of his intention, as neare as shee was able to interpret the same. Wherein doubt­les shee made a notable conquest of her self, considering her pious incli­nation to works of Charity; so to im­molate the same on the Aultar of O­bedience, as shee did afterwards. And therefore henceforth shee contented her self with such works of Charity only, as were not only, not expressely [Page 333] forbidden her, but likewise such as shee might imagin, he intended to in­clude in his prohibitions and iniun­ctions giuen her. And so shee went with her Mayds to the Hospital to tend the sick, not infected with lea­prosy, and washed them, and made their bedds for them, and couered them as they lay. And would often say to her Mayds whom shee made as her fellowes in these occasions: How hap­py are wee, Sisters, who haue the ho­nour t [...] wash our Lord, to tend him so, and to couer him in his bed. Whe­reto being enflamed with her example, they would answeare, Yea; and take great complacence therein, how beyt one of them being somewhat lesse mortifyed then the rest, one day gaue her this answere, not so pleasing to her; You Lady, it seemes can away with this sluttishnes, but so cannot wee, and other women: which Eliza­beth hearing, dissembled the matter, and replyed not a word; but wee piously beleeue shee laboured not a little, what with prayers, and other [Page 334] meanes to reclayme her from that coldnes and tepidity in the seruice of God in his weak and feeble mem­bers

Vpon a certaine Woman great with child and neare her tyme, shee bestowed hous-roome and al necessa­ry furniture for her childbirth, and shee being deliuered of a daughter, newly borne; shee caused it to be Christened, and baptised by the name of Elizabeth, and likewise daylie visi­ted the woman in childbed, and stil carryed some good dish of meate or other with her, to comfort her withall. But at length this ingrateful woman being now recouered and brought to a perfect state of health, togeather with her husband, with one consent, ran quite away from her, lea­uing their litle daughter behind them, to the mercy, of the charitable Ma­tron, taking some part of the furnitu­re with them, that was but lent them for the tyme only. Whereof when the Seruant of God had notice giuen her, by her Mayd whom shee had sent [Page 335] vnto her, with a good dish of meate; shee presently commaunded the child to be brought to her, and put it forth to be nursed by a souldiours wife a neighbour by: When sending imme­diatly to the Gouernour of the Citty, hee caused a diligent search and pur­suit to bee made for those wretched vagabonds. But when they could not be found, the holy woman be­tooke her self to her prayers, and so caused them shortly to returne against their wills, and to begge pardon very humbly on their knees, for their great ingratitude and prodigious impiety: affirming they had been very misera­bly punished already, in that, through the iust iudgment of God, they were not able to passe any further, but were constreyned in spite of their harts to returne againe. The fault was soone pardoned by the blessed woman, with condition to take their child againe: and so they were both restored to her fauour. But yet in some manner of penance for their heynous delict, shee tooke away from her [Page 336] a cloake which shee had giuen her be­fore, saying: that an iniury was so to be pardoned, as the same might not come to bee offered any more. Which cloake shee presently bestowed on a poore Mayd at hand; who through the merits of the Saint, was so i'lu­mined thereby with the grace of God, as shee vowed immediatly thereupon, perpetual Virginity, and obserued the same to her dying day, leading a most vertuous life.

THE CHARITY OF Elizabeth to the Neighbour in spiritual mercyes: and particularly of her singular gift of Prayer. CHAP. V.

IT is not enough to haue these tem­poral mercyes, in behoofe of the poore, if wee haue not the spiritual works of mercy withal. There are [Page 337] some very apt to put their hands very readily in their purse, to releiue the necessityes of the poore. Many who can prodigally enough, lay out very largely vpon building of pious how­ses. And many likewise wil spare for no cost, to endow them with Rents very amply, so they may haue but the name of Founders only, and haue theyr armes aduanced in the Fron­tispices thereof: But, to put the hand to the hart to raze out ran­cour by the rootes; to pardon an iniury receiued, to loue ones ene­my, to do good for il, to direct the ignorant and tepid in the way of sal­uation, being sinners to reconcile them to God, and remayning in gra­ce, to harten them on to perseueran­ce, and to help them to the vse of the Sacraments, and a thousand more of the like kind, and al this for the true Loue and Charity of God: How few there are God wot! Alas, kow few! in regard of those who do wholely neglect such things.

[Page 338]But Elizabeth as shee was pittyful in all external things belonging to the body: so must you imagin, her zeale to bee much more in the spiri­tual necessityes of the soule. Hence it was, t [...]at shee would earnestly ex­hort a [...] Mothers, after their children were borne, not to differre baptisme. For the sick now lying in extreames at the mercy of God, shee would care­fully perswade and procure them to cleanse their consciences by confes­sion, and to receiue their Viatique with the rest of the rights of the Church. And once her zeale carryed her so farre, as shee that otherwise was so meeke as to submit her self to any correction, for the least trans­gression in the world, did beate a wo­man somewhat handsomely with a wand in her hand, for differring her Confession too long, whereby with stripes, shee expelled the spirit of slouthfulnes, and tepidity from her.

And for her piety and deuotion to holy things, though shee honoured [Page 339] the Reliques of Saints, with tapers & incense according to the custome of good Christians, piously offering be­sides the money shee had earned her self, with her handy works, most re­uerently on the Aultar. Yet shee see­med to mislike those sumptuous Ima­ges. And therefore entering once into a Church of Fryars professing Po­uerty, shee rebuked them for their excesse therein, beholding such cu­rious and exquisit peeces of work­manship there, saying: These had been better bestowed vpon the mayntenan­ce of the poore, the lyuing images of their Creatour, and that the memory of the Saints were rather and better to be honoured with a religions mynd, then with all such externall orna­ments, to insist so much vpon them and neglect the other. And to the end, [...]t may appeare with what spirit shee spake it, that which shee sayd vpon some other occasion is worth the no­ting; which was this.

To one who had exceedingly com­mended an Image there present, both [Page 340] for the excellency of the worke­manship; and the rarenes and pre­ciousnes of the stuffe it was made of; Shee answeared, how all that which he praysed soe much in the image shee possessed in her hart, and had it there more liuely imprinted and charactered.

Thus this great Seruant of God, being endowed with soe rare and excellent vertues, faithfully executed the office of Martha, Yet soe you may imagin as shee omitted not the while the Contemplatiue, and quiet life of Mary. For when shee was not busyed about the externall workes of Charity; and the care of her house, she ordinarily repayred to a certaine solitary place, where falling with her knees on the ground, and lifting vp her eyes, hands, and hart to heauen, shee would pray prolixly for diuers howers togeather with extraordinary deuotion and feeling, and not without great plenty of teares, wherein shee had a [...] [Page 341] singular gift from God. For as shee wept shee disfigured not her face a whitt as others are wont, through excesse of dolour, but with a cheare­full and pleasant countenance testi­fyed and expressed comforts and great consolations the while. And the teares shee let fal in her latter ty­mes, were accompanyed rather with smiles then sighes, or groanes, soe as shee seemed to weepe, rather then to greiue and lament. And no marueile, for her countenance vpon no occa­sion of mis-fortune would euer change or alter a whitt, but alwayes keepe the same tenour of chearefull­nes and serenity with it.

Nor may wee imagin shee arri­ued to this soe high perfection of Prayer at once, but ascended thereto by certaine degrees. For first, shee only began to haue a liuely desire of perfection and Loue of God. Secondly, shee stirred vp and excited her self to attaine this perfection with acts of desire and [Page 342] Loue, and from sighs euen fetcht from the inward of the hart still crauing of our Lord this perfection and loue. Thirdly shee had a continuall watch vpon all her thoughts, words, and works, not to offend and displease God in whatsoeuer, being still present to her self in all affayres, & not suffe­ring her hart to bee carryed and distra­cted with them. Fourthly, shee would deale very really indeede to obteyne Vertues, practizing and exercizing some acts of them in particular things, nor euer ceased till shee had gotten a facility and habit in them. Fiftly, shee would take her sustenance and cor­porall foode very sparingly, no more then would serue to maintayne life, & to comply with her necessary obli­gations; but herein shee would not bee too extreame but ruled and guided by her Maisters direction, especially after shee had once submitted her self to his Obedience. Sixtly, shee attended with great care to the mortification of her disordinate affections, and in par­ticular to the abnegation of her self [Page 343] and her Wil and inclinations good or ill, wherein as I haue saied aboue, shee found any difficulty; as in the points of dealing almes more profusely then shee ought, and doing some speciall mortifications shee affected most, to wit, with medling with leapers to the hazard of her health, and the like. Seauenthly, shee had her interiour & exteriour powers exceedingly recol­lected, and especially her fiue senses, that they might not bee scattered and dispersed on creatures. And for her thoughts, and memory, likely shee would busy and imploy them in the Meditation of the Last things, and of the iudgments of God.

Lastly, shee would put before her eyes the imitation of the Life of our Sauiour Christ, and his Saints; con­forming her life as much as shee could with their liues, in doing sharp pe­nances as they: discouering her soule entirely to her Maister, or spirituall Guide, not concealing any thing either good or bad, which shee did not manifest to him: that shee might [Page 344] be the more secure from all illusions and deceites of the common enemy. Shee held with herself a certaine norm [...], rectitude, and equallity in her life and actions, and the same shee would keepe with others. Her thoughts were alwayes of the short­nes of this life, and how the same continually went drawing to its end▪ for which cause it behoued her to goe with a continuall watch and examen vpon all her life and actions, walking euer in perpetuall prayer in the presence of God: all which pro­ceeded from her much retirement as from a riuer and fountaine. And this prayer shee would vsually make of the mysteries of the Life, Passion, and Death of our Redeemer, whence her soule would receiue particular light of the verities and mysteries of our holy Faith, & illustratiōs and soue­raigne feelings, which shee concealed and discouered not to any but her Maister. By which prayer likewise her soule came to haue a chast feare of God, not to offend him in ought what­soeuer, [Page 345] and a great obliuion, neglect, and contempt of her self, attributing neuer any thing to her self, but wholy to God.

By these degrees as so many steps as it were Elizabeth mounted to the height of perfection, and manie tymes shee was in rapts, being rauished in spirit, for certaine howers, and taken with an extasy, wherein shee enioyed the company of Angels, & many times beheld and heard euen IESVS himself, the soueraigne comfort and amiable delight of all men, enuironed round with millions of Saints. When retur­ning to her sences againe, shee would plainely declare, what cōforts shee had receiued, what delights shee enioyed, and what vertues shee procured. Besi­des that her face, as wee read of Moyses, would shine very bright, by reason of the rayes which commonly were di­rected towards her, and had soe tho­roughly illumined her hart, as the aboundant Charity, being not able to contayne it self within those bounds, euen shined through her countenance [Page 346] it self as if it had been the window of the hart. These things when they hap­pened to her (as often they did) being so glutted as shee was with spirituall delights, made her to refrayne a long tyme from all manner of food, or els [...]o vse the same very sparingly, and neuer but when meere necessity re­quired.

HOVV ELIS ABETH FELL sick, the manner of her sicknes: and of the happy end which shee made. CHAP. VI.

BLessed are the Dead who dye in our Lord; As it was heard by a voyce that came from heauen, because what works they wrought in this life, shall accompany them in their death: And to a good life is properly due a good death. Besides it is an euident rule in Philosophy, how in all both naturall and supernaturall things, beginning, [Page 347] medium▪ and end haue a great confor­mity with them. And so surely was it in the life and Death of this great Ser­uant of Christ. For you shall vnder­stand, how this his blessed Seruant, hauing spent manie yeares in that mā ­ner we haue related, the tyme of her departure forth of this Vale of teares now drawing neare, her dearest Spou­se Christ in a comfortable manner ap­peared to her in a gracious & glorious sort, with a sweete and amiable coun­tenance saying vnto her. Come my sweete Spouse, whom I haue chosen, and possesse the heauenly Bride-cham­ber, which I haue ordayned and ap­pointed for thee, before the creation of the world. Whereat Elizabeth being replenished with vnspeakable ioy, not able hardly to contayne her self with the sight of this so comfortable a Vision, according to her custome in such cases (for shee was frequently fauoured with such like Visits and gra­ces from heauen) went presently to visit her Maister, to giue him accompt of what had happened vnto her, who [Page 348] at the tyme as it chaunced lay very sick in his bed, and when after some dis­courses betweene them, of mortallity, and the manyfold casualtyes of this life, of the vanity of the world, of the vncertainety of Death, and yet the most certaine infallibility thereof, discour­sing somewhat of the occasion of his infirmity, as vsually they are wont, and of the excesses and remissions he had of his whole sicknes, not with­out some doubt of his recouery againe: hee fell at last vpon the point, what course shee would take, if God (as he feared not a litle) should call him thence, and take him away out of this world. To whom the reuerend Matron answered. God Master, I trust for all this, your Reuerence is like to liue many dayes yet longer, for the com­fort of others, to whom your life, noe doubt is necessary for the glory of God. But as for mee, deare Master, I haue no feare, but your life will be sufficient for my be [...]oofe, and soe par­ticularly gaue him a faithfull relation [Page 340] of what had happened to her in all points. After which, the good Father recouered speedily, and shee within foure dayes after, began to complayne somewhat of an indisposition of body, and the malady preuayling by litle and litle, shee was forced to yeild to keepe her bed, reteyning her hart stil fixed in heauenly things, and alwayes enflamed with the Loue of God.

While one of her Mayds, sate on a tyme by her bed side, where shee lay, behold, quite contrary to the manner of the sick, shee did heare her sing m [...]st sweetely, and tune her notes most artificiously, according to the ru­les of Musique, the Mayd was attenti­ue to all, not ima [...]ining her Lady had beene so [...] a Musitian, to descant so curiously as shee did, not remem­bring shee had euer heard her sing any other then the Hymnes and Canti­cles of the Church as there they are toned, or els some other spirituall songs in time of her spinning, and such lik [...] works though sweet and tunable yet paine & void of art: & being in this [Page 350] thought her Lady called vpon her, and saied to her. Where art thou Daughter; when her Mayd answering; heere Lady, presently added, saying: Good Madam, how your Ladyship delighted mine eares with your musi­que and ditty you sang euen now. To whom Elizabeth; Heard you me sing then? Yea truely Madam, replyed the Mayd, I heard it to my great comfort.

When by and by the Saint declared vnto her, how a certaine litle Bird sent from heauen sate betweene her and the wal, and with sundry streynes of most sweete musique, made her such heauenly melody that howbeit her body were so weake as shee saw, shee could not refrayne from singing as wel as shee might. The bird, now it seemed, the Mayd heard not, but only the voyce of her sick Lady: by which shee concluded, it must needes bee the musique of some Angell from hea­uen, come thither to solace her languishing spirits through force of the malady, and that they had held as a Quire betweene them, of two seue­rall [Page 351] sides, though shee heard but one. The third day before her death, desi­ring to be solitary, shee willed that as many as came to visit her might be ex­cused their labour and such as were present to voyd the Chamber, and none s [...]ffered to enter into the roome. The cause being required of the nea­rest about her, shee answered. ‘My de­sire is to be rid of the tumults and noy­ses of this world, because I would giue my self to remember my Iudge and the dreadfull accompt I am shortly to make.’ Shee was obeyed, and euen the very day before her departure, shee made to her Master, a generall confession of her whole life. And by her last Wil, made Christ, in the Poore, her sole [...]eyre; reseruing only [...]o her self a certaine old gowne, wherein shee wished to be buryed, not taking any other care for the solemnity of her funeralls. Shortly after, shee receiued the blessed Sacrament and Extreame Vnction, and the rest of the day and night shee spent in such feruours of spirit, as wel shewed the Ghest shee [Page 352] had receiued into her, saving. ‘Dismisse now thy handmayd, O Lord, according to thy word in peace. Now doe I h [...]ld thee sweete Loue, and I wil hold thee still, and now most freely I bid adieu to the world, and all earthly things. Now ioyfull doe I come to thee my God. Nor shall any thing henceforth: O my good IEVS seuer mee from thee: for I am ioyned to thee ô Christ, I will liue in thee, and dye in thee, and [...]ll remayne in thee if thou wilt, eternally.’

When shee had made this prayer, shee concluded and fell vpon a large discourse, how Christ went to visit Mary and Martha in their mourning for their Brothers death, how he sweetely comforted them, how he reared their hopes with his firme pro­mise, how they went altogeather to the monument, and finally how he shed teares, in testimony of his in­ward and tender compassion. And here now entring vpon this passa­ge, into a deepe and profound dis­course [Page 353] of so worthy a subiect, to the great astonishment and admiration of all there present, her affects of the teares of Christ were so effectuall, so vrgent, so enflamed, and so pier­cing, euen to the bottome of their harts, as made them all to weepe most tenderly, being strucken to the hart, and greiued, that shee was to leaue them, and they to bee depriued of so holy and so gracious a Mother.

To whom Elizabeth turning her self, said. Good Christians weepe not for mee, but rather for your selues. And more shee vttered not, but they heard a most sweete and delicious harmony, without any motion of her lips, and yet as a voyce procee­ding from her. And when the com­pany enquired what that singing was, shee answeared. It was I who sung as well as I could, to those who first did sing to mee, and seeme to inuite mee to it, whom I wonder you heard not likewise as well as I. [Page 354] By which they gathered al, as wel they might, how the [...] a [...]ayting for her soule, now neere t [...]e solution from the prison of her body; sung vnto her with such heauenly melody, and prouoked her so to sing with them. Anon after, about midnight, looking towards them who sate round about her: What shoud we doe, said shee, if the Enemy of Mankind, should ap­peare vnto vs▪ and presently cryed out with a confidence, as if now shee be­held him▪ and would driue him away thence, appearing in some horrible shape or other, saying alowd. Auant thou miserable Wretch, hence I say thou accursed Caytife. And so it va­nished whatsoeuer it was, for shee spake no more of it.

Being soone after at the point of death, shee saied. This is the tyme of the Virgins Deliuery, and of the im­maculat fruite of the Virginal wombe; which puts vs in mind to speake some what of the litle sweete Babe Igsus, how he was borne in the Winter, in the night, & in an other mans howse, [Page 355] swathed in Clouts, and layd in a Crib, how he was found by the Sheaphards, manifested by a starre, & lastly, how hee was worshipped and adored by the Chaldeys. For these are the mysteries of our Redemption, these the worthy gifts and ornaments of our riches. In these consists our hope, in these our Faith encreaseth, and our Charity is enflamed: I pray you then my freinds let vs conferre of these mat­ters, and freely talke thereof one with an other to our great consolation. And so the blessed Seruant of God in spea­king those words, layd softly her head downe, as if shee would sleepe, and quietly rendred vp her soule, and de­parted this life.

THE FVNERALL OFFICES of the glorious Elizabeth, are piously performed: With a touch onely of her singular vertues. CHAP. VII.

THE piety of the Lyuing towards the dead, in the care they haue generally of their funeralls and bu­ryall, according to the vse and cu­stome of the Church, is laudable & much commended in Sacred Writ, as One of the Works of mercy, and so pleasing to God, that he not only rewards the pious affect where­with they commit them to the com­mon Mother the Earth, but euen ri­gorously punisheth those who presu­me to violate the corps of the buryed, or disturbe their Sepulchers.

When the departure of Elizabeth then was knowne and voyced abroad, it was a wonder streight to behold, how many Religious Monks and [Page 357] Preists, and poore people had recour­se to her funerall seruice. Where the poore so filled the eyes and eares of all there present with mourning gestures and clamorous outcryes; as made all the rest to weepe who saw them, affirming all with one accord, they had lost a mercyfull Mother in their great extreamity, & their onely freind and surest refuge on earth, that now they had noe more helpe or succour left them, since they knew not whi­ther to goe for releife, or whither to fly for comfort in distresse. The bu­ryall of this sacred body, was diferred vntill the fourth day after, by reason of the incredible concourse of deuout people who flocked thither from all parts. Nor moued it any horrour a­whit, to see her face, head, and hands bare (it being the custome there to bury in their habits,) since besides the palenes they had, there was nothing ghastly or hideous in them, the same softnes and tendernes of flesh remay­ning still which was before, yeilding to the least touch of the fingar.

[Page 358]There might you haue seene euery one to striue what possibly they might, to get something of hers, to keep as a Relique (and which is more) to cut off any thing what­soeuer they could light on, some a lock or tresse of the hayre of her head, and some one thing, & some an other; and many, the skirts of the course & homely habit shee ware, which they highly prized as excellent peeces of inestimable worth, and after many deuout kisses, layd them vp with great reuerence. There was besides, a wonderfull sweete and odoriferous sauour, which filled euery one with great deuotion, as likely such fragrant smells in those occasions vse to doe. Neither was there any at that tyme, that could complayne of any noy­some or ill sent; but was as if a box of precious oyntments and perfumes had beene spilt in the place; and not a hu­man corps exposed to view.

And no maruaile, the body should send forth such an odour of perfumes, whose soule during her life, perfumed [Page 359] so the world, with the odour of her Vertues, and now much more the heauens, with the sauour of her sancti­ty.L. 6. de bell. Iud c. 6. Whom I may say Almighty God was pleased on earth to set vp as an Aultar of Thymiama, framing a balle of aromaticall spices of all the most excel­lent vertues that were as enkindled in the Thurible of her hart, to breath the ayre of a more then ordinary san­ctity from her. Which Iosephus saith, in those dayes, was wont to be made of thirteene species of the fragrant and odoriferous things fetcht from diuerse parts of the world. And so wee may imagine in the Aultar of the memory of this Saint, this mixture and com­position to bee of no lesse then thir­teene speciall vertues, which shined in this Seruant of God, in diuers occa­sions and passages of her life: As first, a Charity and Lone of God, and the Neighbour for his sake, which shee had so vehemently enflamed in her, as shee seemed to be quite exhaled, being allwayes so employed in the acts of his Loue, as shee had continually a bur­ning [Page 360] furnace of the Loue of God in her breast: And for the Loue of the Neighbour, it was so great, as none could euer find in her, but bowells fraught with a tender loue and fee­lings of their case. The second Spice, a most profound Humility in her, which was so great, as before her Su­periour, especially her Master, shee was as an Infant: For with how much Humility would shee heare others speake of spiritual matters, yea euen her Mayds, to whom otherwise shee was a Mistresse, and they her scholers. And for her exercise of abiect things, as appeares in her life, shee was wholy in them. The third aromatique Spice, was a rare Obedience in her, whereof though I might alleadge many exam­ples, that of conquering her self, in so difficult a point, as wee haue writ­ten, may stand for many; where shee resigned her self, and refreyned from certaine pious things forbidden by her Maister. The Fourth, was a high and most sublime Prayer, wherein through the Gift of God shee proceeded so [Page 361] farre as would require a speciall trea­tise to set it downe. This only, that dwelling first as it were in Foraminibus Petrae, and alwayes digging in the wounds of her Sauiour in his Passion, shee attayned at last the highest points of Contemplation, and was frequent­ly rapt in spirit, as wee haue saied, where shee saw such things as were not to bee told. The Fift, was a con­tinual interiour and exteriour Mortifi­cation of her Sences and passions. For immediatly in her actions, would appeare how present shee was to her self. And what a martyrdome there was in her proper wil, which God alone could throughly know. The Sixt was her Purity and Chastity, which was so great that with her only aspect, composition of the eyes, modesty of her countenance, and her whole mo­tions and gestures, shee seemed to excite efficatious desires of that Ver­tue in others, The Seauenth, was her extrame Pouerty, while no curious [...] [...] hardly necessary, were to be [Page 362] found in her Chamber. For how litle curiosity had shee in her habits and ap­parell, neate indeed and wel put on, but homely, course, and poore, and very rarely or neuer would shee put on any thing which was new, but ordi­narily what others had vsed before. The Eight, was her singular Patience. For shee had suffred very great and greeuous pressures and afflictions. both interiour and exteriour in the whole course of her life: in all which, her countenance was euer serene, and shee without any murmures and com­playntes, holding it still for a singular grace and fauour from God to suffer for innocency sake. The Ninth, an ex­traordinary Temperance in speach and conuersation with others, whereby shee would neuer contradict any, ei­ther with or against reason, were they Superiour, equall, or inferiour, con­forming her self alwayes to the iudg­ment of an other, if it were not sinne. Nor would euer excuse her self, though with reason shee [...] [...] shee were not bound thereunto. The [Page 363] Tenth, a notable Contempt of her self, whereby shee desired to be held ignorant of al, that shee might bee wise in the sight of God: and this in what shee might without the hurt of the Neighbour or offence of God, that so contemning those terrene things shee might gayne the celestial and eternal. The Eleauenth, an ardent desire of greater perfection. For shee supposed the going not forward in the way of vertue, was no lesse then turning back. And therefore shee endeauoured with might and mayne, to aduance forward, remit­ting neuer any good deuotion shee on­ce vndertooke with good delibera­tion. The Twelfth, an amourous af­fection to the Crosse of Christ, which she would alwayes be taking vp, with fou­re armes or braunches to it. The first, [...] perfect mortification of all vices. Secondly, a renouncing of all tempo­ral goods. Thirdly, a neglect of car­nal affections as of freinds, parents, and countrey. And lastly, an vtter contempt of the world in all things els. [Page 364] The thirteenth and last aromatical Spice, was a diffidence of her self, ima­gining stil that howbeit shee might seeme to haue done many notable things to the honour and glory of God, and the great benefit of the poo­re, which was singular and most ex­traordinary in her, yet held shee her self as vnprofitable meerly, and good for naught, and verily beleiued, they were al better then shee, and none so wicked as her self; considering the fauours which God continually had shewed her. And these were her thir­teene aromatical spices of vertues, which sent forth such an odour of example on earth; and such a perfume of sanctity to the Citizens of hea­uen.

Now by this tyme being the fourth day after, when the rites of the Church were ended, with great solemnity, pomp, and magnificence according to her dignity, in the presence of ma­ny worthy religious Fathers, with an incredible multitude of al sorts of people, as wel of the Clergy as [Page 365] Laity; the precious body was honou­rably interred, in a certain Chappel belonging and adioyning to her Hos­pital, to the great resentment of al, who would willingly haue enioyed her stil, had it been conuenient.

THE CANONIZATION of Saint Elizabeth: the Translation of her Body: and the beginning of the relation of her myracles. CHAP. VIII.

SOe precious is the death of Saints in the Psal. 15. Orat. in 4 [...]. Mart. sight of God: that, (as Saint Basil testi­fyes) as heretofore who touched but the bones of a dead body, ws held contaminated: So now on the con­trary, who toucheth the bones or other Reliques of some Saint, may receiue some operatiue vertue from them, and [...] our Lord would haue such bones remoued & diuided into sundry [Page 366] places, that they might be as a fortresse or Citadel against our enemyes, and an honour to the faithful themselues. If you demand of mee (saith S. Am­brose) what I worship in the bonesCon [...]. Amb. l. 4 c. 2. de San. and reliques of these Saints: I answe­re, in the body of each Saint, I reue­rence the wounds, which he hath re­ceiued for Christ, I worship his me­mory, who led his life, alwayes em­bracing vertue: I venerate the ashes consecrated through the confession of his Lord; and euen in the ashes themselues, I worship the seede of eternity: I worship the body who hath instructed mee to loue God, to please him, and not to feare death. And why should not the faithful ho­nour the body, which euen the Diuils themselues do tremble at? For whom aliue they afflicted with Crosses, they owe loue and reuerence in the Sepul­cre. Lastly, I worship that body, which our Lord Christ hath honoured in this world, and whose soule is now raigning with [...] in [...] uen.

[Page 367]Now these titles, motiues, and be­nefits, proceeding from the venera­tion and worship of the Reliques of Saincts, is the cause why noe sooner any dyes with the opinion of a Saint, especially auerred so, by authentical approbation of his Holynes, through that illustrious ceremony of Canoni­zation, vsed in the Church, but that generally the faithful do throng to his Shrine or Hearse to obteyne some Relique of his, be it the very hayre of his head or the least peece of his garment, which hauing gotten, they piously make reckoning they haue gayned a most precious and inesti­mable jewel. Noe maruaile theh, that our glorious Elizabeth, being so illustrious through the most holy life shee had led on earth, and the vn­doubted opinion shee had purchased, of a Saint euen during life, but that the people should flock so vnto her, as they daylie did, as to a mercyful [...] [...] in his Court of Re­quests, to receiue the humble peti­tions [Page 368] of al that come, where hardly shee sent any empty away, contri­stat, and not satisfyed some way or other. So as it is commonly re­ported, that shee raised some sixteen at'least from death to life; & cleansed the leaprous, gaue hearing to the deafe, speach to the dumb, [...] to the lame, eyes to the blind, and com­fort to the miserable and afflicted; and curing al manner of diseases els what­soeuer without number.

All which miracles Siffrid Bishop of Mogunce caused to be authentically proued, and sent them to Gregory the Ninth then Pope, who after diligent debate of so weighty a cause, with the Colledge of Cardinals in the pre­sence of the Patriarks of Hierusalem and Antioch, and sundry Bishops; and after a solemne and magnificent Procession had, on the 27. of May, being then the Feast of Pentecost, ca­nonized Elizabeth at a high Masse in al his Pontificalibus, [...] [...] red as a Saint, in the vniuersal Church, in the fourth yeare after her happy [Page 369] decease, in the howse of the Fryars Dominicans in the Citty of Perugia, where he dedicated an Aultar, which he erected to her honour, & enriched with ornaments, endowing it with priuiledges conuenient, as Popes are accustomed to do in like cases. Which solemnity being stately and very honourably performed, and the fame thereof vniuersally spread through al the parts of Germany, the aforesaid Bishop Siffrid to the great ioy and iubiley of al the people of what condition soeuer, assigned a cer­taine day for the solemne Translation of the blessed bones into the Citty of Marpurg, where he assembled al the States spiritual and temporal of both the dominions of Thuringia and Has­sia, and the principal Pastours of ma­ny other Churches besides.

At the day appointed, to such as weigh not the deuotion of the peo­ple to this admirable Saint, it may seeme incredible to estimate the num­ber of men and women of all esta­tes and callings who repayred to [Page 370] Marpurg, where the Shrine was ope­ned, and the sacred bones discoue­red in the presence of Frederick the Emperour, offering a crowne of gold to the Reliques, attended by a most honorable company of Princes, Lords, and Gentry, besides the Bis­hops of Mentz, Cullen, and Breame, and many other remarkeable Prelates of other Churches, and Heads of Reli­gious howses. Neyther was there (as I said before also in the Translation) any manner of il sauour at al, as in other dead bodyes is vsually had, but as it had been a chest of balme and most precious perfumes, it breathed forth a most pleasing and delicious odour, to the great astonishment and vnspeakable content of al who ap­proached to participat thereof.

Then were the Reliques safely enclosed againe in a leaden Coffer, and the same very softly included in a precious casket of most curious workmanship, besides the stuffe▪ which I could not learne by reason the enamel had so disguised the same: [Page 371] being carefully sealed vp with the si­gnet of the Bishop himself, and carryed in solemne pomp, through the mid­dest of the multitude of the people there greedily wayting for them, with incredible affection and deuotion. There you might see the windowes hung with Tapistryes, al replenished with Ladyes and Gentlewomen, ex­ceedingly moued with veneration at the sight of the sacred Pledge as it passed along, the rest being fayne to stay beneath, or get such stan­dings as they could on tops of how­ses, towers, and steeples euery whe­re, where likewise you might discouer the Ecclesiastical ensignes carryed along in that Procession, the Canons in their Copes, and Quiristers, and the rest of the Chaunters in their c [...]ates singing Alleluya, like so ma­ny Angels come from heauen to con­uerse with men, and to grace the present solemnity. Finally, and which was strange in such a world of peo­ple, you might there obserue a deep silence, more like to the solitude of a [Page 372] desart, then so great an assembly of so populous a Citty and Country round about, al whist for the tyme; so at­tentiue they were to their sacred sight or spectacle of their dearest de­positum; nor should I thinke there was an eye, that stood not to the brim in teares of ioy, and deuotion at once; for now sorrow all was exiled with the confidence they had in so great a Patronesse of their Citty. And heere behold the first primitias of the future wonders which I shal rela­te.

The next day, when by order and direction of the Bishop, with great reuerence, the Chest wherein the bo­dy was deposed, was opened agayne, a marueylous thing it was, to see how the bones of this bountyful and cha­ritable Matron as lyuing shee had allwayes been most munificent and li­beral to the poore, with the goods of fortune wherewith she was endowed, exhausting her temporal substance in their behoofe; so now shewing mer­cy [Page 373] likewise to the sick and infirme, euen after death, shee distilled no lesse her very marrow and substance; her bones as it were resoluing into oyle, the truest symbole of mercy; yssuing forth sweate and trickled downe by drops on euery side of the Casket; which as many as were there present, might wel perceiue; who piously re­ceiuing it as it flowed, and reseruing it for the sick, thereby cured al those whom they annoynted therewith.

The second miracle happened be­fore the bones were euer translated, as is for certaine registred from the partyes owne report, to whom it happened, and confirmed by oath. That a certaine Monke of the Order of the Cisterce, hauing beene gree­uously tormented for the space of fortie yeares togeather with a trem­bling of the hart; and vsing all the meanes that possibly he could, with the furtherance of Superiours for remedy▪ in vayne, and now who­ly despayring of humane helps: at [Page 374] last, hasting to the Sepulchre of S. Elizabeth not without good faith and confidence, through her merits to obteyne his health, was immediatly by touch of the shrine wherein she lay, most perfectly cured.

It is likewise manifest by the con­stant asseueration of a certaine No­bleman by birth and by Ecclesiastical dignity, yet more conspicuous in the world, who had no reason to double and affirme a falshood of himself in such a case, that hee with teares at last and with most indicatiue signes of cō ­trition and compunction of hart, re­nounced and bewayled his lasciuious affections and lewd life, wherin til then he had long continued stil impe­nitent, by the only visiting and tou­ching the said Saint Elizabeths shrine: which he stedfastly affirmed to the Reuerend Father Conrad, the aforesaid Maister of the said Saint, in his Confes­sion to him. Which by his free leaue to the greater honour of God and the said Saint; he sets downe in writing as a thing authentically auerred.

[Page 375]But now, because I wil not oppresse my Reader, with the relation of al which I could set downe, that come into my knowledge of these kinds of miracles, which are, notwithstanding as I heare, but the least parcel only of the infinite multitude shee hath wrought after her Translation since that tyme I thinke good to select some of the cheifest and most prin­cipal of them in an other Chapter, for the purpose: admonishing him the while, that what I shal heer recount is most irrefragably auerred, and shal therefore, I trust, not need any more asseueratiōs thereof to inforce beliefe, since what is written in this kind, is meant for the obedient, and ready wils within the Church; for with the others who remayne without, in things of this nature, what haue wee to do, whom if an Angel come from heauen can not perswade to beleiue miracles, what should wee do?

A CONTINVATION OF THE miracles wrought at the Shrine of S. Elizabeth after the Translation of her Body. CHAP. IX.

THe first wee shal set downe, is an euident proofe and vndoubted confirmation of Pilgrimages and vowes, and may serue as an apt proëm to the rest that follow: and this it was. There was a Monk, whose name was Henry, of the aforesaid Order of Ciste [...] ­cians, who day and night was gree­uously afflicted and tormented with a payne, which I find not expressed any where, yet so excessiue and intollerable it seemes, as with his cryes and groanes hee moued his Brethren to compassion of his case: While lo, vpon a certaine night aboue the rest, a comely and beautyful Lady appeared to him appa­relled al in white, and perswaded him to make his vow to S. Elizabeth, if euer [Page 377] he intended to be cured of his malady: Which he delaying yet to do, the same Lady as before, appeared to him againe the next night, and vsed the same per­suasion shee had done in the night be­fore. Then hee in the absence of he Abbot and Prior who were then from home at that tyme, consulted with his immediat Superiour, and so very for­mally made his vow: When lo, the next night, the same Woman appeared againe, making the signe of [...] [...] Crosse vpon him, whereat presently he found himself to be perfectly cured. Which when the Abbot and Prior per­ceiued, at their returne, they wondred much to see him so recouered, but yet approued not his vow because indeed they sayd: That Monks by illusion of the common Enemy are sometymes moued to euil, vnder a faire pretence of good, while Satan now and then for ends of his, wil transfigure himself into an Angel of light. Especially knowing wel that no Monk had power of him­self alone to make a vow; & therefore it were better, & more secure for him [Page 378] to make his Cōfession excusing himself of the wow, & cōmit his soule to God, and his body to the Monastery. Then the fourth time the same Woman ap­peared to him, and told him that if he delayed to performe the Vow he had made, he should presently relapse into his former disease, and his torments should endure so long, til he were fully resolued to fullfill his promise. Which threats, the lamentable effect ensued, and then the Monk at last ob­tayned leaue and went his Pilgrimage, and was so recouered thereof, as that after he had once accomplished his Vow, he was neuer molested more with the like disease.

The second, shal bee a good adm [...] ­nishment to such as begin wel and not perseuere, & hauing made their vowes and performed them, fynding no pre­sent remedy, giue ouer their deuotions strait, and fal into diffidence and pu­sianimity, whereby they misse of their purposes, and discourage others to attempt or regard their vowes so made: And this it is.

[Page 379]In the Diocesse of Traiect, was one Theodorick apt to be moued on euery occasion to great deuotion, whereby in his feruours, fynding himself in a great extreamity for want of the vse of one of his hands being withered, to follow his worldly occasions, he made a Pilgrimage two seueral tymes to S. [...] at Marp [...]rge, to gaine the vse of his said hand, where visiting her Shrine at both those tymes, and fyn­ding no help thereof, began to be out of hart, and to loose courage, but yet exciting himself, aduentured to goe once more, to make a further tryal of the benignity of the Saint; when being on his way at that tyme with more confidence then before, there met him, a comely, graue, and venerable old man, and exceedingly wel spoken, who asked him, whither he was going, to whom he answered, he in­tended to go to Marpurg, there to visit S. Elizabeths Shryne, whereupon he wished God to blesse him, and bad him goe on a Gods name, assuring him he should infallibly obtayne his suite, and [Page 380] receiue his health, by putting but his hand into her Sepulchre. And further willed him euer after, to honour and beare deuotion also to Saint Nicolas: Adding that such were ill aduised and most vnwise, who seeking help at the Reliques of Saints (according to the laudable custome of good Christians,) and hauing performed their vowes in part, depart presently discouraged and dishartned; when they find not such speedy remedy, as they desire; Since per­seuerance in prayer, and faith, is that which God and his Saints exact in such occasions. And when he had sayd this, he vanished away: and the other as he was wished, when he arriued at the Shrine, thrusting his hand in the Mo­nument was presently cured. This man no doubt was S. Nicolas himself; by which wee may learne what Charity and faire correspondencyes, there is, among the Saints in heauen; and the­reby take example to haue the like also among our selues on earth.

Besides the former two exaples of the benignity of this Saint, I find a third, [Page 381] noe lesse miraculous, & which shewes her excellent Charity now in heauen, & her great longanimity, in cōdescen­ding so sweetely to our infirmityes; for who would expect, for murmures vtte­red, such fauours should come and des­cend from heauen, and for words little lesse then blasphemyes, at least the affect of extraordinary impatience, so great a miracle should ensue. It happe­ned then in the Territory of Mentz, that one Beatrice a young Girle, was soarely vexed with many infirmityes at once, wherewith shee had a lōg tyme of that little she had liued, most piteously been tormented; so as at last, hauing a terrible swelling in her throate gro­wing out before her, and a huge bunch which much deformed her, on her back behind, thus molested with a double malady and impediment, shee was fayne to creepe with her head euen bowed to the ground, and her hand fast joyned to her knees, mouing [...] [...] [...] [...]arts of al that beheld so miserable a spectacle. What then was to be done, the Mother hereupon [Page 382] causing her to be carryed in a great basket on the shoulders of some Potter hired for the purpose, and conuayed her to the Tomb of S. Elizabeth, where shee remayned for ten dayes space without any succour at al. Which the Mother tooke most sensibly to the hart, falling into great intemperance of speach, seasoned with much im­patiēce, as wel in gestures as in words; saying thus foolishly among the rest. What meane you S. Elizabeth to bestow your Charity vpon euery one, and to leaue mee only of al other most dis­consolate & deuoyd of comfort, who am thus visited with so miserable a crosse without remedy: and there­withal in a great chafe, went her wayes home againe, threatning shee would hinder al shee could, from making any prayers or petitiōs to her: When the night following, a comely Matron appeared to the Child, and stroaking very gently her throate to­gether with her back, [...] [...] [...] walk, who presently being thus resto­red to her health, told her Mother [Page 383] next morning what she had seene in her sleepe, which caused them both to returne to the Shrine againe, to yeild her there immortal thanks for so great a miracle; which hauing rendered, she gaue laudes and infinite prayses vnto God, and leauing their basket behind them, as a testimony of the wonder, they returned very ioyfully home againe.

I may not here let passe some breife touches at least of diuers other my­racles besides, which happened at the Shrine of this glorious Saint. As first, of a cet [...]aine Mayd in the Diocesse of Mentz, possessed with an euil spirit, who with only eating a little holy bread at her Shrine, and drinking a little holy water, was dispossessed. Se­condly, of an other in the Diocesse of Cullen, who being condemned to death, and calling earnestly vpon the blessed S. Elizabeth, after he was hanged so long as he might wel haue dyed, was found to be aliue to the great asto­ [...] [...] [...] Thirdly, of a Scholer in the Diocesse of Mentz, who being [Page 384] drowned by chaunce, as he was a fish­ing, was, by the instance of some freinds of his there present crauing the help of S. Elizabeth, restored to life agay­ne. Fourthly of an other child of foure yeares [...], in the same Diocesse, who after vndoubted signes of death, was by the prayers of his Mother to Saint Elizabeth, restored to life againe. Fif [...]ly, of an other child of the same age, who falling into a deepe pit and killed, was restored to life againe, by one who passing by, most affectuously prayed to S Elizabeth for him. Sixtly, in the same Diocesse of Mentz, one Frederick in swimming in a Riuer being drowned, was, by a vow to S. Elizabeth made by his freinds, restored to life againe. Seauenthly, one Iohn in the same Diocesse of Mentz, being wrongfully condemned to death and recōmending himself, with the rope about his neck, to the glorious S. Elizabeth, and hearing a voyce at that tyme, which sayed: Trust to S. Elizabeth, and thou shalt bee deliuered, being turned [...] [...] [...], was saued by the breaking of the haulter, without any harme at al [Page 385] saying: Most mercyful Lady S. Elizabeth [...]hou hast deliuered mee, and by consent of al was hanged no more. Eightly in the Territory of the said Mentz, was one Voliner a religious man who being [...]ame of a bruized arme, and commen­ [...]ing himself to S. Elizabeth, was by her [...]n the night with a soft and gentle touch in the il affected place, perfectly [...]ured of the hurt. Ninthly, in the same Territory was a child of foure yeares old, through the prayers of his Mother, being brought to the tomb of S Eliza­beth, cured of his blindnes, with a little of the earth thereof, applyed [...]hereunto. Tenthly in the same Ter­ritory was Gertrude a very Criple of both her leggs, who being aduised to [...]oe to Saint Nicolas, found ease of the [...]ne but not a perfect cure of both, til [...]he touched S. Elizabeths tōb, they both [...]iuiding as it were the cure betweene [...]hē. The Eleauenth miracle was shew­ [...]d vpon an other Gertrude in the same [...] who being blind, was restored [...] her light, by her intercession made [...]o the same S. Elizabeth. The Twelfth, [Page 386] appeared in one Henry of the said Dio­cesse, who by visiting Saint Elizabeths Tomb, was first cured of his blindnes, and then after, of a desperate disease, by taking in his drink, the dust only of the said Tomb. The Thirteenth my­racle was, of one Mechildis a girle of the Territory of Treuers, both blind, deafe, dumb, and lame, who after her Parents had made a vow to visit Saint Elizabeths Reliques, was perfectly restored to health. Al which is most true and authentically registred in writing. The fourteenth, was a woman in the same Territory of Treuers, who being blind a whole yeare, and praying to Saint Elizabeth, and led to her Tomb, receiued there the sight of one of her eyes, but the other was not restored her vntil shee returned home, where the blessed Sainct Elizabeth appeared to her in the night, and wished her to goe to the Aultar, and desire one to moue the ayre towards her, with the silk veyle where the Body of Christ, was wont to be placed, which being done, she re­ceiued the benefit of both her eyes. [Page 387] Finally to conclude this relation of the admirable Miracles of this great S. Eli­zabeth; I wil finish the same with one, of an other Theoderick in the Diocesse of the said Mentz, and because I wil not trouble the Reader with the recital of any more, I wil expresse the same more at large as I find it. This Theodorick then being lame of both his leggs, made a vow to visit S. Elizabeth, and ariuing thither, partly by creeping, and partly through the help of other men, not hauing remedy thereof in a whole moneths space, returned homewards againe as leysurely as he went thither, and being yet in his way, and sleeping by the sides of an other, as infirme and diseased as himself, thought verily in the night some water had bin powred vpon him, and waking thereupon, complayned of his fellow, as one who had cast some water vpon him in his sleepe. But he discreetely coniecturing the thing, as in truth it happened, denyed the same, perswading him▪ there was something els in the matter, more then he perhapps would imagin, [Page 388] and therefore aduised him to arise and try whether happily he could walke or noe. When behold a maruellous thing, hee, who wēt so lame to bed, arose ve­ry sound & whole, so as laying aside his crutches, whereas before he was wont to beare & susteyn himself with them, he could now carry them lustily, as he did to the Tomb of the Saint; which done, he returned home to his freinds very ioyful of the benefit receiued, nor euer ceased to magnify God in this Great Saint.

A TABLE COLLECTED of the eminent vertues and per­fections of S. Elizabeth, con­cluding with a prayer to the Saint. CHAP. X.

SVch as could not prayse and ma­gnify the Emperous of Rome enough, [Page 389] when they entred in triumph into that stately Citty, the Paradice of the delights of the world, after they had atcheiued some notable enterprize in conquests of the Enemyes of their Countrey; Would strew on their heads whole handfulls of Roses and Lillyes, and a deluge of flowers, for an amo­rous testimony of the ioy and good wil they bare them, and an iudicatiue ar­gument of the great applauses for their heroicall victoryes obteyned. Now after this great Princesse Elizabeth, a Saint among the greatest Saints, and stil a Princesse amongst Saints, hath made her enterance, no lesse in trium­ph into the heauenly and celestial Hierusalem, after the taming of those hellish monsters, the world, the flesh, and the Diuell, the professed ene­myes of that heauenly Countrey; I now, not better able to expresse my zeale, come throwing after her, those litle handfulls of the roses of her ver­tues, and Lillyes of perfection, which I could picke vp here and there, of her own scattering in the world, which [Page 390] shee so prodigally hath left behynd her. In testimony of the ioy likewise of my hart, for the glittering rayes sheenow is darting forth among those starrs of the Emperyal heauens. Psaphon hauing got together many litle birds taught them only these few words: Psaphon is a God: after which affor­ding them the ayre and liberty; these litle spirits of birds, flying through the Vniuerse; repeating the lesson they had learned, spread, and dila­ted euery where the glory of their Maister, causing the world to hold him as a God. All these litle Essayes of prayses which I haue here amassed together with my hand, haue lear­ned all the name of S. Elizabeth, and can say: Elizabeth is a great Saint: which being once diuulged & spread abroad, shall inuite all the braue spirits of the world to acknowledge her as such, and to admire and im­plore her intercession. Rash as I am, alas, what do I attempt? I must con­fesse I am too rash herein, to goe about thus to engage my self, within this la­borinth [Page 391] whence there is no meanes to get forth againe. For what appa­rance is there, I should euer once make good what I haue promised here and taken on mee. I wil yet venture since I am got in, God and his Saint I trust, wil assist mee in it, and if all faile, I shal suffer wrackin a goodly Sea, where ship-wrack were no losse, but rather to bee wished for, while it were no better then to loose ones self in her prayses, & to shew how bound­les & immense, the Ocean of her ver­tues, and perfections were, the thing I principally affect.

Hitherto I haue gone like a faith­ful Truchman, or Interpretour; I may say likwise, and say not amisse, like an Embassadour who can say no more then what he finds in his Com­mission, wherein he must looke, to bee punctual, while he puts on the person of such an one; after which discharged, he is not debarred, to speake more freely of his owne. Hee may, if hee wil, fal into his Maisters prayses, and speake what of him he [Page 392] ingenuously thinks, without impeach­ment to his charge or office. So hither­to haue I been a faithfull Historian of the Life of this Saint, wherein I would not exceede the bounds of a modest Relator of the truth; what I find pre­cisely deliuered by other Historians, and recommended to posterity each one in their wayes. But now that I haue discharged it; and al this while taken that person on mee, not excee­ding my Commission, in the substance of the matter, in ought I know; I see not why I may not now take the li­berty to speake of my self, what I thinke, of my Lady and Mistresse in her prayses.

But where shal I beginne, or how proceed, but without beginning or any method at al, for in this office I hold my self not obliged to any. These are but scatterings as I promised you, which I find heere and there negle­cted in the trace of her life, which yet require regard and some refle­ction.

In the History her Infancy is noted [Page 39] to be a faire Aurora, promising a beau­tyful and goodly day, and not without good reason, hauing now already seene the happy progresse of her Day, which had as faire a Sunne-set, as the Morne was promising, and the day performed, glorious in refulgent rayes of vertuous and religious works, til night; when euery plow ends his furrow, and euery constant labourer goes to rest.

The Aurora and beginning of which day was wholy spent in the Virginal; the Noone and midle season in th [...] Coniugal; and the rest til the vtmost period, in the Vidual state. O happy Day the while, that knew no night of mortal sinne, no heats of concupiscences, or clouds of melan­choly, H [...]r flowers in this first season, were Lillyes al, and Roses in the bud, enclosed from the eyes of mortalls, with a silken veyle of chast retirement, and fenced with the thornes of Vigi­lance as with a court of guard. In her infancy, nothing more innocent, in her minority ful of sports, witty [Page 394] and ingenious, but tending all to piety, and for the rest, to the yeares of election of a constant state most stayd and prudent, farre beyond her yeares. Sophia her curst Mother, in the tyme of her Espousals, had cau­se to know it wel, when shee a woman of so great a spirit, and who had such a tongue as had been able Syren-like, to haue enchaunted and be witched any tender Mayden, to haue perswaded what shee listed, was so put to silence with her prudent answeares, as shee durst neuer pro­uoke such a piercing wit any more. But thou Sophia wert deceiued the while, it was not her wit so much as thou imagind'st which foyled thee so, in thy proper element of a potent tongue, but the sweet Vnction of the holy Ghost, that gaue such a force and energy to her speach in defence of her self, being pressed so hottly with such batteryes, as thou laydst against her; Which oyle of grace in her hart▪ once taking fire, within her mouth, turned to such a flame of seeming Eloquence.

[Page 395]For if shee a Child, had such a loathing and contempt of the vanityes of this world, as tyres and dressings, pearles, and carkanets, which the Daughters of the world affect so much and desperately dote vpon in that age; Who doubts but the holy Ghost did dictate to her what shee spake in that occasion. But leauing those, passe wee vnto her pucellage; the tyme being come shee should assent or disassent from the Spousalles made in her Infan­cy, with L [...]wys, the gallantest Prince, and the most accomplished of al Europe: No doubt but heere was a combate al the while, in the breast of this noble Princesse and such a one as happily had shee not a sure rampart or bull­wark to repaire vnto, shee had que­stionlesse sunck down in the field, and her tender breast had neuer beene able to haue endured the shocks and coun­terbuffs were giuen on either side. The Prince for his person, dignity, piety, & qualityes of a Prince, was voyd of a [...]l exceptions; what then? and should shee giue her ful consent to ratify the [Page 396] espousalles made long since betweene them; Should shee so easely giue ouer her former faire designes of abandoning the world, the pompes and vanityes thereof, should shee now leaue her heauenly Spouse, for an earthly one? And what comparison I pray (would shee say within her self) may be found betweene them? He a noble Prince but yet a man subiect to death and al calamityes. The other a Prince of Princes, and which is more, my God; and though a man and mortall heretofore, yet now immortall.

The Prince of Th [...]ringia, as yet seekes not to mee, nor doe I know his mynd, as yet. But my other Spouse, hath woed mee long, and graced mee much. Him if I e [...]ioy, and none but him; In him haue I al that hart can possibly require: And this when I shal haue, though he were the Monark of the world, yet should I wa [...]t these [...] contents which he affords. The sweet conuer­sation of one h [...]wer with him to me [Page 397] is more, then al the solaces, the other can affoard in a whole age. And if for his sake I shal leaue an earthly Spouse, I shal oblige to me a heauenly one, and looke what terren things I shal renounce for him, I shal find to bee multiplyed a hun­dred fold. Yet is this Prince, I vn­derstand, a vertuous and religious Prince. Why then may I not enioy him too, in his degree an earthly Spouse, and yet reteyne my heauenly and cheifest Spouse, and yeild my body, and my second faith to one, and not infringe the loyaltie of my first to the other, but keepe my soule inuiolably his? And why may I not loue him with al the powers of my body and soule, as my spiritual Spouse and yet loue my earthly Spouse with a loue subordinate to his, and proper to it?

What here now should this poore Virgin doe in this doubtful dilemma? what should shee choose? Faire and goodly reasons seeme to inuite on either side. She hath no way to [Page 398] cut this Gordian knot, but with the sword of entire resignation, in putting it freely into the hands of [...]er heauenly Spouse, and make him the vmpire in his owne cause. The history makes no mention of it but, wee piously presume, shee shut her self in her Closet hereu­pon; where what passed betweene these amourous Spouses, cann [...]t be set downe, because I neuer heard sh [...]e re­uealed it to any.

This only do w [...]e find in effect from that tyme forwards shee was wholy cle [...]red of her doubt. For thence shee resolued indeed to hear ken to the Prin­ce, & for her part to yeild a ful consent vnto [...] Spousalls. Res [...]luing so to entertayne the one, as shee neuer mea­ [...]ed to forg [...]e the other. And truely this we may boldly say, if euer woman kept her self entire in these double Spousalls, without exception of either part, our S. Elizabeth hath had the hap­pynes and prerogatiue aboue others.

With this began her N [...] one or Mid­day of her age▪ w [...]ē the heate of youth; is apt to carry vs into youthful [Page 399] thoughts; such as are sports and pastimes, gallantry in apparel, dein­tyes and delicacyes in dyet, especial­ly which Princes in the Court. And yet this Ph [...]nix among the Ladyes and Princesses of the earth, lyuing in a vayne & want on Court, as it was whē shee found it first, took no more of those relishes, then fishes are wont of the brackish seas. Shee was a Sala­māder amid the fires of earthly cōcu­piscences. A Bird of Paradise, which had no fee [...]e to settle on terren things, but allwayes houering in the ayre of heauenly and spiritual contemplation▪ How often had the Musique playd in her presence, when shee adue [...]ted no­thing; and when her Sister Agnes had been dauncing among the Ladyes of the Court, shee would be stealing to her Oratory to conuerse with her heauenly Spouse, either in reading of some pious and deuout booke, when shee would imagin her Spouse had spoken familiarly with her, or in vo­cal or mental prayer, making then ac­compt she treated with her Spouse▪ & [Page 400] thus shee would spend whole hou­ers, while Agnes and the rest would spend as many in their chatts and daliances with the youthful Lords. How oft had Sophia fetch Elizabeth out of her Closet, to con­sort with such as these, saying, they were company indeed fit for Ladyes like her self; and for those retirements shee affected so, they were for An­choretts, and not for wiues, especial­ly great Ladyes. When shee for satis­faction sake would now and then co­me forth, in person indeed and bodily, but in soule left b [...]hind. Madam Mo­thers, shee would say, if I be not with my Lord and Spouse, giue me leaue I beseech you to conuerse with my Lord God, assuring you, if I be not with the one, of necessity I must be in company of the other, or els Madam I must tel you plainely and ingenuously, and confesse vnto you I am not my self. Which answeare, while there was no remedy she was fayne to take for payment.

The reason why she so diuided her self bet [...]ween her Spouses, was becau­se [Page 401] by experience shee found that the sweet conuersation of the one dimini­shed not the others; for likely with her Lord she would haue no other talke, nor he to giue her satisfaction, would discourse of nothing els but of pious things, as of some prety new deuotion or o [...]her, & somtymes she would aske some cases of cons [...]ience of him, and he would answear probably what he thought & so beguile the time with one an other. It was an admirable thing how from her hushand she could pre­sently cōpose her self to prayer, & frō her prayer how amiable and gracious shee would be to her husband.

But alas this Noone of her age, lasted not long; The Sunne being got to the top of the Zodiaque, in a moment as it were▪ is in the decline: and what is a yeare, some two or three, or three or foure, but a momēt once compared with eternity? The Noone then of her Coniugal state being ended, with the vnlooked-for & vntimely death of her earthly Spouse, her Vidual began, which lasted til the euening of her owne. Where [Page 402] do we meete with a passage worth the note. Who would haue thought mea­suring the loue shee bare to her decea­sed Lord, but one Tomb might haue held them both, whose harts during life seemed all as one, since the hart goes likly where the body is. Shee was so wholy to her husband while he liued, as shee had been a stranger meer­ly to all things els; Who being dead, shee seemed as he had neuer been, not that shee could forget him, but as if the loue shee bare him, only had been lent and borrowed for a tyme, being now restored againe to the owner of her whole loue her heauenly Spouse, as holding her self heerby to be entire­ly acquit of the debt, shee was now more free for her only Spouse.

But lo the state of her Widow hood wanted not difficultyes enough, the medal of her Noone, where the Sunne of her good fortune was in the highest pitch, was of a suddaine in decline and changed into a bitter Afternoone: her Roses all were turned to Thornes▪ For now new batteryes were bent on euery side against the Citadel of her [Page 403] hart, to render it to a second earthly Spouse. Al fayrest meanes were vsed to work their ends, no stone was left vnremoued to effect what what they desired. Her neerest freinds she lost in that same quarrel. Her Aunt, her Vn­cle, yea her Father were denyed admit­tance to a parley in any equal termes, shee stop her eares against thē al, as at the bewitchings of a Sirens song. Shee was a Rock immoueable, that dashed the forces of their arguments to nought, like billowes vanishing to froth. I speak of her wordly Crosses, when shee was thrust out of doores, stript of al shee had, was forced with her children, to beg frō doore to doo­re, for these were roses, & not thornes to her. These were the fauours which he [...] heauenly Spouse vpon her late en­tire conuersion to him did present her with. For lo the thornes I speake of were not thorns indeed, they were ra­ther flowers vnto her, to weaue her garlands, to make her self more grate­ful to him. Open affrōts were crownes vpon her front, nor euer Queene or Empresse in the world, seemed more to [Page 404] tickle for ioy on the triumphal day of their coronations, then Elizabeth did, when she found her self so iniuriously confronted by that monster of ingrati­tude, and throwne into the mire and dirt; when she was fayne to sit vpon a sunny bank to dry her self, and with a knife to scrape away the mire from her course & homely garments, imagining the while she cleāsed her soule withal, from the ordure and contagion of the sinnes of vanity she feared she had con­tracted in her life: in a word she seemed in that same plight to haue bin a Iob v­pon his dunghil, and yet as rieh as Cres­sus with al his gold, which she held no more then earth and yellow clay, and really is noe more indeed but Earth, sa­ue that esteeme doth giue it worth and price, which she could doe, and truely did. But the great Crosse she apprehen­ded al the tyme, were the bounds and limits which her Maister put vpon her pious inclinations of releiuing the poore, touching the Leapers, & hand­ling their soares, and this indeed did try her to the quick. That same of lea­uing so her Maydes was no litle Crosse [Page 405] vnto her, but nothing like to this, yet did she swallow vp both▪pills, with in­uincible fortitude; and so refined, shee came at last to that, as shee knew not her owne, til shee were assured of her Maisters mind. Neuer was Afternoone more piously & better spent: she being wholy seene and employd in works of mercy. For who euer asked an almes that was refused? She clothed the na­ked, fed the hungry, & for the cold ma­de fires for them; shee cherished Or­phans, releiued Widowes, comforted the distressed, dressed the most noy­some and loathsome soares with her our hands, buryed the dead: in a word what did she not, that any other Saint had euer done, that came within her way or reach?

It is true indeed that Ss. are not to be compared togeather in a factious sort. N [...]r Peter, Paul, and Apollo, in conten­tious wise, to be made the heads of other priuate spirits, but al are to be re­uerēced as one in God, & God in al. Yet howsoeuer, though they may not be t [...]us paralelled, yet may they wel be resembled in their similitudes, wherein [Page 406] they agree without any breach of Cha­rity, in vs or them. I hope then it shal not be il taken, if I say our Saint was not a Prophet meerly, or an Apo­stle, or a Mart [...]r, or a Doctor of the Church, for these in verity shee could not be; yet as Elizeus is said to haue the spirit of Elias, and which is more a double spirit too, so may wee say she had the spirit of Prophecy in her, when shee foresaw the future voca­tion of that Virgin whose haire shee cut off: An Apostolical spirit when shee laboured so, in the conuersion of Infidels, and baptizing Infants: the spi­rit of Martyrdome, whose feruent desi­res shee had so boyling in her breast, whose life otherwise was a perpetual martyrdome, in the cruel macerations of her body. The spirit of the Doc­tors shee had, in that shee laboured to catechize the Children and the ignorant, and was a light of instruc­tion to her mayds. Shee was an Her­mitesse in spirit, in so affecting the so­litude of her closet, as shee did; where­by shee was a true Confessour in fa­sting, [Page 406] prayer, and almes doing, all to confesse the holy name of IESVS in her works. And for [...]he rest as we haue sayd; s [...]ee had truely been, a Virgin, Wife, and Widow, and though shee dyed not in the first, yet had shee the affect therof, and spirit, to her death.

Thus had our Saint heer more then a two fold spirit, & vertually contay­ned in her a whole Hierarchy of San­ctity. And now let vs see how shee approached to the Angelical Hierar­chy of the blessed Spirits. First then, shee was an Angel in her modesty, whereby she edifyed. In Obedience an Archangel to performe the heasts of her heauenly Spouse, and of man, in contemplation of him. Shee was as one of the Vertues, in her promptnes, to help and assist her Neighbour. As one of the Powers to vanquish il with good. One of the Principates, in her ex­ercise of Humility, and assiduous prac­tize of humiliations. A Domination in the victory of her passions. A Throne, in her repose and peace of mynd. A [Page 408] Cherubin in her in-sight into heauenly and diuine mysteries. And lastly a Se­raphin in her bu [...]ning flames of Cha­rity & the Loue of God. And shall we yet goe higher, with Your leaue, the Purest of all pure creatures. For lo I here set forth no Paragons, nor para­lels doe I here make with any; much lesse with you, ô most blessed Virgin Mary, the soueraigne Lady▪ of all the Ecclesiastical and triumphant Hierar­chyes, spiritual or angelicall. But only with your fayre leaue, doe make some resemblances betweene you as the Mother, and this Saint the Daughter.

First then I find these sympathies betweene you. You were a Virgin, Wife, and Widow; so was shee, wi [...]h this differēce that you were perpetual­ly a Virgin really before, in, and after Childbirth, really a Wife indeed and fruitfull in effect, and truely a Widow both in effect and affect. Whereas shee the first, not perpetually in effect, though in affect perpetually such, and the other truely▪ and r [...]ally soe▪ Se­cōdly you were presented in the Tem­ple at three yeare old, as dedicated to [Page 409] the seruice of God; and shee at three yeare old, affianced to an earthly Prin­ce, as dedicated to the seruice of the world. You at fourteene consented to the Espousalles of Ioseph, hauing first made a Vow of perpetuall virginity: and shee cōsented to the espousalles of Prince Lewys, with the purpose of still retayning the affect of Chastity. You remayning perpetually a Virgin, saw yet the fruit of your Womb; and shee with the affect of Chastity had like­wise hers. Thirdly. You persecuted by Herod fled into Egipt with your litle child, & she persecuted by Henry with her children likewise was thrust out of doores. You Queen of Angells liued in Nazareth in a slender howse: and shee Princesse of Thuringia at Marpurg in a poore houell. Finally, you the Patro­nesse and Protectresse of all, that come running for succour: And she had not the hart to send any vnsatisfyed away, but was the Mother of Orphans, the Phisitian to the sick, Chirurgiē to the lame, a staffe to the aged, Cloth to the naked, bread to the hūgry, a storehouse of al prouision for the poore & needy: [Page 410] in a word you the Mother of mercy, & shee your daughter right, al of mercy.

This leaue allowed mee now to goe so high, giues mee a confidence to goe yet higher: to find resemblances, as in the Mother, so likewise in the Sonne. Now then to end with her, where he began. Hee at his Natiuity into this world, had an Angel singing as he lay in the Crib: and shee at her Natals, her Natiuity into the next, had an Angel li­kewise singing by her bed side. Hee wept in entring into this vale of mise­ries: shee sung in going forth. His An­gel tuned & first gaue the tone, saying Glory to God aboue, & peace to men of good will: and hers glory to God, and peace vnto her Soule. An host of Angels ioy­ned to his Guiuer: & so there did to her. This only differēce was, she sung with them againe, he wept, and cryed as In­fants vse to doe in their birth. Shee in conuenient tyme was baptized with water: and hee with his proper blood in circumcision. Shee found an Astro­loger, to cast her Natiu [...]ty, who presa­ged her future glory: And hee a Symeon [Page 411] that fore told him likwise to become heerafter a Light vnto the Gentils, and a glory vnto Israel. What more? S. Iohn Io. 1. c. 3. hath truely said: that We should bee like one day to Iesus Christ: & our Lord him­self hath likewise vttered with his own mouth: that Such as shal beleiue in him, Io. 14. shal doe the things which hee [...]ath done. Yea, and which is more, shal arriue to such a point of happines, as they shall do yet greater things then hee hath done If soe, then Elizabeth may be said to resemble him: For if an intimous conuersation makes a simpathy and similitude among friends, and that Moyses conuersing with our Lord on Mount Syna got a Gloriet on his head, so like to his. No marueil that Elizabeth should seeme so to resemble her Spou­se, with whom shee had so frequent and priuat familiarityes in the Syna o [...] Mount of sublime Contemplation. And I should thinke it no dishonour orderogation to Christ her Spouse, that shee should be said to haue wrought the same wonders and greater, when it [...] confessed that what he did he did of [Page 412] himself and of his own power: and shee by his, as a meer participation from him. Say we then with confiden­ce, if Iesus Christ the Spouse of Elizabeth wrought Miracles. Elizabeth likwise the Spouse of Iesus wrought Miracles. If he cured the sick and infirme; euen so did shee. if he gaue eyes to the blind, feete to the Lame, and blood to the withered arme; so did shee. If he dis­possessed Diuells and cast them out of their holds; so did shee. If he fed mul­titudes with bread & fish of his owne power: shee fed them likwise of her store through his power. Thus doe wee see how neere this Saint resembled and approached her dearest Spouse, & so neere that I may say yet more, that they seeme to be as One, since shee being vnited with him, was One and the self same in spirit with him, so Deifyed in a sort: where I leaue her adoring the blessed Trinity, shee ha­uing through a diuine and Seraphicall Loue ascended so by the ladder afore­said from the lowest state of a Coniu­gall lif [...] to the highest pitch of the bur­ning [Page 413] and most amorous Seraphins.

Now then to descend againe, excuse my rudenes while I call vpon you, Mirrour of piety, Patterne of sanctity, Modell of innocency, image of vertue▪ Example of perfection, Terrour of Di­uills, Consolation of the afflicted. You the faire Elizabeth, the Wel Beloued of the blessed Spirits, the Sister, the Doue, and singular Spouse of your beloued Iesus. Most delicious soule, most mer­cyfull, and gracious, in the midst of the pleasures now, and diuine delights which you enioy: Graunt I beseech you, I may allwayes remayne vnder the shadow of your wings, vnder the folds of your protection and sweet mercy, intercede you for the saluation of my soule, for the corporall health, and happy successe of mee poore Wor­me and miserable wretch. Obtayne for mee all those gifts of God, which are expedient for mee and to his greater glory; that I may be Maister of my passions, and haue a soueraigne com­maund ouer all my affections. You, who already haue found such grace in [Page 414] the sight of God, cause through your prayers, O dearest Saint of many Saints most deare vnto mee. O noble Prin­cesse of Thuringia, I may alwayes find grace in the sight of God your dearest Spouse, and before the whole celestial Court of the blessed Saints and holy Spirits. Graunt I beseech you, I may not once forget or euer seeme to ne­glect the meanes of my saluation, that mine Enemyes may neuer vaunt they haue preuayled against me; that being fed with the bread of grace, of life, of wisdome, & receiuing the sacred food of Angels, which is the precious Body of my sweet Iesus, your dearest Spouse and mine▪ I may suck in the fountayne self, the sweet pleasures of the Diui­nity, and be inebriated and drunk of the diuine consolations. O let your humble seruant find so much grace with your deare Spouse, that his de­uout prayers may suddainely bee heard his vowes and good desires, find en­trance and accesse to his Throne of Maiesty, that his iust petitions may freely be accorded to. And this doe I [Page 415] demaund of your, this I desire, and [...] ­quire of you by all the acts of pure di­lection which in your prayers your euer aymed & leueled at the Diuinity. And while I shal performe my race in this list in the vale of miseryes, his Omnipotency would please to vnite my hart and spirit vnto his more then most holy one, through the sacred cheyne of his most fair transforming and deifying loue. And pardon mee ô most holy Lady, gracious S. Elizabeth, that offering your and dedicating to your honour in all humility, this litle Work of myne. I doe it in so poore a fashiou. Oh graciously deigne to ac­cept it so, and it shall be rich enough.

Amen.