IT seemes to mee strange, and a thing much to bee marueiled, that the la­borer to repose himself hasteneth as it were the course of the Sun: that [Page] the Mariner rows with al force t'attain the port & with a ioyfull cry sa­lutes the descried land: that the traueller is ne­uer quiet nor content til hee beat the end of his voyage: and that we in the meane while tyed in this world to a perpetuall taske, tossed with continuall tēpest, tyred with a rough and com­bersom way, cannot yet see the end of our labor but with griefe, nor be­hold our port but with tears, nor approche our home and quiet abode but with horrour and [Page] trembling. This life is but a Penelopes webbe, wherein we are alwaies doing & vndoing: a sea opē to all winds, which somtime within, some­time without neuer ceas to torment vs: a wearie iourny through extream heats, & colds, ouer high mountains, steep rocks, & theeuish deserts. And so wee tearme it, in wea­uing at this web, in ro­wing at this oar, in pas­sing this miserable way: yet lo whē death comes to end our work, when shee stretcheth out her armes to pull vs into [Page] the port, when after so many dangerous passa­ges, and loathsome lod­gings she would cōduct vs to our true home and resting place: in stead of reioycing at the end of our labor, of taking cō ­fort at the sight of our land, of singing at the approach of our happie mansion, we would fain (who would beleeue it?) retake our vvorke in hand, we would againe hoise saile to the winde, and willingly vndertake our iourney anew. No more, then, remember we our paines, our ship­wracks [Page] and dangers are forgotten: we feare no more the trauelles nor the theeues. Contrari­wise, wee apprehende death as an extreame paine, wee doubt it as a rocke, wee flie it as a thiefe. Wee do as little children, who al the day complaine, and when the medicin is brought them, are no longer sicke: as they, who (all the weeke long) runne vp & downe the streets with paine of the teeth, and seeing the Barber comming to pull them out, feel no more pain: [Page] as those tender and de­licate bodies, who in a pricking pleurisie com­plaine, cry out, and can­not stay for a Surgion, and when they see him whetting his Launcet to cut the throat of the disease, pul in their arms & hide them in the bed, as if hee were come to kill them. Wee feare more the cure then the disease, the Surgion thē the pain, the stroke thē the impostume. Wee haue more sense of the medicines bitternesse soone gone, then of a bitter languishing long [Page] continued: more fee­ling of death the end of our miseries, then the endlesse miserie of our life. And whence pro­ceedeth this folly and simplicitie? we neither knowe life, nor death. We fear that we ought to hope for, and wish for that wee ought to feare. Wee call life a continuall death: and death the issue of a li­uing death, and the en­trance of a neuer dy­ing life. Now what good, I pray you, is ther in life, that wee should so much pursue it? or [Page] what euill is there in death, that wee should so much eschue it? Nay what euill is there not in life? and what good is there not in death? Consider al the periods of this life. We enter it in teares, wee passe it in sweate, wee ende it in sorrowe. Great and lit­tle, rich and poore, not one in the whole world that can plead immuni­tie from this condition. Man, in this point worse then all other creatures, is borne vnable to sup­port himselfe; neyther receiuing in his first [Page] yeares any pleasure, nor giuing to others but annoy and displeasure, and before the age of discre­tion passing infinit dan­gers: only herein le [...] vnhappie then in other ages, that hee hath no sense nor apprehension of his vnhappinesse. Now, is there anie so weake minded, that if it were graunted him to liue alwayes a childe, would make account of such a life? So then it is euident, that not simply to liue is a good; but wel and happilie to liue. But proceed. Growes hee? [Page] with him grow his tra­uailes. Scarcely is hee come out of his nurses hands, scarcely knowes what it is to play, but he falleth into the subiectiō of some schoolemaster. I speake but of those which are best & most precisely broght vp: Studies he? it is euer with repining. Playes hee? ne­uer but with feare. This whole age, while hee is vnder the charge of an­other, is vnto him but as a prison: he only thinks, and only aspires to that time whē freed from the mastership of another, [Page] he may become master of himself; pushing on­ward (as much as in him lyes) his age with his shoulder, that soone he may enioy his hoped li­berty Inshort, he desires nothing more thē y^e end of this base age, and the beginning of his youth. And what else I pray you is the beginning of youth, but the death of infancie? the beginning of manhood, but the death of youth? the be­ginning of to morrow, but the death of to day? In this sort then desires he his death, & iudgeth [Page] his life miserable: and so cānot be reputed in any happinesse or contentment. Behold him now, according to his wish, at liberty: in that age, wherein Hercules had the choise, to take the way of vertue or of vice, reason or passion for his guide, and of these two must take one. His passion enter­taines him with'a thou­sand delights, prepares for him a thousād baits, presentes him with a thousand worldly plea­sures to surprize him: and fewe there are that [Page] are not beguiled. But at the reckonings ende, what pleasures are they? pleasures full of vice, which holde him still in a restlesse feauer: plea­sures subiect to repen­tance, like sweete meats of hard digestion: plea­sures bought with pain and peril, spent and past in a moment, and follo­wed with a long & loth­som remorse of consci­ence. And this is the ve­ry nature (if they be wel examined) of al the pleasures of this world. Ther is in none so much sweetnes, but ther is more bitternes: [Page] none so pleasant to the mouth, but leavs an vnsauoury after-taste and loathsome disdain: none (which is worse) so moderated but hath his corrosiue, & caries his punishment in it self. I will not here speak of the displeasures cōfessed by al, as quarelles, debates, woundes, murthers, ba­nishments, sicknesse, pe­ril, wherinto sometimes the incontinency, some­times y^e insolency of this ill guided age conducts him. But if those that seeme pleasures, be no­thing els but displeasurs: [Page] if the sweetnes therof be as an infusion of worm­wood; it is plain enough what the displeasure is they feele, and how great the bitternes that they taste. Behold in sum the life of a young man, who rid of the go­uernmēt of his parents, abandons himselfe to all liberty or rather bō ­dage of his passion: which, right like an vn­cleane spirit possessing him, casts him now in­to the water, now in­to the fire: sometimes carries him cleane ouer a rocke, and sometime [Page] flings him headlong to the bottome. Now, if he take and follow rea­son for his guide, be­holde on the other part wonderfull difficulties: he must resolue to fight in euery parte of the field, at euery step to be in conflict, and at hand­strokes; as hauing his e­nemy in front, in flanke, and on the rerewarde, neuer leauing to assaile him. And what enimie? al that can delight him, all that hee sees neer, or far off; brieflie the grea­test enemy of the world, the world it selfe: But [Page] which is worse, a thou­sand treacherous and daungerous intelligen­ces among his own for­ces, & his passion with­in himselfe desperate: which, in that age grown to the highest, a­waits but time, houre, & occasiō to surprize him & cast him into all vici­ousnes. God onely and none other can make him choose this way: God only can hold him in it to the end: God on­ly can make him victori­ous in all his combates. And well wee see how fewe they are that enter [Page] into it, and of those few how many that retire a­gaine. Followe the one way or followe the o­ther, he must either sub­iect himself to a tyran­nicall passion, or vnder­take a weary & cōtinual combate, willingly cast himself to destructiō, or fetter himself as it were in stocks, easily sink with the course of the water, or painfully swimme a­gainst the streame. Loe here the yong m̄, who in his youth hath drunk his full draught of the worlds vain & deceiue­able pleasures, ouertakē [Page] by them with such a dull heauinesse, and a­stonishment, as drunke­ards the morrow after a feaste: either so out of taste, that hee will no more; or so glutted, that he can no more: not a­ble without griefe to speak, or think of them. Loe him that stoutely hath made resistance: hee feeles himselfe so wearie, and with this continuall conflicte so brused and broken, that either hee is vpon the point to yeeld himself, or content to die, and so acquit himselfe. And [Page] this is all the good, all the contentment of this florishing age, by chil­dren so earnestly desi­red, and by olde folkes so heartilie lamented. Nowe commeth that which is called perfect age; in the which men haue no other thoughts but to purchase them­selues wisdome and rest. Perfect indeed▪ but her­in onely perfect, that all imperfections of hu­mane nature, hidden before vnder the simpli­city of childhood or the lightnesse of youth, ap­peare at this age in their [Page] perfection, We speake of none in this place but such as are esteemed the wisest, & most hap­py in the conceit of the world. Wee played as you haue seene in feare: our shorte pleasures were attended on with long repentance. Be hold, now present them­selues to vs auarice, and ambition; promising, if wee will adore them, perfect contentment of the goods and honours of this world. And sure­ly ther are none but the ture Children of the Lord, who by the faire [Page] illusions of the one or the other cast not them selues headlong from the top of the pinnacle. But in the end, what is all this contentment? The couetous man makes a thousand voia­ges by sea and by land: runnes a thousand for­tunes: escapes a thou­sand shipwracks, in per­petuall feare and trauel: and many times hee ei­ther loseth his time, or gayneth nothing but sicknesses, gouts, & op­pilatiōs for the time to come In y^e purchase of this goodly repose, hee [Page] bestoweth his true rest; and, to gaine wealth, loseth his life. Sup­pose hee hath gained in good quantitie: that hee hath spoyled the whole East of pearles, and dra­wen drie all the mines of the West: will hee therefore bee settled in quiet? can hee say that he is content? All char­ges and iourneyes past, by his passed paines hee heapeth vp but future disquietnesse both of minde and body; from one trauell falling into nother, neuer ending, but changing his mise­ries. [Page] Hee desired to haue them, and now feares to lose them: he got them with burning ardour, & possesseth in trembling cold: hee aduētured among theeues to seek them; & hauing found them, theeues & robbers on al sides, run mainely on him: he la­ [...]oured to digge them out of the earth, and now is inforced to re­ligge, and rehide them▪ Finally, comming from al his voiages, he comes into a prison: and for an end of his bodily trauels is taken with endlesse [Page] trauels of the mind. And what, at length, hath this poore soule attai­ned, after so many mise­ries? This Diuell of co­uerise, by his illusions, & enchantments, bears him in hand that hee hath some rare and sin­gular thing▪ and so it fareth with him, as with those silly crea­tures whō, the Diuel se­duceth vnder colour of relieuing their pouerty, who finde their hands full of leaues, supposing to finde them full of crownes. He possesseth or rather is possessed by [Page] a thing, wherein is nei­ther force nor vertue; more vnprofitable, and more base, then the least hearb of the earth: Yet hath he heaped to­gether this vile excre­ment, and so brurish is grown, as therewith to crowne his head, which naturally hee shoulde tread vnder his feet. But howsoeuer it be, is hee therwith content? Nay (cōirariwise) lesse now, then euer. We cōmend most, those drinkes that breede an alteration, and soonest extinguish thirst: and those meats, [Page] which in least quantitie do longest resist hūger. Now hereof the more a man drinkes, the more he is a thirst; the more hee eates, the more an hungred: It is a dropsie (and as they tearme it) the dogs hunger: soo­ner may hee burst then be satisfied. And (which is worse) so strange in some is this thirst, that it maketh them dig the pittes, and painefully draw the water, and af­ter will not suffer them to drinke. In the mid­dest of a riuer they are drie with thirst: and on [Page] a heap of corne cry out of famine: they haue goods and dare not vse them: they haue ioyes it seemes, and doe not enioy thē: they neither haue for thēselues nor for another: but of all they haue, they haue nothing: and yet haue wāt of al they haue not. Let vs then returne to that that the attaining of all these deceiueable goods is nothing else but wearinesse of body; & the possession for the most part, but weari­nes of the mind: which certainely is so much [Page] the greater, as is more sensible, more subtile, and more tender the soule then the body▪ But the heap of al misery is, when they come to lose them; when either ship­wrack, or sacking or in­uasion, or fire, or such like calamities, to which these fraile thinges are subiect, doth take and carie them from them. Then fall they to crie, to weep, & to tormēt them selues, as little children that haue lost their plai­game; which notwith­standing is nothing worth. One cannot per­swade [Page] them, that mortal mē haue any other good in this world, but that which is mortall. They are in their owne con­ceits not onely spoyled, but altogether slayed. And, forasmuch as in these vaine things they haue fixt al their hopes; hauing lost them, they fall into despaire, out of the which commonly they cannot bee with­drawen. And (which is more) al, that they haue not gained according to the accountes they made, they esteem lost: all that, which turnes [Page] them not to greate and extraordinarie profite, they account as da­mage: whereby wee see some fall into such despaire, as they cast away themselues. In short, the recompence that couetise yeeldes those that haue serued it all their life, is often­times like that of the Diuell: whereof the end is, that after a small time hauing gratified his Disciples, eyther gee giues them ouer to a hangman, or him­selfe breaks their necks. I wil not here discourse [Page] of the wickednesse and mischiefes whereunto the couetous men sub­iect themselues, to at­taine to these goodes, whereby their consci­ence is filled with a per­petuall remorse, which neuer leaues thē in qui­et: sufficeth that in this ouer-vehemēt exercise, which busieth and abu­seth the greatest part of the world, the body is slain, the mind is weak­ned, the soule is lost without any pleasure or contentment.

Come we to ambition, which (by a greedinesse [Page] of honour) fondly hol­deth occupied the grea­test persons: Think we there to finde more? nay rather, lesse. As the one deceiueth vs, gi­uing vs for al our trauel, but a vile excrement of the earth: so the other repayes vs, but with smoke and winde; the rewardes of this being as vaine, as those of that were grosse. Both in the one and the other, wee fall into a bottomelesse pit: but into this the fall by so much the more dangerous, as at the first shew, the water is more [Page] pleasant and cleare. Of those that giue them­selues to court ambiti­on, some are greate a­bout Princes, others commaunders of Ar­mies: both sortes, ac­cording to their degree you see saluted, reue­renced, and adored of those that are vnder them. You see them apparelled in purple, in scarlet, and in cloth of golde: it seemes, at first sight, there is no contentment in the world but theirs. But men knowe not, how heauie an ounce of that [Page] vaine honour weighes, what those reuerences cost them, and how dearely they paye for an ell of those rich stufs: who knewe them well, would neuer buy them at the price. The one hath attained to this de­gree, after a long and painefull seruice, ha­zarding his life vpon e­uerie occasion, with losse oft times of a leg or an arme, and that at the pleasure of a Prince, that more regards a hū ­dred perches of ground on his neighbors fron­tiers, then the liues of [Page] a hundred thousand such as hee: vnfortu­nate, to serue who loues him not: and foolish, to thinke himself in ho­nour with him, that makes so litle reckening to lose him for a thing of no worth. Others growe vp by flattering a Prince, and long sub­mitting their tongues & hands to say and do without differēce what­soeuer they will haue them: whereunto a good minde can neuer command it selfe. They shall haue indured a thousand iniuries, re­ceiued [Page] a thousand dis­graces; and as neere as they seem about the Prince, they are neuer­thelesse alwayes as the Lyons keeper, who by long patience, a thou­sand feedinges, and a thousand clawings, hath made a fierce Lyon fa­miliar; yet giues him neuer meate, but with pulling backe his hand, alwaies in feare least he should catch him: and if once in a yeare hee bites him, hee sets it so close, that he is paied for a long time after. Such is the ende of all Prin­ces [Page] fauourites. When a Prince after song brea­thing hath raised a mā to greate height, hee makes it his pastime, at what time he seemes to be at the top of his tra­uell, to cast him downe at an instant: when hee hath filled him with all wealth, hee wrings him after as a sponge; louing none but himselfe, and thinking euerie one made, but to serue, and please him. These blind Courtiers make them­selues belieue, that they haue friendes, and ma­nie that honour them: [Page] [...] considering that [...] make [...] [...] and honour e­uerie bodi [...] so others doe by them. Their su­periours disdaine them, & neuer but with scorn doe so much as salute them▪ their inferiors sa­lute them, because they haue neede of them (I meane of their fortune, of their foode, of their apparell, not of their person): and for their e­quals, betweene whom cōmonly friendship cō ­sists, they enuie each o­ther, accuse each other, crosse each other; con­tinually [Page] grieued either at their owne harme, or at others good. Now, what greater hel is ther, what greater torment, than enuie? which in truth is nought else but a feauer Hectique of the minde: so they are vt­terly frustrate of all friendship, euer iudged by the wisest the chiefe & soueraigne good a­mong men. Will you see it more clearely? Let but Fortune turne her backe, euerie man turns from them: let hir frowne, euerie man lookes aside on them: [Page] let them once be disroa­bed of their triumphall garment, no bodie will any more know them. Againe, let there be ap­parelled in it the most vnworthie, and infa­mous whatsoeuer: euen he without difficulty, by vertue of his robe, shall inherit all the honours the other had don him. In the meane time they are puffed vp, and grow proude, as the Asse which caried the image of Isis was for the ho­nours done to the God­desse, & regard not that it is the fortune they [Page] carrie which is honou­red, not themselues, on whom as on Asses, ma­ny times she wilbe cari­ed. But you will say: At least so long as that for­tune endured, they were at ease, & had their con­tentment; & who hath 3. or 4. or more yeares of happie time, hath not bin al his life vnhappie. True, if this bee to be at ease, continually to feare to bee caste down from that degree, whereunto they are rai­sed: and dayly to desire with great trauell to clime yet higher. Those [Page] (my friend) whom thou takest so well at their ease, because thou seest them but without, are within farre otherwise. They are faire built pri­sons, full within of deep ditches, and dungeons: full of darkenesse, ser­pents and tormentes. Thou supposest them lodged at large, and they thinke their lod­gings strait. Thou thin­kest them very high, & they thinke themselues verie lowe. Now, as sick is hee, and many times more sicke, who thinks himselfe so, then who [Page] indeede is. Suppose them to bee Kings: if they thinke themselues slaues, they are no bet­ter: for what are wee but by opinion? You see them well followed and attended: and euen those whom they haue chosen for their guarde, they distrust. Alone or in companie euer they are in feare. Alone they looke behinde them: in company they haue an eye on euery side of thē. They drinke in gold and siluer; but in those, not in earth or glasse, is poyson prepared and d [...]unke. [Page] They haue their beds soft & well made: when they lay them to sleepe you shall not heare a mouse stir in the cham­ber: not so much as a fly shal come neer their fa­ces. Yet neuerthelesse, where the countrey man sleeps at the fal of a great riuer, at the noyse of a market, hauing no other bed but the earth, nor couering but the hea­uēs, these in the middest of this silence and delicacie, doe nothing but turn frō side to side, it seemes still that they heare some bodie, their [Page] rest it selfe is without rest Lastly, wil you know what the diuersitie is betweene the most hardly intreated prisoners and them both are enchai­ned, both loaden with letters, but that the one hath them of iron, the other of gold; and that the one is tied but by the body, the other by the minde. The prisoner drawes his fetters after him, the courtier wears his vpō him. The priso­ners minde sometimes cōforts the paine of his body, and sings in the midst of his miseries: the [Page] Courtier tormented in mind, wearieth incessāt­ly his body, & can neuer giue it rest. And as for the contentment you i­magine they haue, you are there in yet more de­ceiued. You iudge and esteeme them greate, because they are raised high: but as fondly, as who shuld iudge a dwarf great, for being set on a Tower, or on the toppe of a mountaine. You measure (so good a Geometrician you are) the image with his base, which were conuenient (to knowe [Page] his true height) to bee measur'd by it self: wher­as you regarde not the height of the image, but the height of the place it standes vppon. You deeme them great (if in this earth there can bee greatnesse, which in res­pect of the whole hea­uens is but a point): But coulde you enter into their minds, you would iudge, that neither they are greate; true great­nesse consisting in con­tempt of those vaine greatnesses, whereunto they are slaues: nor seem vnto themselues so, see­ing [Page] dayly they are aspi­ring higher, and neuer where they would bee. Some one sets downe a boūd in his mind; Could I attain to such a degree, lo, I were content: I would then rest my selfe. Hath hee attained it? hee giues himselfe not so much as a breathing: hee would yet ascende higher. That which is beneath, hee counts a toy: it is in his opini­on but one step. Hee re­putes himselfe lowe, be­cause there is some one higher, in stead of repu­ting himselfe high, be­cause [Page] ther be a milliō lo­wer: & so high he climes at last, that either his breath failes him by the way, or he slides frō the top to the bottom. Or is he get vp by al his trauel it is but as to find himself on the top of the Alpes, not aboue the cloudes, windes and stormes: but rather at the deuotion of lightnings and tem­pestes, and whatsoeuer else horrible, and dange­rous is engendred, and conceiued in the ayre: which most commonly taketh pleasure to thun­derbolt and dash into [Page] powder that proude height of theirs. It may be herin you will agree with mee, by reason of the examples wherwith both histories, & mens memories are ful. But say you, such at least whom nature hath sent into the world with crownes on their heads, and scepters in their hands: such as from their birth she hath set in that height, as they neede take no paine to ascende: seeme without cōtrouersie exempt frō all these iniuries, and by consequence may call themselues happie. It [Page] may bee indeede they feele lesse such incom­modities, hauing been borne, bred, and brought vp among them: as one borne neere the downe­fals of Nilus becomes deafe to the founde: in prison, laments not the want of libertie: among the Cimmerians in per­petuall night, wisheth not for dave: on the top of the Alpes, thinks not strange of the mists, the tēpests, the snowes, and the stormes. Yet free doubtlesse they are not, whē the lightening often blasteth a flowre [Page] of their crownes, or breakes their scepter in their hands: when a drift of snowe ouerwhelmes them: whē a mist of hea­uinesse, and griefe, con­tinually blindeth their wit and vnderstanding. Crowned they are in­deed; but with a crowne of thornes. They beare a scepter: but it is of a reed more then any thing in the world pliable and o­bedient to all windes: it being so far off that such a crowne can cure the maigrims of the mind, & such a scepter keepe off and fray away the griefs [Page] and cares which houer about them; that it is contrariwise the crown that brings them, and the scepter which from al parts attracts them. O crowne, said the Persi­an Monarch, who knew how heauie thou sittest on the head, would not vouchsafe to take thee vp, though hee found thee in his way. This prince it seem'd gaue for tune to the whole world, distributed vnto men haps and mishaps at his pleasure could in show make euery mā cōtent: himselfe in the meane [Page] while freely confessing, that in the whole world, which he held in his hād there was nothing but griefe, & vnhappinesse And what wil al the rest tell vs, if they list to vt­ter what they foūd? We will not aske them who haue concluded a mise­rable life with a dishonorable death: who haue beheld their kingdomes buried before them, & haue in greate miserie long ouerliued their greatnesse. Not of Di­onyse of Sicil, more content with a handfull of twigs to whip litle chil­dren [Page] of Corinth in a choole, then with the scepter, wherewith he had beaten al Sicil: nor of Sylla, who hauing robbed the whole State of Rome, which had before robbed the whole world, neuer found meanes of rest in himselfe, but by robbing himselfe of his owne estate, with incre­dible hazard both of his power & authority. But demand we the opinion of king Salomon, a man indued withsingular gifts of God, rich and weal­thy of all thinges. who sought for treasure from [Page] the Iles: He will teach vs by a booke of purpose, that hauing tried all the felicities of the earth, he found nothing but vani­ty, trauell, & vexation of spirit. Aske wee the Em­perour Augustus, who peaceably possessed the whole world: Hee will bewaile his life past, and amonge infinite toyles wish for the rest of the meanest mā of the earth: accountinge that daye most happie, when he might vnload himself of this insupportable greatnes, to liue quietly amōg he least. Of Tiberius his [Page] successor, he wil cōfesse vnto vs that hee holds y [...] Empire as a wolf by the eares, and that (if with­out danger of biting he might) he would gladly let it goe, complayning on Fortune for lifting him so high, & then taking away the ladder, that he could not come down again. Of Dioclesian, a Prince of so great wisdome and vertue in y^e opinion of the world: he wil prefer his voluntarie banishmēt at Salo­na, before al the Roman Empire. Finally, the Emperor Charles the [Page] fift, esteemed by our Age most happie that hath liued these many ages: hee will curse his conquests, his victories, his triumphes: and not be ashamed to confesse that farre more good in comparison he hath felt in one day of his Mon­kish solitariness, then in all his triumphant life. Now, shall wee thinke those happy in this ima­ginate greatnesse, who themselues think them­selues vnhappy? seeking their happinesse in lesse­ning themselues, & not finding in the world one [Page] place to rest this great­nesse, or one bed quietly to sleep in? Happie is he onely who in mind liues contented: and hee most of all vnhappie, whome nothing he can haue can content. Then miserable Pyrrhus king of Albany, who would winne al the world, to win (as he said) rest and went so farre to seeke that which was so neere him. But more miserable, Alexander, that being borne King of a great Realme, and Conqueror almost of the earth, sought for more worldes to satisfie [Page] his foolish ambitiō, with in three daies content with sixe foot of groūd. To conclude, are they borne on the highest Alpes? they seeke to scale heauen. Haue they subdued al the Kinges of the earth? they haue quarelles to plead with God, and indeuour to treade vnder foote his kingdome. They haue no ende nor limite, till God laughing at their vaine purposes, when they thinke themselues at the last step, thunder­striketh al this presump­tion, breaking in shi­uers [Page] their scepters in their handes, and often­times intrapping them in their owne crownes. At a word, whatsoeuer happines can be in that ambition promiseth, is but suffering much il, to get ill. Men thinke by dayly climing higher to pluck themselues out of this ill: and the height wherunto they so pam­fully aspire, is the height of misery it self. I speak not here of the wret­chednes of thē, who all their life haue held out their cap to receiue the almes of Court fortune, [Page] and can get nothing, of­ten with incredible hart griefe, seeing some by lesse pains takē haue ri­ches fal into their hāds: of thē, who iustling one another to haue it, lose it, and cast it into the handes of a third: Of those, who holding it in their hands to hold it fa­ster, haue lost it through their fingers. Such by all men are esteemed vn­happie, & are indeed so, because they iudge thē ­selues so. It sufficeth that al these liberalities, which the Deuill casteth vs as out at a window, are but [Page] baits: all these pleasures but ambushes: and that hee doth but make his sport of vs, who striue one with another for such things, as most vn­happy is hee, that hath best hap to finde them. Well now, you will say, the Couetous in all his goods, hath no good: the Ambitious, at the best hee can bee, is but ill. But may there not be some, who supplying the place of Iustice, or being neere about a Prince, may without fol­lowing such vnbridled passions, pleasantly en­ioye [Page] their goods, ioy­ning honour with rest and contentment of minde? Surely, in former ages (ther yet remaining among men some sparks of sinceritie) in some sort it might bee so: but being of that composition they now are, I see not how it may be in any sort. For, deale you in affaires of estate in these times, either you shal do wel, or you shall do il. I fil, you haue God for your enemy, & your owne conscience for a perpetually tormenting executioner. If well, you [Page] haue men for your ene­mies, and of men the greatest: whose enuy & malice wil spie you out, & whose cruelty & tyrā ­ny will euermore threa­ten you. Please the peo­ple, you please a beast: & pleasing such, ought to be displeasing to your selfe. Please your selfe, you displease god: please him, you incur a thousād dangers in y^e world, with purchase of a thousand displeasures. Wherof it grows, that if you could hear the talke of the wi­sest and least discontent of this kinde of men, [Page] whether they speake ad­uisedly, or their wordes passe them by force of truth, one would gladly chāge garment with his tenāt: another preacheth how goodly an estate it is to haue nothing: a third, complaining that his braines are broken with the noise of Court or Palace, hath no other thought, but as soone as he may to retire himself thence. So that you shall not see any but is displeased with his own calling, & enuieth that of another: readie neuer­thelesse to repent him, if [Page] a man should take him at his word. None but is wearie of the businesses wherunto his age is sub­iect, & wisheth not to be elder, to free himselfe of them: albeit otherwise he keepeth off old age, as much as in him lyeth.

What must wee then do in so great a contrariety & cōfusiō of minds? Must we, to find true hu­manitie, flie the societie of men, & hide vs in for­rests among wild beasts? to auoyde these vnruly passions, eschue the assē bly of creatures suppo­sed reasonable? to plucke [Page] vs out of the euils of the worlde, sequester our selues from the world? Could wee in so doing liue at rest, it were some­thing.

But alas! men cannot take heerein what part they would: and euen they which doe, finde not there all the rest they sought for. Some would gladly do: but shame of the world re­cals them. Fooles, to bee ashamed of what in their harts they con­demne: & more fooles, to bee aduised by the greatest enemie they [Page] can or ought to haue. Others are borne in hand that they ought to serue the publicke; not marking, that who coū ­sel thē, serue onely them selues: and that the more part would not much seek the publicke, but that they found their owne particular. Some are told, that by their good exāple they may amend others: and con­sider not that a hundred sound men, euen Phy­sicians themselues, may sooner catch the plague in an infected Towne, then one bee healed: [Page] that it is but to to tempt God, to enter therein: that against so contagi­ous an ayre there is no preseruatiue, but in get­ting far from it. Finally, that as little as the fresh waters, falling into the sea, canne take from it his saltnesse: so little canne one Lot or two, or three, reforme a Court of Sodome. And as cōcerning the wisest, who (no lesse careful for their soules, then bo­dies) seek to bring them into a sound and whole­some ayre, far from the infection of wickednes: [Page] and who ledde by the hand of some Angell of God, retire themselues in season, as Lot into some little village of Segor, out of the corrup­tion of the worlde, into some Countrey place frō the infected townes, there quietly employ­ing the time in some knowledge and serious contemplatiō: I willing­ly yeelde they are in a place of lesse danger, yet because they carrie the dāger in themselues, not absolutely exempt from danger. They flie the court; & a court follows [Page] them on all sides: they endeuour to escape the world; and the worlde pursues them to death. Hardly in this Worlde can they finde a place where the Worlde findes them not: so gree­dily it seekes to mur­ther them. And if by some speciall grace of God they seem for a while free from these dangers, they haue som pouertie that troubles them, some domesti­call debate that tormēts them, or some familiar spirit that tempts them: briefly, the world dayly [Page] in some sort or other makes it selfe felt of them. But the worst is, whē we are out of these externall warres and troubles, we finde great ciuill warre within our selues; the flesh against the spirit, passion against reason, earth against heauen, the world with­in vs fighting for the world, euermore so lod­ged in the bottome of our owne hearts, that on no side we can flie from it. I will say more: hee makes profession to flie the world, who seekes thereby the prayse of [Page] the world: hee faineth to run away, who accor­ding to the prouerbe; by drawing back sets him­selfe forwarde. hee re­fuseth honours, that would thereby be prai­ed to take them: and hides him from men, to the end they should com to seeke him. So the world often harbours in disguised attire among them that fly the world. This is an abuse. But fol­low we the company of men, the world hath his Court among thē: seek wee the Deserts, it hath there his dens & places [Page] of resort, and in the Desert it selfe tempteth Christ lesus. Retire we our selues into our selues, wee finde it there as vn­clean as any where. We cannot make the world dye in vs, but by dying our selues. Wee are in the world, and the world in vs, and to separate vs from the world, we must separate vs from our selues. Now this separa­tion is called Death. We are, we think, come out of the contagious City▪ but wee are not aduised that we haue sucked the bad ayre, that we carrie [Page] the plague with vs, that we so participate with it, that through rockes, through deserts, through mountaines, it euer ac­companieth vs. Hauing auoyded the contagion of others, yet we haue it in our selues. We haue withdrawen vs out of men, but not withdrawn man out of vs. The tēpe­stuous sea tormēts vs: we are grieued at the heart, & desirous to vomit: and to be discharged therof, we remoue out of one ship into another, from a greater to a lesse: wee promise our selues rest [Page] in vaine: they being al­waies the same windes that blowe, the same waues that swell, the same humors that are stirred. To all, no other port, no other meane of trāquillitie but onely death. We were sicke in a chāber neer the street, or neere the market: wee caused our selues to bee carried into some bac­ker closet, where the noise was not so great. But though there the noyse was lesse: yet was the feauer there neuer the lesse: and therby lost nothing of his heate. [Page] Change bed, chamber, house, countrey, againe and again: we shal euery where find the same vn­rest, because euery where we finde our selues: and seeke not so much to be others, as to bee other wheres. Wee follow so­litarinesse, to fly careful­nesse. We retire vs (so say wee) from the wic­ked: but cary with vs our auarice, our ambiti­on, our riotousnesse, all our corrupt affections: which breed in vs 1000. remorses▪ & 1000. times each day bring to our remembrance the garlike [Page] & onions of Egypt. Dai­ly they passe the Ferrie with vs: so that both on this side, and beyond the water, we are in cōinu­all combat. Now could we cassere this company which eates and gnawes our mind, doubtlesse we should be at rest, not in solitarinesse onely, but euen in the thicket of men. For the life of man vppon earth is but a continuall warre­fare. Are wee deliue­red from externall pra­ctices? wee are to take heede of internall espi­alles. Are the Greekes [Page] gone away? wee haue a Sinon within, that wil be tray them the place. We must euer be waking, hauing an eie to the watch, and weapons in our hands, if wee will not euerie houre be surpri­sed, and giuen vp to the wil of our enemies. And how at last can wee es­cape? Not by the woods, by the riuers, nor moun­tains: not by throwing our selues into a presse, nor by thrusting our selues into a hole. One onely meane there is, which is death: which in the ende separating our [Page] spirit frō our flesh, the pure and cleane part of our soule from the vn­cleane, which within vs euermore bandeth it self for the world, appeaseth by this separation that, which conioyned in one & the same person could not, without vtter choa­king of the spirit, but be in perpetuall conten­tion.

And as touching the contentment that may be in the exercises of the wisest men in their soli­tarines, as reading diuine or prosane books, with all other knowledges [Page] and learnings: I holde well that it is indeede a farre other thing, then are those mad huntings, which make sauage a multitude of mē posse­ssed with these or the like diseases of the mind. Yet must they all abide the iudgement pronounced by the wisest among the wise, Salomon, that al this neuerthelesse applied to mans naturall dispositi­on, is to him but vani­tie and vexation of minde. Some are euer learning to correct their speech, and neuer think of correcting their life. [Page] Others dispure in their Logique of reason, and the Arte of reason: and lose therby many times their naturall reason. One learnes by Arith­meticke to diuide, to the smallest fractions, and hath not skil to part one shilling with his bro­ther. Another by Geo­metrie canne measure fieldes, and townes, and Countreyes: but cannot measure himselfe. The Musician can accord his voices, and soundes, and times together: hauing nothing in his heart but discords, nor one passion [Page] in his soule in good tune. The Astrologer lookes vp on highe, and falles in the next ditch: fore­knowes the future, and sorgoes the presēt: hath often his eye on the hea­uens; his heart long be­fore buried in the earth. The Philosopher discourseth of the nature of all other things: & knowes not himselfe. The His­torian canne tell of the warres of Thebes and of Troy: but what is done in his owne house can tell nothing. The Law­yer will make lawes for all the worlde, and not [Page] one from himselfe. The Physician will cure o­thers, and be blind in his owne disease: finde the least alteration in his pulse, and not marke the burning feauers of his minde. Lastly, the Di­uine wil spend the grea­test part of his time in disputing of faith, and cares not to hear of cha­rity, wil talke of God, & not regarde to succour men. These knowledges bring on the minde an endlesse labour, but no contentment: for the more one knowes, the more he would know.

[Page]They pacifie not the debates a man feeles in himselfe, they cure not the diseases of his mind. They make him learned but they make not him good: cunning but not wise. I say more: The more a man knowes, the more knowes he that he knowes not: the fuller the mind is, the emptier it findes it selfe: foras­much as whatsoeuer a man can know of anie science in this world, is but the least part of what he is ignorant: all his knowledge cōsisting in knowing his igno­rance, [Page] all his perfection in noting his imperfecti­ons; which who best knowes and notes, is in truth among men the most wise and perfect. In short, we must conclude with Salomon, that the beginning and ende of wisedome is the feare of God: that this wisedome neuerthelesse is taken of the world for meere fol­lie, and persecuted by the world as a deadly e­nemie: and that as who feareth God, ought to feare no euil, for that all his euils are conuerted to his good: so neither [Page] ought hee to hope for good in the world, ha­uing there the diuell his professed enemy, whom the Scripture tearmeth Prince of the world.

But with what exer­cise soeuer wee passe the time, behold old age vnwares to vs comes vp­on vs: which whether we thrust our selues in­to the prease of men, or hide vs some where out of the way, neuer failes to finde vs out. Euerie man makes account in that age to rest himselfe of all his trauailes with­out further care, but to [Page] keep himself at ease & in health. And see contra­wise in this age, there is nothing but an after tast of al the foregoing euils: and most commonly a plentifull haruest of all such vices, as in y^e whole course of their life hath held & possessed them. There you haue the vn­habilitie and weakenesse of infancy, and (which is worse) many times accompanied with au­thoritie: there you are payed for the excesse & riotousnes of youth, with gowtes, palsies, and such like diseases, [Page] which take from you limme after limme, with extreame paine and torment. There also you are recompenced for the trauels of mind, the watchings & cares of manhoode, with losse of sight, losse of hearing, and all the sen­ses one after another, except only the sense of paine. Not one parte in vs but death takes ingage to be assured of vs, as of bad pay masters, which infinitely feare their dayes of payment. Nothing in vs that will not by and by bee dead: [Page] & neuerthelesse our vi­ces yet liue in vs; & not onely liue, but in de­spite of Nature dayly growe young againe. The couetous man hath one foote in his graue, and is yet burying his money: meaning be­like to finde it againe a­nother day. The ambi­tious in his Will ordai­neth vnprofitable pōps for his funerals, making his vice to liue and tri­umphe after his death. The riotous, no longer able to daunce on his feete, daunceth with his shoulders: all vi [...]es ha­uing [Page] left him, and hee not yet able to leaue them. The childe wi­sheth for youth and this man laments it. The young man liueth in hope of the future: and this feeles the euill pre­sent, lamentes the false pleasures past, and sees for the time to come nothing to hope for; More foolish then the child, in bewailing the time hee cannot recall, & not remembring the euill he had therein: and more wretched then the young man, in that after a wretched life not able [Page] but wretchedly to d [...] hee sees on all sides b [...] matter of despaire. As for him, who from his youth hath vndertaken to combate against the fleshe, and against the World: who hath taken so great paines to mor­tifie himselfe and leaue the World before his time: who besides those ordinary euilles findes himself vexed with this great and incurable dis­ease of olde age, and feeles notwithstanding his fleshe, how weake soeuer, stronger of­tentimes then his spi­rit: [Page] what good I pray can hee haue but onely herein; that hee sees his death at hand, that hee sees his combate fini­shed that hee sees him­selfe readie to depart by death out of this loath­some prison, wherein all his life time hee hath beene racked and tor­mented? I will not here speak of the infinit euils wherewith men in all ages are annoyed, as losse of friends and pa­rents, banishments, ex­iles, disgraces, and such others, common and ordinarie in the world: [Page] one cōplaining of loo­sing his children, ano­ther of hauing them▪ one making sorrow for his wiues death, another for his life: one finding fault, that he is too high in court another that he is not high enough. The world is so full of euills, that to write of all, wold require another world as great as it selfe. Suf­ficeth, that if the most happie in mens opinions doe counterpo [...]z [...] his haps with his mis­happes, hee shall iudge himselfe vnhappie: and hee iudge him happie, [Page] who had hee beene set three dayes in his place, woulde giue it ouer to him that came next: yea, sooner then hee, who shall consider, in all the goods that euer he hath had, the euils he hath endured to get thē, and hauing them to re­taine and keepe them (I speake of the pleasures that may bee kept, and not of those that wither in a moment) will iudge of himselfe, and by himselfe, that the keeping it selfe of the greatest felicitie in this world, is full of vnhap­pinesse [Page] and infelicitie. Conclude then, that Childe-hood is but a foolish simplicity; youth a vaine heate; man­hood, a painefull care­fulnesse; and olde age, a noisome languishing: that our playes are but tears, our pleasures fea­uers of the minde, our goods, rackes, and tor­mentes, our honours heauie vanities, our rest, vnreste: that passing from age to age, is but passing from euill to euill, and from the lesse vnto the greater: & that alwayes it is but one [Page] waue driuing on ano­ther, vntill we be arriued at the hauen of death. Conclude I say, that life is but a wishing for the future, and a bewailing of the past: a loathing of what we haue tasted, and a longing for that wee haue not tasted: a vaine memorie of the state past, and a doubt­full expectation of the state to come: Finally, that in all our life there is nothing certaine, no­thing assured, but the certaintie & vncertainty of death. Behold, now comes death vnto vs: [Page] Behold hir, whose ap­proache wee so much [...]eare. Wee are now to consider whether shee be such as we are made belieue: and whether wee ought so greatly to flie hir, as commonly we doe. We are afraid of her: but like little children, of a vizor, or of the Images of Hecate. We haue hir in horror; but because we cōceiue her not such as shee is, but ougly, terrible, and hideous: such as it plea­seth the Painters to represent vnto vs on a wall. Wee flie before [Page] hir: but it is, because (foretaken with such vaine imaginations) we giue not our selues lei­sure to marke hir. But stay wee, stand we sted­fast, looke we hir in the face▪ wee shall finde hir quite other then shee is painted vs, and altoge­ther of other counte­naunce then our mise­rable life. Death makes an end of this life. This life is a perpetuall mise­rie and tempest: Death then is the issue of our miseries and entraunce of the port where wee shall ride in safetie from [Page] all windes. And should wee feare that which withdraweth vs from misery, or which drawes vs into our hauen? Yea but you will say, it is a paine to dye. Admit it bee: so is there in cu­ring of a wound: Such is the Worlde, that one euill cannot bee cured but by another; to heale a contusion, must bee made an incisi­on. You will say, there is difficultie in the pas­sage: So is there no ha­uen, no port, wherein­to the entraunce is not straite and combersom. [Page] No good thing is to bee bought in this World with other thē the coyne of labour & paine. The entrance indeed is hard, if our selues make it hard, comming thither with a tormented spirit, a troubled minde, a wa­uering and irresolute thought. But bring we quietnes of minde, con­stancie, and full resolu­tion, wee shall not finde any danger or difficultie at all. Yet what is the paine that death brings vs? Nay, what can shee do with those paines we feele? Wee accuse hir [Page] of all the euils we abide in ending our life, and consider not how ma­nie more woundes or grieuous sickenesses we haue endured without death: or how many more vehement paines we haue suffered in this life, in the which wee called euen hir to our succour. All the paines our life yeeldes vs, at the last houre wee im­pute to death: not marking, that life begun and continued in al sorts of paine, must also nece­ssarily ende in paine. Not marking (I say) that [Page] it is the remainder of our life, not death that tormenteth vs: the end of our nauigation that paines vs, not the ha­uen wee are to enter: which is nothing else but a safegarde against all windes. We com­plaine of death, where wee should complaine of life: as if one hauing beene long sicke, and beginning to bee well, should accuse his health of his last paines, and not the reliques of his disease. Tell me, what is it else to bee deade, but to bee no more li­uing [Page] in the world? Ab­solutely and simplie not to bee in the World, is it any paine? Did wee then feele anie paine, when as yet wee were not? Haue wee euer more resem­blance of Death, then when wee sleepe? Or e­uer more rest, then at that time? Now if this be no paine, why accuse wee death of the paines our life giues vs at our departure? vnlesse also wee will fondly accuse the time when as yet we were not, of the paines wee felt at our birth. If [Page] the comming in be with teares, is it wonder that such bee the going out? If the beginning of our being, bee the begin­ning of our paine, is it maruell that such be the ending? But if our not being in times past hath beene without paine, & all this being contrari­wise full of paine: whom should we by reason ac­cuse of the last paines? the not being to come, or the remnant of this present beeing? Wee thinke we dye not, but when we yeelde vp our last gaspe. But if wee [Page] mark well, wee dye eue­rie daie, euerie houre, euery moment. Wee apprehende death as a thing vnusual to vs: and yet haue nothing so cō ­mon in vs. Our liuing is but continuall dying: looke how much wee liue, we dye how much we increase, our life de­creases. We enter not a step into life, but wee enter a step into death. Who hath liued a third part of his yeares, hath a third part of himselfe dead: VVho halfe his yeares, is already halfe dead. Of our life, all [Page] the time past is dead, the present liues and dyes at once, and the future likewise shall dye. The past is no more, the fu­ture is not yet, the pre­sent is, and no more is. Briefly, this whole life is but a death: it is as a candle lighted in our bodies: in one the wind makes it melte awaie, in another blowes it cleane out, many times ere it bee halfe bur­ned: in others it en­dureth to the ende. Howesoeuer it bee, looke howe much it shineth, so much it [Page] burneth: hir shining is her burning: her lighte is a vanishing smoke: her last fire, her last wike, and her last droppe of moisture. So is it in the life of man, life and death in man is all one. If wee call the last breath death, so must wee all the rest: all proceeding from one place, and all in one manner. One onely difference there is be­tween this life, and that we call death: that du­ring the one, wee haue alwaies whereof to die: and after the other, ther [Page] remaineth only where­of to liue. In summe, e­uen hee that thinketh death simply to bee the end of man, ought not to feare it: in asmuch as who desireth to liue long, desireth to dye longer: and who fea­reth soone to dye, fea­reth (to speake proper­ly) least he may not lon­ger dye.

But vnto vs, brought vppe in a more holie schoole, death is a far other thing: neither need we, as the Pagans, of consolations against death: but that death [Page] serue vs as a consolati­on against all sorts of af­fliction: so that we must not onely strengthen our selues, as they, not to feare it, but accustom our selues to hope for it. For vnto vs it is not a departing from paine and euill, but an accesse vnto all good: not the ende of life, but the ende of death, and the begin­ning of life. Better, saith Salomon, is the day of death, then the day of birth: and why? because it is not to vs a last day, but the dawning of an euerlasting day. No [Page] more shall wee haue, in that glorious light, either sorrowe for the past, or expectation of the future: for al shal be there present vnto vs, & that present shall neuer more passe. No more shall wee powre out our selues in vaine and pain­full pleasures: for wee shal bee filled with true, and substantiall plea­sures. No more shall we paine our selues in hea­ping togither these ex­halatiōs of the earth; for the heauēs shall be ours: and this masse of earth, which euer drawes vs to­wardes [Page] the earth, shall bee buried in the earth. No more shall we ouer­wearie our selues with mounting from degree to degree, and from ho­nour to honour: for wee shall highly bee raised a­boue all heights of the world; and, from on high, laugh at the folly of all those wee once admired, who fight to­gether for a point, & as little children for lesse then an apple. No more (to be briefe) shall we haue cōbats in our selues: for our flesh shal be dead, and our spirit in full life: [Page] our passion buried, and our reason in per­fect libertie. Our soule, deliuered out of this foule and filthie prison, (where, by long conti­nuing, it is growen into an habite of croo­kednesse) shall againe drawe her owne breath, recognize her aunci­ent dwelling, and a­gaine remember her former glory and digni­ty. This flesh (my friend) which thou feelest, this body which thou tou­chest, is not man. Man is from heauen: heauen is his countrey and his [Page] ayre. That hee is in his body, is but by way of exile and confinement. Man indeede is soule & spirit: Man is rather of celestial and diuine qua­litie, wherein is nothing grosse nor material. This body, such as now it is, is but the barke and shell of the soule: which must necessarily be bro­ken, if wee will be hat­ched: if we will indeed liue and see the light. Wee haue, it seemes, some life, & some sense in vs: but are so crooked and contracted, that wee cannot so much as [Page] stretch out our wings, much lesse take our flight towardes hea­uen, vntill wee bee dis­burthened of this earth­ly burthen. Wee looke, but through false spec­tacles: wee haue eyes, but ouer growen with pearles: wee thinke we see, but it is in a dreame, wherein we see nothing but deceit. All that wee haue, and all that wee knowe, is but abuse and vanitie. Death onely can restore vs both life and light: and we thinke (so blockish we are) that she comes to rob vs of thē.

[Page]We say we are Chri­stians: that we beleeue, after this mortall, a life immortall: that death is but a separation of the bodie and soule: and that the soule returnes to her happie abode, there to ioy in God, who onely is all good: that at the last day it shall againe take the body, which shall no more bee subiect to corruption. With these goodly discourses wee fill all our bookes: and in the mean while, when it comes to the point, the verie name of death as the horriblest thing [Page] in the World makes vs quake and tremble. If we beleeue as we speak, what is that wee feare? to bee happie? to bee at our ease? to bee more content in a momēt, thē we might be in the lon­gest mortall life that might be? or must not we of force confesse, that we beleeue it but in part? that all wee haue is but wordes? that all our discourses, as of these hardy trencher-knights, are but vaunting and va­nitie? Some you shall see, that will say: I knowe well that I [Page] passe out of this life into a better; I make no doubte of it: one­ly I feare the midway step, that I am to step ouer. Weake hearted creatures! they will kill themselues, to gette their miserable liuing: suffer infinite paines, and infi­nite woundes at another mans pleasure: passe in­finite deathes without dying, for things of nought, for thinges that perish, and perchance make them perish with them. But when they haue but one pase to passe to bee at rest, [Page] not for a day, but for euer; not an indiffe­rent rest, but such as mans minde cannot comprehend: they trem­ble, their harts fail them, they are affraide: and yet the grounde of their harme is nothing but feare. Let them neuer tell mee, they appre­hend the paine: it is but an abuse; a purpose to conceale the little faith they haue.

No, no, they would rather languish of the gowte, the sciatica, anie disease whatsoeuer: then dy one sweet death with [Page] the least paine possible: rather pyningly dye limme after limme, out-liuinge as it were, all their senses, moti­ons, and actions, then speedily dye, immediat­ly to liue for euer. Let them tell mee no more that they would in this worlde learne to liue: for euerie one is there­unto sufficiently instruc­ted in himselfe, and not one but is cunning in the trade.

Nay rather they should learne in this Worlde to dye; and once to dye wel, dye dayly in themselues: [Page] so prepared, as if the end of euerie dayes worke, were the ende of our life. Now contrariwise there is nothing to their eares more offensiue then to heare of death. Senselesse people! wee abandon our life to the ordinarie hazardes of warre, for seauen frankes pay: are for­most in an assault, for a little bootie: goe into places whence there is no hope of returning, with daunger manie times both of bodies and soules. But to free vs from all hazards, [Page] to winne thinges inesti­mable, to enter an eter­nall life, wee faint in the passage of one pase, wherein is no difficultie, but in opinion: yea, wee so faint, that were it not of force wee must passe, and that God in despite of vs will doe vs a good turne, hardly should wee finde in all the World one, how vn­happie or wretched so­euer, that would euer passe.

Another will say, had I liued till fiftie or sixtie yeares, I should haue beene contented, I [Page] should not haue cared to liue longer: but to dye so young is no reason. I should haue knowen the world before I had left it. Simple soule! in this worlde there is neither young nor old.

The longest age in comparison of all▪ that is past, or all that is to come, is nothing: and when thou hast liued to the age thou nowe desirest, all the past will bee nothing: thou wilt still gape for that is to come. The past will yeelde thee but sorrow, the future but expecta­tion, [Page] the present noe contentment. As rea­die thou wilt then be to redemaund longer res­pite, as before. Thou fliest thy creditour from moneth to moneth, and time to time, as ready to pay the last day, as the first: thou seekest but to bee ac­quitted.

Thou hast tasted all which the worlde estee­meth pleasures: not one of them is new vn­to thee. By drinking of­tener, thou shalt bee neuer a white the more satisfied: for the body [Page] thou cariest, like the bo­red paile of Danaus daughters, will neuer be full. Thou mayst soo­ner weare it out, then wearie thy selfe with vsing or rather abusing it.

Thou crauest long life to cast it away, to spende it on worthlesse de­lights, to misspend it on vanities. Thou art co­uetous in desiring, and prodigall in spending▪ Say not thou findest fault with the Court, or the Palace: but that thou desirest longer to serue the Common wealth, to [Page] serue thy Countrey, to serue GOD. Hee that set thee on worke knowes vntill what day, and what houre, thou shouldest bee at it: hee well knowes how to di­rect his worke. Should hee leaue thee there longer, perchance thou wouldest marre all. But if hee will pay thee libe­rally for thy labour, as much for halfe a dayes worke, as for a whole: as much for hauing wrought till noone, as for hauing borne all the heate of the day: art thou not [Page] so much the more to thanke and prayse him? but if thou examine thine owne conscience, thou lamentest not the cause of the widow, and the orphane, which thou hast left depen­ding in iudgement: not the dutie of a sonne, of a father, or of a friend, which thou pretendest thou wouldest perform: not the ambassage for the Common wealth, which thou wert euen readie to vndertake: not the seruice thou desirest to doe vnto God, who knowes much better [Page] how to serue him-selfe of thee, then thou of thy selfe.

It is thy houses and gardens thou lamentest, thy imperfect plots and purposes, thy life (as thou thinkest) imper­fecte: which by noe dayes, nor yeares, nor a­ges, might be perfected: and yet thy selfe migh­test perfecte in a mo­ment, couldest thou but thinke in good ear­nest that where it ende it skils not, so that it ende well.

Now to ende wel this life, is only to ende it [Page] willingly: followinge with full consent the will and direction of God, and not suffe­ring vs to bee drawen by the necessitie of de­stinie.

To end it willingly, we must hope, and not feare death. To hope for it, wee must certainely looke, after this life, for a better life. To looke for that, wee must feare God: whom whoso well feareth, feareth indeede nothing in this world, and hopes for all things in the other. To one well resolued in these [Page] points, death canne be but sweete and agree­able: knowing, that through it hee is to enter into a place of all ioyes,

The griefe that may bee therein shall bee allaied with sweetnesse: the sufferaunce of ill, swallowed in the confi­dence of good: the sting of Death it selfe shall bee dead, which is nothinge else but Feare. Nay, I will say more, not onely all the euilles conceiued in death shall bee to him nothing: but hee shall [Page] euen scorne alll the mishappes men re­doubt in this life, and laugh at all these ter­rours.

For I pray what can he feare, whose death is his hope? Thinke wee to banish him his coūtrey? Hee knowes hee hath a Countrey otherwhere, whence wee cannot ba­nish him: and that all these countreyes are but Innes, out of which hee must part at the will of his host.

To put him in prison? a more straite prison he cannot haue, then his [Page] owne bodie, more fil­thie, more darke, more full of rackes and tor­ments.

To kill him and take him out of the world? thats it he hopes for: that is it with all his heart hee aspires vnto. By fire, by sworde, by famine, by sickenesse? within three yeares, within three dayes, within three houres, all is one to him: all is one at what gate, or at what time he passe out of this miserable life. For his businesses are euer ended, his af­faires all dispatched; [Page] and by what way he shal go out, by the same hee shall enter into a most happie and euerlasting life.

Men canne threa­ten him but death, and death is all hee promi­seth himselfe: the worst they canne doe, is, to make him dye, and that is the best hee hopes for. The threatninges of tyrants are to him pro­mises, the swordes of his greatest enemies drawen in his fauour: for as much as hee knowes that threatning him death, they threa­ten [Page] him life: and the most mortall woundes can make him but im­mortall: Who feares God, feares not death: and who feares it not, feares not the worst of this life.

By this reckening, you will tell me, death is a thing to bee wished for: and to passe from so much euil, to so much good, a man should (it seemeth) cast away his life. Surely, I feare not, that for any good wee expect, wee will hasten one steppe the faster: though the spirit aspire, [Page] the body (it drawes with it) withdrawes it euer sufficiently towards the earth. Yet is it not that I conclude. Wee must seeke to mortifie our flesh in vs, and to cast the World out of vs: but to caste our selues out of the world is in no sort permitted vs. The Christian ought willingly to depart out of this life, but not co­wardly to runne away. The Christian is ordai­ned by GOD to fight therein: and cannot leaue his place without incurring reproach and [Page] infamie. But if it please the graund Captaine to recall him, let him take the retrait in good part, and with good will o­bey it. For hee is not borne for himselfe, but for God: of whom hee holdes his life at farme, as his tenant at will, to yeelde him the profites. It is in the Land-lord to take it from him, not in him to surrender it, when a conceite takes him. Diest thou young? prayse God, as the Ma­riner▪ that hath had a good winde, soone to bring him to the Port. [Page] Dyest thou Olde? prayse him likewise: for if thou hast had lesse winde, it may be thou hast also had lesse waues. But thinke not at thy pleasure to go faster or softer: for the winde is not in thy power; and in steade of taking the shortest way to the Ha­uen, thou maiest hap­pely suffer shipwracke. God calleth home frō his worke, one in the morning, another at noone, and another at night. One hee exer­ciseth till the first sweat, another hee sunne-bur­neth, [Page] another hee roa­steth & drieth through­ly. But of all his hee leaues all to rest, and giues them al their hire, euerie one in his time. Who leaues his worke before God call him, loseth it: and who importunes him be­fore the time, loseth his reward. Wee must rest vs in his wil, who in the middest of our trou­bles sets vs at rest.

To ende, wee ought neither to hate this life for the toyles therein; for it is slouth and cow­ardise: nor loue it for [Page] the delights; which is folly and vanitie: but serue vs of it, to serue God in it, who after it shal place vs in true qui­etnesse, and replenish vs with pleasures which shal neuer more perish. Neither ought wee to flie death; for it is chil­dish to feare it: and in flying from it, wee meete it. Much lesse to seeke it, for that is te­meritie: nor euerie one that would die, can die. As much despaire in the one, as cowardise in the other: in neither any kinde of magnanimi­tie. [Page] It is enough that we constantly and continu­ally waite for her com­ming, that she may nei­uer finde vs vnprouided. For as there is nothing more certaine then death, so is ther nothing more vncertain then the houre of death, knowne onely, o God, the onely Author of life & death, to whom wee all ought endeuour both to liue & die.

The 13. of May, 1590. AT WILTON.