WHilest the Ro­man State was govern'd, or ra­ther mangled between the Fencer, the Fidler, the Jugler, and the Player, liv'd Cecinna Pae­tus, sometimes Consull, a man every way worthy that high title, of a Spirit moulded for great de­signes, that would breake through all interruptions to advance his Honour: Hee, a faithfull friend to Scribonianus, in whose fa­ction [Page 2] he had engaged his life and fortunes; after his overthrow was taken prisoner by the Souldiers of Claudius Nero. When hee was taking Ship, (a Triumph for Rome) he de­sired the Officers that Arria his Wife might ac­companie him; holding it a grand discourtesie, since shee had shared his prosperous fortunes, to deny her his miseries: but the Souldiers, of men the best studied in crueltie, were more ambitious to tyrannize over his mind (the greater Triumph) than his body; and well advised how sorrowes are substracted by being divi­ded, denyed his most pas­sionate [Page 3] prayers, and hoi­sed saile. Many of them were flies engendred from his heat, who now fled him as an inhospitable clyme, too cold to nourish flat­tery. They beheld him as one whose misfortunes were infectious, not to bee sympathiz'd; or as a Rock that stands the shock of the impetuous Wind, to ruine those that touch it. Adversity is the true touchstone of Vertue and Friendship; Friend­ship followes the good fortune, but Vertue the bad. That calmenesse of mind which attends some high fortunes, is grounded rather upon Policie than Vertue: hee that swels [Page 4] when he is full, intends to break himselfe; who then will be proud when he is prosperous? As it is an argument of basenesse to bee elated; so it is true magnanimity, not to bee dejected. Friendly offi­ces, like Rivulets to the O­cean, are tributes reflecting to the fortunes, not the men: let these once de­cline, the other like Frie will swimme against the sinking streame: or like Mice, shelter themselves from the approaching storme. So Paetus out liv'd his happinesse, and his friends: onely his deare Arria, having hired a Fish-boat, followed along by the Shore of Sclavonia; so [Page 5] noble was her piety; as if shee did congratulate those extremities, as the tryall of that unshaken faith, that well-knit affe­ction, not to bee ravel'd from her Paetus by the strongest battery of for­tune. With so meane ad­vantage as one small Bark, so small attendance as one mean Fisherman, no Saile but Resolution, no Pilot but that high Spirit that threatned destinie, and dar'd the utmost pow­er of Fate, shee imbarqu'd her selfe into the dangers of the Seas. When shee was arriv'd at Rome, and in the Emperours pre­sence, Iunia the Widow of Scribonianus, chiefe [Page 6] partner in her captivity, did familiarly accost her: to whom with words made for disdaine, shee made reply; doest thou live, (said shee) shame of our sexe, and monument of our shame! Thou, in whose armes Scribonianus thy Husband was slaine! What stands between thee and death, now hee is re­moved that hindred thy prospect? Unworthy wo­man, that prizest loathed life above thine honour, and lovest thy selfe above thy Lord! Arria, thy courage (said Iunia) is ill plac'd: the Gods that sent us hither, gave us life as their greatest blessing, not to be appropriated to [Page 7] our selves, but communi­cated to our friends and Countrey; if wee should live onely to our selves, wee should live onely to undoe all; since this great All subsists by each parti­cular: is then the whole of us our owne, when the least part of us is not on­ly ours? Grant our lives were intirely ours; yet are they not of that small consequence, that like our clothes wee may devest us of them when our mis-guided fancies tell us they are out of fashion. Then if Scribonianus (to whose departed soule thou slan­derest my affection) had held an end like this, an end of misery, or a way to [Page 8] happinesse and honour; hee had counsel'd mee to die, and had not liv'd him­selfe to have been slaine. Fond Woman (replyed Arria) how thine owne arguments condemn thee! If the Gods give us life as their greatest blessing, then surely blessednesse is the quality and vertue of life: when they withdraw this, they call us (if our faint soules could heare them) nay, even nature her selfe whispers to us to bee gone to some better place. If our Friends and Countrey have part, or all of us, to whom do we be­long, if they discard us? must wee live wretched till the decay of nature [Page 9] doth remove us? So pati­ently the poor silly Cot­tager awaites the good houre his house shall fall upon his head. If Scribo­nianus thy Husband had not dyed honourably in the Camp, (so great an o­pinion have I of his Ver­tue) hee had dyed as ho­nourably in his Tent: but when thou leav'st the World, the World shall not leave to say of thee, that Iunia outliv'd her Vertue, and her Love di­ed sooner then her selfe.

The Emperour by these passages perceiv'd where­to shee tended, that shee would live no longer then till shee had a power to die; commanded her to [Page 10] be streightly guarded: but this restraint was rather a spur then a bridle to her actions travelling to fame: for shee enraged that her death was denyed her, flung out of the Chaire where shee sate, and vio­lently ranne her head a­gainst the Wall, with which blow, shee much wounded, fell into a dead­ly swoone: but as soon as her keepers had recall'd the unwelcom'd life to her, the life that griev'd her, not that it was gone, but returned; she thus be­spake them: You see how vainly you imploy your care to keep a prisoner that will be free; you may make mee die with more [Page 11] paine, and lesse honour; but not to die at all, this is beyond your power: whilst I wear a hand com­manded by a heart that knowes no feare, I shall not despaire of death, nor shall I long protract a loathed breath in such wretched times that make life but the nursery of sor­rowes, and seminary of misfortunes. Some few dayes she wasted in com­forting, and condoling with her friends the gene­rall calamities wherein the most vertuous were involv'd, under that mon­ster of men, Nero, then ty­rannizing. Then she re­tired into Paetus lodging, and there thus spake her [Page 12] last: The soule impri­son'd in a necessity of be­ing miserable, must break through all fence of na­ture into an honourable end. This very precept nature her selfe imprin­teth in us; shee denyeth not the iron-bound Slave a death to free him from the toylsome Oare; doth she deny the Sun-scorch'd Pilgrim his nights sleep? no, nor the world-beaten man his eternall rest. Sure­ly then, shee allowes us to shake off her interest, when we are sunke below her succour. Paetus, thy life is not link'd to nature, but to fame: fall then by thine owne sword, and thy spirit wound up in thine [Page 13] honour, mounts to the Pa­laces of the immortall Gods: If thou faintest under so brave a resoluti­on, or enviest thy selfe the glory of thy end; know, that ere two dayes expire, thou thy selfe expirest: but how? by whose hands? beheaded by a base hang­man, offered up a tame sa­crifice to insated tyran­ny. Awake the Roman in thee; shall high Paetus (whom when the World unworthy of his Vertue, ingratefully flung off) claspe broken hopes and fortunes, to save himselfe with the shipwrack of his fame? shall hee, to whom thousand servile necks did bow, stoop to the base­nesse [Page 14] to beg life, while his death is in his hands? Cato and Scipio (whom this age is more prone to adore then admire) held it not honourable to begg life, though they might expect more from Caesars Vertue. But what canst thou hope for from a Ty­rant abjur'd by all the Ver­tues, one that approves nothing in Soveraigntie but Power, and that gui­ded by Passion to insati­ate revenge? Then (as if shee had distrusted her Husbands spirit) shee drew out the poyniard from his side: Paetus, (said shee) how I have not en­tertain'd life, nor death but for thy sake, this last act [Page 15] of honour be my witnesse. Doe this Paetus: then she plung'd the dagger into her heart, and having drawne it out, shee deli­vered it to him againe; trust my departing breath, Paetus, (said shee) not the wound it gives mee, but thee, afflicts mee. There died the noble Arria, there did that soule flie to eternity; that soule that was too great to owe her liberty to any power but to her owne. Paetus blushing to be indebted to a president for his death, especially his Wife; took to him the dagger that was so lately guilded in his Arria's bloud, and with these [Page 16] words hastned to his end. Had fortune answered my resolution, and crown'd my enterprize with hap­pinesse; I had entered Rome, envied by the most noble, not pitied by the basest. I now see how the successe of humane af­faires depends not upon valour, but uncertain fates; and our actions elevated by the height of spirit, do but intrench us deeper into misery. But though I am bereft of all the ad­vantages of fortune, and of honour: yet am I Ma­ster of a mind unconquer­ed; over which nor Tyran­nie nor Fate shall tri­umph. Then embracing her dead, hee sigh'd, and [Page 17] said; Pardon, blest spirit, my too long absence from thee; I have borrowed this little leave of life but to admire thy Vertue, which being above my wonder, I must soare unto that height where it is as­cended, to search out her true perfection: Pardon my soule that she ascends not to thee in an extasie; faine would shee: but this dagger claimes her liber­ty that gave thee thine. Then he thrust it into his heart, and there the dag­ger acted his last and most faithfull service; slew his Master.

LVcius Annaeus Se­neca the Philoso­pher, and Tutor to Nero the Emperour, was Lord of great Reve­nues, to which his vertue, not his fortune was his ti­tle; his mind was richly embroydered with all the studied ornaments of lear­ning; a good part of his life hee exercised in the Court, where while the Princes ears were open to Philosophy, his heart and hand were both unbent to him; his favour and his [Page 24] noblenesse, like rivalls, striv'd which should with most devotion serve their Soveraigne: but when debauchery usurp'd upon the Emperour, the Tutor was devanced and disgra­ced. In all these extremi­ties Seneca in himself was so well poiz'd, that nei­ther the greatnesse of for­tune could bribe him into riot, the height of know­ledge into pride, nor the Courtier into flattery: nor did he know any man great enough to make him lesse; nor could his mind, which Philosophie had plac'd above the World, decline with for­tune. In his old age hee married Pompea Paulina a [Page 25] young, faire, and nobly de­scended Roman Lady, a Lady of that worth, that no Roman but hee that did enjoy her, did deserve her. Nero having let loose the reines of reason, and himselfe to all licenci­ousnesse, so tyranniz'd, as if he did perswade him­selfe that an Emperour was above the Law, and must also bee without it: what his will prescrib'd, his tyranny did execute, and so, as if his actions were accountable to no power but his owne. A­mong his chiefe and most remarked cruelties, it is not the least hee exprest against his Tutor Seneca; to him hee sends his Sa­tellites [Page 26] to denounce his death: the fashion of those times was, when a person of qualitie was condemn'd to die; hee was allowed the li­berty to chuse his death, and a time proportion'd according to the Empe­rours rage, to dispose of his affaires: but if his re­venge flowed so high, that it would brook no delay: then hee enjoyd no time to doe any thing but die: if the condemned resisted his decrees; then he com­monly appointed, that by some slave hee should bee barbarously murdered: but the nobler Romans held it nearer way to ho­nour with their owne [Page 27] hands to anticipate their fates, and in unhappinesse staid not the enforcement of tyranny or nature. Se­neca, with an undaunted looke receiving the sen­tence of his death, called for inke and paper to write his last Will and Testament; which the Captaine denying him, he turn'd about, and then bespake his friends: You see, my loving friends, (said hee) I cannot gra­tifie your affections with my fortunes: I must there­fore leave you my life, and my Philosophy, to enrich your minds with the inva­luable and nere-to-be-de­priv'd-of treasure of pre­cept and example. I shall [Page 28] desire you by all the tyes of friendship, and by the glory you shall purchase by it, to endeare my life and death (which shall not staine the honour of my life) unto your memo­ry: then gently reproving them who seem'd too sor­rowfull, hee said; to what other purpose have I fur­nished you with precepts of Philosophie, then to arme your minds against the assaults of Fortune? Is Nero's tyrannie un­knowne to you? What man is Master of his owne life under him that massa­cred his Brother, that us'd upon his Mother that cruelty which never yet knew name? Then hee [Page 29] turn'd him to Paulina, in whom sorrow had sweld it selfe so high, that rather then break out, it threat­ned to break her heart: My Deare, (said hee) I am now going to act what I have long taught; my houre is come, and no­thing so welcome to me as my death; now I am unloaded of this flesh that clogs my soule, I shall with more ease ascend un­to eternity, to enjoy a con­dition without a change, an happinesse without a period: wherefore, my dearest Paulina, forbeare thy too immoderate passi­on, lest thy grief disgrace my end, and thou seem to value my death above [Page 30] mine honour: enjoy thy youth, but still retaine those seeds of vertue, [...]herewith thy mind is [...]chly stored: I confesse, for thy sake I could bee content to live, when I consider that in my breast lives a young Lady, to whom my life may bee advantage. Paulina's love now raising up her cou­rage, and her courage her dejected spirit; Think not Seneca, (said she) that like your Physitian, I will leave you when the hope of life forsakes you; but I will follow like your Wife, your fortune. This resolve shall tell you how much your life and do­ctrine hath availed your [Page 31] Paulina. When can I die well, but then when I can­not live well? When I am bereft of thee, in whom all my joyes are so wealthily summ'd up, that thy losse will make my life my greatest curse; then will I die in honour, and think it fitter for my fame, then linger out my life in sorrow. Trust mee, my Paulina (said Seneca) I cannot but admire thy love, knowing from what height of vertue it pro­ceeds: as I will not envie thee thy death; so I wish a glory may await thy end, great as the constancie that advanc'd thee to it. Then he commanded his Surgeon to cut the veins [Page 32] of both their armes, that they might bleed to death: but Seneca's veines, shrunk up through age and absti­nence, denyed his bloud a speedy course; there­fore his thighs were also launced: but lest his pains might insinuate too farre into Paulina's torments, and a new addition of sorrow meeting with her losse of bloud, might make her faint, hee sought to mitigate her feares by the discourse of death.

Why should (said he) this monster nothing so affright us? while we are living, wee are dying, for life is but a dying being; when we are dead, wee are after death: where then, [Page 33] or what is death? It is that inconsiderable atome of time that divides the body from the soule: what is it then in this af­flicts us? Not the rarity, for all the world that is not gone before, will fol­low us: is it the separa­tion, and tyed to that the jealousie how we shall bee dealt with? upon this hinge, I confesse, turnes the wickeds fear: but the Stoick, whom Philoso­phy hath taught the art of living well, death frees from misery, and wafts him to the haven of his happinesse. For this ne­cessity of death, wee are bound to thank the Gods; for it redeems from a [Page 34] worse of being eternally miserable. The separati­on, as it is naturall, so it is the only meanes condu­cing to our better being. The body being the cor­ruptible and ponderous part, falls naturally to the earth whence it was first elemented: the soul ethe­riall gaines by this losse; for being purg'd from the drosse of weight, and of corruption, is made hea­vens richest ore; so refin'd, that the great Gods image may bee stamp'd upon it, and ascends unto the skies from whence it first de­scended. Nor doe I hold this dis-junction to be e­ternal; for when the world by the revolution of times [Page 35] and ages, whirls about in­to her first Chaos, then shall they meet again ne­ver to bee sundred. The soul shal be so purified by the immortall Gods: that it shall neither hope, nor feare, nor grieve; that it shall bee freed from all those discording passions, and affections, that here transport it from it selfe. The body so spirited that it shall know no necessity of nourishment, and there­fore no weight, alteration, or mortality. Of great consequence then is death to our wel-being; since be­fore it wee can account none happy; we see it end all miseries; we see it make none miserable; why then [Page 36] should we feare it, or con­demne it? What have the wisest thought it, but the Port wee all must touch? He that scarce arrives at half a man hath as little to quarrell at his fate, as hee that in a weeke reacheth his haven, whereas by the troubled winds he might bee bound up in the more troubled seas a year. Nor is hee that is his owne death, being condemn'd to die, shipwrack'd even at the very shoare: for ho­nour and the Emperour allow the liberty, and to die by the most abject of men, an hangman, is to die dishonourable. For this boone I gratulate the Gods: but more that they [Page 37] are pleas'd to call the per­fect Seneca unto their joyes, the Seneca that hath not yet outliv'd himselfe, nor return'd into his in­fancy. There Paulina, not through feare (knowing none but what proceeded from her love) but through decaying nature fainted; therefore Seneca taking his leave caus'd her to be remov'd into the next chamber. In Seneca all these incisions were not of force to force out life; he therefore commanded his Physitian to poyson him; but wanting naturall heat to convey it to his heart, the poyson was ra­ther a nourishment then a destruction to his nature: [Page 38] then he was laid in warme bathes, by this forc'd heat the poyson in his full source, and violence ra­ged in his witherd body. While he had life he dis­cours'd freely of life and death; his end approach­ing, all bloudy in his bath hee bath'd his head, and said, I vow this to Iupiter the Deliverer; Nature at the last conquerd by those strong assaults, yeelded up her Fort (which weak­nesse had so song fortifi­ed) to death her common enemy. So liv'd the fa­mous Seneca, and so hee died that with the Gods his soul's immortaliz'd, with the world his fame.

Nero informed of Pau­lina [Page 39] for whom hee seem'd much troubled: for though pitie had no en­trance at his yron breast: yet feare the Tyrants ty­rant [...]old him that her death (being one of the most nobly allyed in Rome) would make his tyranny and hate the greater: hee therefore sent with all possible speed to recall her life now po­sting to her stage, and en­tring the dark confines of death. Her servants receiving the command unbound her, and clos'd up her incisions, she more than halfe dead, devoyd of sense, thus against her will return'd unto her life, and very honourably: for [Page 40] that of life shee lost, did witnesse to the world, that nothing but want of pow­er restrain'd her from her death.

WHen Rome, in the glory of her active Spirits, had prest out her youth more ambiti­ous of honour then life; for the common exployt, the siege of Ardea: Sex­tus Tarquinius entertain'd the night with the Ro­man Nobility in the pride of luxury and riot: The ruines of Kingdomes were sacrificed to Bacchus, the sea and land plow'd up to appease ingenuous glut­tony. They, as frolick as [Page 46] youth, and wine that made them so; unlock the trea­sures of their hearts, their Wives, and their beauties, to the admiration of un­sound eares: But Collatine the most justly prodigall of his Wives fame, tels them; nor Italy, nor the World holds her, that stands in parallell of won­der with the faire and ver­tuous Lucrecia. Tarquin divided between astonish­ment and rage, that Col­latine his servant, should be his Soveraigne in hap­pinesse: mounted upon the wings of lust and fury, flies to Rome, where his eyes having encountred the Idoll of his heart, and he the noone of night to [Page 47] enjoy it; with his sword and taper breaks into her chamber, into her pre­sence: shee affrighted at the sword, and blasted by the light that lust gave life to, trembling like a prey with more horrour then attention, hears him thus bespeak her. Madam, wonder not at my unlookt for arrivall at Collatium, or at this visit so unseaso­nable: but applaud the wonder of your beauty; the silent night will speak my purpose, when in my rest­lesse bed a flame kindled from your fair eyes burn'd through my soule, con­sum'd my Countries ser­vice, my hopes of honour, then which nothing but [Page 48] your faire selfe is so near unto my thoughts. Let not the slave Fear intrude upon your princely breast, nor this steele divorce those Roses from the Li­lies, drawne to hew out a way through all obsta­cles, to encounter Para­dise. The same love that arm'd those eyes with Lightning, armes these hands with Thunder; bids them grapple with great Iove, were hee rivall in my affection. This night I must enjoy thee Lucrecia, or on thy name engrave an infamy, that Time, nor Times heire, Eternity, shal ne're devoure: If thou move or hand, or voice for ayd; thy groome I'le [Page 49] slay with thee; then fling his loathed trunk on thine, and sweare I found him fast manacled in thy embraces: cease then to bee faire, or to bee cruell, and returne me the Prince ravish'd from mee, by the all commanding beauties that attend thee. The sin unknown is unacted, nor shall the sowrest vertue mis-read those blushes the liveliest pieces of inno­cence. Accuse not Na­ture of tyranny, she made not so delicate an object to tempt, but satisfie the appetite: yeeld then; or this sword must enter that adamant, from whence all pitie is barakado'd. She conjur'd with this tyran­ny [Page 50] of complement, with as undistracted words as could bee pump'd from the deepest confusion of thoughts, makes her re­ply.

Renowned Sir, let true pitie as really enter your eares, as false is banished mine. In Tarquines shape I entertain'd you; wrong not the Prince so farre, as to prostrate his fame to so inglorious an action; hee that hath the eyes of all Rome fix'd on his ver­tues, and must hereafter look like a Prince in Sto­ry, shall hee have all his glories sullied by the conquest of a woman? Shall he bee read King of all the Romans but him­selfe? [Page 51] wanting this Sove­raignty, all his honours shall be buried in his infa­my: Then punish Great Sir, the Traitor to your vertue, this face; teare it to a loathing; so shall you appease the lewd rebelli­on of your bloud, and make your victories, still ending in your selfe, dis­course for all posterity. But if you are conquer'd by your lust, you shall re­venge your worth in her dishonour, who shall not be unpitied of men, or un­revenged of the Gods. This said, shee wept the rest. But he not daunted at that majesty of sorrow that sate inthron'd in cry▪ stall, nor at her words that [Page 52] would charme the most inhumane: but rather whet, then refin'd in passi­on, unloads his lust, and with the night posts un­discover'd to Ardea. No sooner had the Morne un­chain'd the prisoners of the Night, and spread his light (welcome both to miserable and happie) through the vast regions of the Skies; that light that was so lovely to her, because it came to light her to her end: but shee sends to Ardea for Colla­tine and Brutus, her Hus­band and Uncle. Long before the day was fled into the other world, they at Collatium did arrive. First they saw her face [Page 53] stand in that amazed si­lence, that they could read, not heare the full contents of sorrow; they in that expected some great cruelty had been us'd upon her, which had depriv'd her of the tongue to rell it. But this silence was but a pause in her great soule, whether shee might stoop to that wretched body, as to bor­row those organs which commonly conveigh our friends calamities into our eares: but lest shee should detaine them too long lock'd up in wonder, hasting to her ease, shee unbent her soule, and gave vent unto her sorrow.

Fortune, (said shee) [Page 54] hast thou now hit the marke thou hast long aym'd at, my poor heart; take to thee now thy tri­umph, and leave mee to my injur'd vertue. Bru­tus and Collatine, you are come from Ardea to hear the storie that will break my heart ere I am deli­vered of it; should I tru­ly tell you how low I am ramm [...]d in miserie, If should bee farre too low for you to pitie mee, un­lesse your love should lead you to dishonour. In what Court shall I ap­peale to justice? The grand Gods act, and li­cence what I suffer: the houshold Powers are not of power to keep their [Page 55] Lawes inviolate. Shall I addresse, mee to the King? his owne Sonne hath dishonourd mee: to him I would appeale, would hee revenge his guilt, as I mine innocence; then would I speak him a true Prince; when to advance his justice high­er then his sinne; he made her way through patri­cide and treason to her power. But hee loves his lust too well to loath his life; of him I can­not expect justice who hath injur'd mee, nor of you mercie whom I have injur'd: I have tainted your bloud with mine owne. Tarquin hath con­quer'd this body, Lucre­cia [Page 56] this mind. You true Romans Brutus and Col­latine, in whom my life was truely happy, I con­jure you by all the tyes of bloud, love, and religi­on, bee as cruell to Tar­quin, as hee to Lucrece, shee to her selfe, who with bold steele carves on her breast the Tragedie that shall stagger the pie­ty, or awake the pitie of all posteritie. Her life and language had both this period; for having tyed their vowes to her revenge, her soule too pure for her bodie, dis­clogg'd it selfe of clay, and broke the vault of mortalitie. So riseth day disrob'd of night: so did [Page 57] her soule ascend to im­mortality. It is beyond the art of words to ex­presse what valiant sor­row, what noble rage, this cruelty of hers had stamp'd upon these two princely brests. Silence at the instant had tongue­tied all language, won­der had pent up all teares, immensitie of furie had transcended all bounds of passion: so much had they to speak, they could not speak; so great was their sorrow they could not sorrow; so were all the powers of the soule knit and contracted into the project of revenge, that till they were scat­tered into their offices, [Page 58] passion was not discern­able; then the object les­sened, wonder descended to passion, passion to ex­pression; then discolour­ing the crimson floud, and with their teares wa­shing her body white as her innocence, they took it on their shoulders, set it in the Forum, where Collatine, when the Audi­tory was ripe for his O­ratorie, bespake the Ro­man cofluxe. Romans, and Countrimen, this day presents to your wonder a fact of that height of impietie, so degenera­ting from all humanitie; that in it hell hath plot­ted the dishonour of this whole nation, this whole [Page 59] age. Were not your af­fection stronger tied to the Oratour, then the O­ratory: I should not hope to perswade you that the breast of man could travell in such a prodigie of exact villany. You see a monument of that miserie that vindi­cates the pitie of Tygers, or Tyrants: much more of minds ennobled with vertuous actions. The Tragedie (not long to wrack your expectation) I will briefely declare. Sextus Tarquinius (I know not with what coloura­ble excuses hee painted his designes) left Ardea for Rome; honour could not bridle his false furie [Page 60] of affection, nor the pub­lick interest in the State overpoize his private pas­sion; I say, hee posted to Rome. Rome! where the Gods have their Temples, the Vertues their Sanctu­aries, that thou shouldst breed a Monster to pro­phane thee! No sooner had hee entred Rome, but hee entred my house; where like a Prince, a kinsman, like the happie messenger of Collatines happinesse, (oh, that vice should bee so bravely dis­guis'd!) hee was receiv'd by Lucrecia, receiv'd in a bravery of affection too high for the apostate from vertue; his face did not discover the false [Page 61] heart that lay in ambush to surprize her honour, nor his vertue shew it selfe, as it was, the staul­king horse to his covert. The ceremonies of hos­pitality finished, hee re­tires to his lodging, though not to himselfe; now when the brother of death had summon'd to still musick all but foule ravishers, theeves, and cares; with his drawne sword hee leaps from his owne, enters Lucrecia's bed, her hee ravisheth. Shee having possess'd us with a full relation of her mis-fortunes: Shee Em­presse of a mind uncon­quer'd of sinne or sor­row, with this poniard [Page 62] let out the life Tarquin had made loathed; And now O Countrimen a­wake your Roman vertue, flesh your swords and va­lours upon the revenge of the proud usurper of publick liberty, the cru­ell murderer of private in­nocence: you cannot of­fer to the Gods a more gratefull sacrifice; nor will they ever in requi­tall, forsake that State that forsakes not the defence of vertue.

Such impression strikes Thunder upon Oakes, Earthquakes on Moun­taines, as Collatine on the Roman hearts. Their thoughts were torne, and divided from themselves, [Page 63] anger boyled into malice the policie of passion, both flowed into resolu­tion: then like an un­pent torrent from some high precipice, the multi­tude violently ran to pre­cipitate him made high for a precipice; which in the perpetuall exile of the Tarquins was accom­plish'd.

BElus King of Tyre left Pigmalion & Dido heires to his Kingdome: but the Tyrians as impatient of of a Duarchie, as Pigmali­on of a Rivall: yeelded al­legeance solely to him not of years to write man. Dido was married to her Uncle Sichaeus, Hercules Priest: this Sichaeus the sponge of Fortune, filled only to be squeesed; was slaine by his Nephew and Brother Pigmalion. Hee a man of treasure vast e­nough [Page 72] to betray his life, jealous of the security of his greatnesse, trusted it to the earth: but Fame (the most injurious Hy­perbole) drew it up (per­haps greater then it was) the many fathomes of earth, where it lay ramm'd from the eye, not the en­vie of the Prince. Un­kind Fortune, that deal'st with us as the Persian with their slaves, crownest us for a Sacrifice! Dido a Dowager by her Bro­thers tyranny, begins to feele a tyranny of sorrow; that (had not nature re­solved to keep perfect as much of her as was hers) had made her a Widdow also to her beauty; her [Page 73] faire face clouded with discontent: but her fai­rer soule with no more passion, then betraid mor­tality; shee betakes her to the male contented of the Tyrian Lords. Since Brothers (said shee) are enemies, let us seeke to our enemies for Brothers; since pitie is fled humane brests, let us seeke it (for such a creature there is, nature tels mee) among salvages. Though we can­not expect it from his na­ture; yet his youth might enfeeble him to it: but his very infancy is a mon­ster; what then will his riper yeares produce but the exile of all humani­ty? What distant re­spects [Page 74] will hee know that wades through his owne bloud to his ends? if an innocent Uncle and Bro­ther be slaine; if a Sister be not, where is a Sub­ject secure? Miserable Strato, thou wert a Prince by thy slave, to beget a Prince to make slaves of Princes! Miserable Tyre, now more oppress'd by one Tyrant, then before by a thousand slaves! Wretched wealth, to thee quiet poverty is a Prince; thou hast divorced mee from my Sichaeus, thou hast made mee the foot­ball of a Tyrant Brother, toss'd from his Kingdome, into what unhappy shore is not yet knowne unto [Page 75] my thoughts. My Lords, I speake to minds too no­ble to be stifled in the nar­row confines of fear: fol­low your Princesse, whose vertue the spite of Fortune shall not wrack into de­spaire. Her words pro­ceeding from the height and sweetnes of her mind, were as great a spur as the hope of liberty to ad­vance them into action: then as in a thoughtfull mind refresh'd with wine, Care it selfe keeps her re­vels: so were their thoughts (before deje­cted) now lifted to that pitch, that valiantly af­fronts the hard affronts of Fortune; then with all speed they rig'd a fleet, [Page 76] and Dido with her trea­sure, and the Tyrian Lords in the advantage of night hoised saile. The Cy­prian was the first shore they touched; where (as the fashion of the Coun­trey was) their Virgins were assembled, to sacri­fice for their chastities to Venus, before their mar­riage. Fourscore of these untouch'd Dido ravish­eth from the barbarous sa­crifice, and sailes with them into Affrica; where when she was arriv'd, shee purchased as much land of the Inhabitants as might bee covered by an Oxes hide, which cut in thin pieces, made a great extent of ground: but [Page 77] scarce to containe a City two and twenty miles in compasse. There was the famous Carthage built by Dido, which after times dilated into a great Em­pire. By the consent of all there was a yearly rent paid for the land on which the City was foun­ded. The concourse of Affricans (which hope of gaine brought thither) was great as their gaine they received by traffick, which invited them to settle themselves there. The many conspiring hands in no great space of time wrought it to a per­fect Citie: but in the in­terim, their wealth that flowed thither in high [Page 78] tide, made Carthage the envie of Hiarbus King of the Mauritanians. Hee summons ten of the Car­thaginian Princes, and with them treats of mar­riage with their Queen; which if fairely may not bee obtain'd, hee resolves to try the force of armes. Dido hearing this unwel­come message, desires re­spite of resolution till the City was finished: which accomplished, shee in no wise would yeeld unto Hiarbus, whom lust linkt to rage and avarice, had arm'd against her and his honour. Dido now the creature which melan­cholly divorceth from so­ciety; desires three months [Page 79] absence from her friends, whom shee tels she must goe whither her owne and the Cities fate did drive her: in which time a lit­tle remote from the Ci­tie, shee erected a stately Pyre, which having kind­led, and invok'd Sichae­us ghost; shee a little eased her selfe against her fortune. What a mon­ster of misery (said shee) received life with Dido? The World hath dealt with mee, as Love with those it hath distracted; allowed mee happinesse but by some short inter­vals. First I was borne Princesse of Tyre, then by my Brothers tyranny I was exil'd; after long con­flicts [Page 80] with the Winds and Seas, I arrived here in Af­frica; here I built this great Carthage, of which I am intitled Queene; then I thought me plac'd above my envie, or my fate: but as those wretched creatures that are drawne higher, the more to bee strapado'd: so was I made great, great for Hiarbus envie; so was I wound up to the height of happi­nesse and honour, only to fall never to rise againe. Prosperity and adversity might bee termed the fe­ver of life, did not our best dayes aflict us more then our worst. In our happi­nesse, the feares that doe attend it make us misera­ble; [Page 81] the hopes that await our unhappinesse, make us happy in our lowest un­happinesse; which estate would a wise man chuse, that which will be better, or that which will bee worse? then to be happy, is to bee miserable. As the pain of the soule tran­scends the paine of sense: so is misery to be valued above happinesse. For as what shall be is the greatest wrack of thought; so what is, is the clearest reliefe, the clearest satisfaction. In our height of happi­nesse we know wee shall bee, in our lowest misery wee know wee cannot bee worse; then to bee mise­rable is to bee happy. If [Page 82] I desire felicitie, I desire misery; for I rise onely to fall. If misery, then happinesse; this makes me Fortune's, that makes Fortune my triumph. Where is then con­tent, since banished the height of State? If in the low estate, then must I seek it in the Wil­dernesse, and in some un-sun-seen Cave waste out the remnant of my dayes; there Pigmalion and Hi­arbus follow mee; there reignes as great a confu­sion of thoughts as at the Court: then welcome Death, thou didst divorce mee, thou shalt unite mee to my Love. Purged from earth, to the Skies I flie, [Page 83] and intwine my soule for­ever to my lov'd Sichaeus. Then she leap'd into the Pyre, and there consum'd.

The meeting of Dido and Aeneas (in which Vir­gils Muse hath sweat to the dishonour of them both; her for love, him for ingratitude) is so meer­ly fabulous, that it is scarce worth the expence of pa­per to disprove it, onely I am bound to vindicate her honour. Rome (as Eutropius writes) was built three hundred nine­tie foure yeares after the destruction of Troy, none computes the time lesse. Carthage was built seven­tie two years before Rome, so Iustine writes. So there [Page 84] must bee of necessity two hundred yeares betweene the Trojan Prince and the Carthaginian Queen. Seven hundred yeares this Citie stood unconque­red; so long they sacrifi­ced to Dido as their tute­lar Goddesse; at last by Scipio, thence called Af­fricanus, it was burnt, there their devotion en­ded with their fortune, and themselves.

FRance the rich­est embroydery of beauties, bred a maid from heaven inspir'd with all those excellencies which first made the vir­tues of her sexe. History writes her birth ignoble: but as it is the greatest So­l [...]cisme in honour for high blouds not to flow into high attempts: so it is a reall ennobling of mean­nesse of birth to be guil­ty of more then noble [Page 94] actions. Nobility and beautie are a fair varnish of vertue, the lively sha­dowes of that unseen sub­stance, which were it visi­ble, nothing so lovely: but being the true Idaea of the mind, cannot bee dis­cern'd with the eyes of the body. Without this (so much of nothing hath the unworthy honoura­ble) they are but the com­plements of man, serve onely to fill up this vast vacuum of honour. She basely noble, not nobly base, born under a smoak­dried roof; which though of it selfe it receiv'd no more of heavens influence then through the loope­holes made by the rage [Page 95] thereof; yet her presence made perpetuall day. But let her birth bee strangled in the wombe of Hi­story. Shee was Natures fairest paper, not com­pounded of the rags of common mortality: but so searsed and refined, that it could receive no im­pression but that of spot­lesse innocence. How unfortunate had her beau­ty been, had shee had no other championesse then her selfe, the sequell of Theutilla will declare.

Amalius, Dynasta of France, rich in treasure, magnificent in retinue, Lord of all the world ad­mires, but himselfe, which hee most admires; there [Page 96] was no deity to whom hee should owe his fortune, but his unworthinesse: for he was more hospita­ble to himselfe then to o­thers, and freelyer feasted his senses then strangers. In summe, hee was what a vertuous man is not, what a voluptuous man should be. It hapned one time, the time pointed at in Chronicle; when his soul (the slave of his sense) dancing and floating like a toast in his wine, was seiz'd on by sleepe; the wine it selfe had paid the drawer of his wine his ap­petite. Then was he qui­et, when hee was dead drunk. How fruitlesly were spent those thousand [Page 97] lamps of oyl? those thou­sand pen-plowed reams of paper about the immor­tality of the soule? Who hath a soule that will not here question it? what is become of it? is it onely for this interim metamor­phized into a beast? or doth it die? if into a beast, since the prince of man, let it bee transmigra­ted into the prince of beasts, the Prince's beast. Who so sottish, so grosse of conceit, to think the Lyon, a creature of that invincible valour, and now commanded by rea­son; having rescued so faire a Lady from so foul tyranny, will transgresse the lawes of honour, let [Page 98] her loose to her losse of li­berty, her loath some dun­geon? Or doth she die? or will you mince it into an intervallum of life, a three hours death? it then followes, the soule thus dying will dye eternally. But to returne to Theutil­la. Amalius servants have made the neighbouring Villages their rendevouz; where having discovered Theutilla, and in her as much as the world could boast of; they ra vish'd her from the weak resi­stance of her parents, and laden with the rich triumph of nature, returne unto their Lord, and lock her up in his lodging, whose sense and fancy was [Page 99] so strongly lock'd up in yron-sleep, hee had not power to dreame of what he would have acted. She thus forfeited to disho­nour, and night the friend of dishonour, enjoying no more of light then the courteous candle, which betraid to her eye and hand a sword, which shee taking to her, revolves her present condition.

If the soule straightned (said shee) in a necessitie of ill-doing, must trie all her power to gain her li­bertie: surely shee must not refuse any opportuni­ty conduceable to the pre­servation of her purity. Death is then an honou­rable freedome, when it [Page 100] takes us from the danger of living ill. As we came into the world with na­ture; so wee must goe out with honour; wee must not rest on nature for our ends, since before her sum­mons, thousands of ex­tremities doe beset our lives. There shee paus'd. Welcome (said shee) my deare, deare Preserver; to thee I owe this last, this most glorious act of my well-spent life; to thee posterity shall be as much beholding as Theutilla; thou shalt redeem the er­rours of after times in wo­men. Then shee, borne for what shee did, drew the sword, anvil'd and fi­led for her sexes glory: [Page 101] no sooner (said she) have I unsheath'd thee, but I must sheath thee againe, Where? In this guilt­lesse breast of mine. Call up thy too degenerous spirit. Of what bravery can it accuse the act? Thou murdrest a poor in­nocent maid. Shall po­steritie brand mee with that weaknesse? Shall it say, that not able to stand under the miseries of life, I was press'd down by the hard extremity of fortune to despaire to death? No, my tide of furie flowes in­to another channell; here is a revenge fit for thy spirit, fit for thine arme; thine honour shall bee proud to riot in his bloud, [Page 102] whose bloud would riot in thine honour. Thus then I shake off woman, and her frailtie; thus doe I strangle the monster lust that revels in thy veines; and to complete my ven­geance, send thy sin-sur­fetted soule into the land of endlesse night, where it hath already tane sure footing, With that, her spirit restlesse in the re­venge of words, eager of action, directed her arme, which gave Amalius so fa­tall a wound, that it seem'd her hot-metled fury was bridled with exactest dis­cretion, and nothing wan­ted the attempt but pas­sion. Bravest Theutilla, sooner shall the Fathers [Page 103] bowels bee silent at the sight of his long unseen Sonne, then posterity for­get thy name. Amalius now miserably groaning, now miserably opening his eyes to shut them a­gaine more miserably, had little more of life then what could give her life, in appeasing the fury of his servants that rushed in to her destruction. What means (said he) is Chaos of confounding noise; this unwelcome Traine, to the more unwelcome Pomp of death? Whi­ther rush yee, yee betray­ers of innocence, yee ser­vants of nothing but my lust? Oh may mine infa­mie find a grave as soone [Page 104] as life; and you sooner: that the world may want a witnesse of it. I con­jure you by the relation that ties you to my com­mands, and this last; spare her life, whose chastitie the Gods are pleas'd to spare. Then, to make a minute of his life fa­mous, hee contemplated on mortality.

Nature (said hee) that first digested this All into an exact method of parts, preserves it likewise by a constant concordance of the same, without the which it would soone re­solve into the first no­thing: onely man, ungo­vern'd man, Natures Ma­ster-peece, revolting from [Page 105] her allegeance, deposes her Lieutenant Reason, lets in the Usurper, Passi­on, to untune the harmo­ny that preserves the soul. Hence is it that death, the privation of being, in this disorder seizes the Fort, hurries the Gover­nesse captive to an eter­nall, a never redeem'd im­prisonment. The Sunne, the Sea, have both their bounds, and man his stage from life to death, of e­quall length to all, though one runs faster then ano­ther. The world whirles a­bout continually till it be dissolv'd; and mans brain not satisfied in the bare necessaries of life, moves in an unbounded motion, [Page 106] till stil'd by the period of action, the undoer of Na­ture, Death. There is but one doore at which wee enter this Labyrinth of life: but infinite are the waies wee turne and wind out of it. The infant no sooner with much diffi­culty rak'd out of the wombe, (punishing the Mothers guilt of his short-liv'd misery) en­ters the Tombe, flashing through the world, being but a lightning of life. Pleasure or businesse wears out the riper mans vitals, and forceth out life, let Nature block it up never so strongly. The aged man, because a burden to himselfe, sinks under his [Page 107] own weight. These are or­dinary waies out of this world into the next: but to bee hurld out by vio­lence of Fate, this is the doom of strictest Justice that makes eternity our curse. This is the hard fate my just merit hath en­countred, to be punish'd by the sex I have so much abus'd. This was his last: for Nature, though shee could not tell him he had liv'd long enough; told him hee had been long e­nough dying. There she withdrew her selfe from him, and seal'd up his eyes to the eternall sleep of e­ternall night.

THE Iland Cyprus, Natures choycest storehouse, where she had reposed the chie­fest blessings of the earth, flowing in wealth, the wantonizer of the mind, and by it once dedicated to the Queen of Love, courted and feared of the neighbouring Nations: while secure in her owne height; the Othomannick Army, infinite in number, invincible in valour, un­appeas'd [Page 116] by cruelty, breaks in like a sea, that threa­tens to eat her into ano­ther Iland, if not devoure her. Christianity was their crime, a wrong proud e­nough to unsheath a Tur­kish blade; life was their greatest guilt, which must bee wip'd off by cruell death. That which to na­ture was preposterous, the souldier made methodi­call; the infant torn from the mothers brest, was mangled into as many a­tomes as it had lived mi­nutes, and hewed out into more Sacrifices then it had sins: if sorrow was too weak to conquer the surviving distressed mo­ther; the sword (therein [Page 117] courteous) supplyed it, and intomb'd both in the wombe from whence they did unfortunately spring. Wives and Maids were first ravish'd, then slaine for adultery. Father and Daughter, Mother and Sonne, Brother and Si­ster were all incestuously piled up; there was no­thing wanting but new lives to satisfie the guilt of death. The Iland was an heape of carkasses in despaire of being repeo­pled but by Cannibals or Crows. Was ever cru­elty so barbarously ex­press'd? Was ever steel re­fin'd for such cruelty? Mu­stapha having almost dis­limb'd the Iland, bends [Page 118] his fury to the head; be­siegeth Salamina, renow­ned for rich Citizens, brave Buildings, and state­ly Temples; erected by the Telamonian Teucer, during the Trojan sieige. Dandalus the Governour, forc'd to submit himselfe to the Turkish yoke, af­ter exquisite tortures, is beheaded; and to strike a greater terrour in the sur­vivors, his head is carryed upon the point of a sword through the razed Citie. Nero had here seene his cruell wish accomplish'd, the head of thousands of heads strooke off at one blow. The highest rate the Citizen could amount to, was too cheap for the [Page 119] securitie of life, where in­nocence was punish'd in stead of treason. Mustapha, his sword now surfetted in humane bloud, spurs on his sacrilegious furie to revenge him of the Gods: he razeth the Tem­ples, whither the wretch­ed Salaminians were fled for refuge; the Altars are profan'd; Hymens holy Tapers are lighted to rapes and adulteries at the very Altars. Murders are their Sacrifices; innocent lives drop like beades from their bloudy hands, their more bloudy devo­tions. Good Heaven! where is your thunder? awake your sleeping ar­mory: is not your whole [Page 120] Hoast blasphem'd? Good Earth! where is thy Earth­quake? cannot these mon­sters move thee? The consecrated vessels are prophan'd to servile uses. The shrines of Saints that call'd the adoration of farthest Pilgrims, are de­molish'd; all, holy, and prophane, a e miscellani­ously sacrific'd to fire and sword. Mustapha, his rage and avarice appeas'd, be­thinks him of a present to appease Selimus his Ma­sters lusts; he sends cap­tive the choicest beauties of both sexes (doom'd to another destinie) to the distain'd Carpathian Sea, where his fleet lay at an­chor. The captives ship'd, [Page 121] and ready to be wafted in their owne bloud to By­zantium; when the di­vinely inspired Cypriana wrought the miracle, wor­thy the memory of all time. Shee, servilly im­ployed in the powder-of­fice, with a countenance that gave a majesty to her miserie, and scorn'd the subjection of sorrow; re­solves a powder-treason: a candle shee had flaming in her hand; but a purer flame shot from heaven into her breast: from no other place could so gene­rous a mind be fired. This fire (said shee) purer then the element of fire, shall both burne and cure, shall extinguish the lurking in­flammations [Page 122] of lust. No­thing of Cyprus shall bee transported to Byzantium but my fame, powerfull to perfume the contagion of their sin. O Heaven! to thee, the Sanctuary of innocence, flies my un­tainted soule: if my spi­rit enlightned by thine, act thy vengeance, thy mercy reward mee; if I transgresse thy Commis­sion, if I let out my life before thou requirest it: pardon the weaknesse of my vertue, pardon her that sacrificeth her self a spot­lesse creature to thy most sacred throne. If thy ju­stice exclude mee thy pi­tie, oh pitie these inno­cents; rain all thy revenge [Page 123] on mee, burie my name from the discovery of po­sterity; let not them, be­cause they feel my fate, feel thy vengeance. Then gave shee fire to the Pow­der, that knew as little mercie as the Turke. The Masts and Sailes were hoysed nearer the Skies, then when the boysterous element conspires a ship­wrack; the ribs torn from the body, flew like mur­dering shot through the next ship; where the un­quench'd pitch seized the powder, so that both were swallowed by the same fate. Into these two ships were congested the Prime of the Turkish Souldiery, the Cyprian captivitie [Page 124] dispatch'd by Mustapha to Selimus at Byzantium. The miserable Salamini­ans now upon the shore, paying the last office of affection, to see the last of their wives and chil­dren, were more delighted then terrified at the spe­ctacle; they look'd on death not as a punish­ment; but as the most honourable divorce, and last refuge of honour. Death had in it more courtesie then horrour: for as it was the last, so it was the least of their e­vils. Did they weepe at their misfortunes? so did the Sea: with a generall acclamation they thank'd the Gods that had heard [Page 125] their prayers, desiring their friends should bee rather a prey to the mer­cilesse waves, then Selimus lusts, for which, by the misfortune of beauty, they were reserv'd untouch'd. Mustapha now again whets his sword, which before revenge had dull'd; there was not a life that was not his prey, till hee had left the Iland breathlesse; then, like a Tyger be­smeard in the bloud of tamer beasts, hee returnes to his Fleet; and laden with the spoiles of the Countrey, but most with infamie, hoyseth Sailes to Bzyantium. Now is he in the Carpathian sea; where may hee see nothing but [Page 126] monsters ugly as himself; may wind and water roar to him the name of bloud. If sleepe—charming-care steal on his restlesse mind; may the Cyprian Ghosts awake him: may every mi­nute bee feare of endlesse death, and may his sinne fright away his repen­tance: then in view of the Byzantium Towers, the great Seraglio, and his own Pallace; may he bee betrayd by his nearest friend to a rock that splits him; from thence let him sink into the lowest dun­geon of Avernus.

ARetaphila, a Cyre­naean, the last rank'd in these Stories, but first in my thoughts, which by the order of birth may claim the priviledge to do won­ders. As some things are lesse curiously perform'd which are ordain'd for common use, not for the ornament or wonder of the world: so have I, like a French Volunteir on a Lute, all this while scat­ter'd slight aires, which [Page 136] may perchance surprize an indifferent eye: but now like the glasse that twists the Sun-beames to steale fire from heaven, I must in writing her, so lessen and contract so much of her as may sinke into our narrow faith, or narrower reason. If our Poets pro­phanely rake heaven for comparisons, for each part of a rotten Mistris that shall nere bee part of it; one whom sinne, to pre­vent age, hath carcass'd in her cradle: to what heights must I ascend to reach a Subject fit for all fancy to work, not play upon; one that is above all heights? Sometimes she is pleas'd to stoop to bee admir'd, [Page 137] ador'd; not that shee falls lower to rebound higher: but that wee are admir'd for admiring her, and we her prisoners feast our selves with the frag­mentarie offalls of her Fame. Thus doe I ad­mire her, till I admire my selfe out of breath; then shee beckens to my soule (the reason I cannot reach; but I obey) to come, whither I will not tell you: but now I am return'd a re-transmigra­ted-mountebank-Pedler, I will open to your Op­ticks that which shall pur­blind the whole art; at your two nostrils you shal snuffe in both the Indies; for your pallats, (because [Page 138] the cleanest feeders are the cleanest meat) you shall have the whole sect of E­picures; if their opinions stick in your stomacks, you shall take all the sumes of Arabia in a To­bacco-pipe to concoct them: Here is that will chaine your care to the perpetuall sound of Are­taphila: For your touch, are you a Midas? here is a Diamond set in gold, within two dayes it will bee a Rhodian Colosse; then will it magnifie to an Escuriall; then to a World; then to tenne Worlds; then to Areta­phila: thus Fortune blows dust up to a Lady, then to a Countesse, then to a [Page 139] Queen: thus Gold and Diamonds at length come to be Aretaphila, in whose name they have been va­lued. Please you to look into this inward Drawer, you shall see all the se­crets of nature, that have befool'd the grand Clarks of all the World. Here shall you see reason for the ebb and flow of Seas, and of an Ague that re­sembles it; here shall you see the wrack of your bo­dies wracks, how he is the onely Physician of him­selfe. The wounded Ro­man State, like a broken Tobacco-pipe, was cured by bloud. Warre cures the Turkish Lethargie. The Aegyptian Dropsie is [Page 140] cured by drinking; one month in a year the whole Countrey is drunk. The Plague cures Grand-Cairo of her diseases of reple­tion: but the Ague onely an Ague. It is an opini­on of some, that every particular person hath two Angels, one waits at his right hand, the other at his left; this left-han­ded Devill is the thing we speake of; if wee bee fairely dispossest of him, we may say, the better An­gell hath got the victory: but if by the holiogopheron hotontiperistaton, one De­vill drives out another. Here you see this little little Pepper-corn; Prin­ces are captives, Empe­rours [Page 141] are subjects to this Pymee-tyrant, this is Love. Let him be pitied, he swells higher then At­las; heaven and earth is not a load for his little finger. Let him be scorn'd, then (like a Prince's ca­sheir'd Favourite) hee is frown'd from a Duke to a male contented Gentle­man; then hee crosseth his crossed armes, and looks upon his fate with that regreet a younger Brother in the Low-coun­tries doth his followers, who make his misery their food, and are the onely flatterers of low fortunes; the little winke rereares the other; four stivers in hot water defends this [Page 142] from the world, and which is worse, himselfe. Love hath been a tenant to this heart for many years, and hath now left it like a Farme in the eighteenth yeare, plowed up and har­rowed out of heart; under three years sleep it wil not again be tenantable. Here you may see the braine working like a Powder­mill, let the brasse be over­wrought, he is blown up; and the rest of man is as confused as a beleagured Towne: screw him not up like a treble Lute-string, in a storme, to a French tune, and he will shew you the wonders of heaven so distinctly, that you shall confute a whole kennell [Page 143] of Almanacks. But oh! whilst I am quacking, my Aretaphila is fled; fled like the last age; or fa­ster, like yesterday; and my soul, like a skie-climb­ing Falcon, sprited as the ayre shee flies in, hath gotten height, and wind, and thinkes to seize her: but oh! shee is height­ned into the incompre­hensible; shee is lessened into the invisible; shee is greatned to the un-by-any—fancie—fathomable. Shall we aske Sense what she is? Sense will tell us; her face is the unclouded Welkin in the infancy of day: her eyes the Sunne and Moon that sleepe by turnes, lest they should [Page 144] leave the World in dark­nesse: her tongue the har­mony of Sphears and Na­ture: her brests Heavens milkie way, spangled with azure Starres: her armes Castor and Pollux: her o­ther parts, because of low­er function, are but the Symmetry of all the beau­ties of her sexe: shee is too much first to have a­ny second; from the third, fourth, and fifth forme of women, from a million, or all of them you may take some piece of her, not all, for she herself is the All. Aske Reason what shee is; Reason will tell you, shee is her Directresse, that shee keeps the ele­ments at peace within us: [Page 145] our fire she confines to re­ligious zeale, and suffers it not to inflame either to lust or superstition: our watry element shee hath design'd to quench unlawfull flames: our sighs to drie our blubbred eyes, when teares have tyred them: our earth like the earth to tread upon, or make no other account of it then of a skin-purse that holds ten thousand pound: the money outed, the purse is laid aside till it bee refill'd by the same treasure. Aske Faith what shee is: Faith that ties us morally to riddles, religiouslly to mysteries; and Faith will tell you, shee hath yours, and mine, [Page 146] & an hundred other souls in one soule: nor doth her soule receive extensi­on: for a soule fils no roome, though shee bee all over the body, and she all over ours; yet none knowes where, nor how. If with some Philoso­phers wee will give them but such dimensions, that twenty of them cannot stand upon the point of a needle; then may it fol­low that two or three thousand of them may bee circumscrib'd (in which compasse I think so ma­ny misers soules may) in a locall inch: if they have any dimensions, they may bee circumscrib'd; if cir­cumscrib'd, then followes [Page 147] the unheard-of absurdity' that they are bodies. We are circumscriptive; other Angels definitive: but her, immortall fame hath made ubiquitive, and re­pletive. There are orders of Angels, the first of higher knowledge, be­cause of nobler function; the knowledge of the se­cond but derived from the first: yet those and these Angels know no more of each other then they are pleas'd to reveale to one another: but shee, first of the first ranke, knowes all of them and us, and wee weakely enlight­ned, have so much of her, as the watry elements of the Sun, but bare reflecti­on. [Page 148] Some Angels protect Cities, others Countries; but the noblest are Guar­dians to us frail and mor­tall men; all these offi­ces were by her undergone on earth; to what high flights of exercise is shee now soared? But I must stoop, and draw neer her into her low estate. Faith tels us she stands one con­trary without another: were there, or were there no night: yet were shee an everlasting day. Were there none bad: yet were shee unparalleldly good. Were there any or none to be compar'd to her: yet were she superlative. All of her is an even proporti­on of extremes. Faith tels [Page 149] us, now she is beyond our apprehension, that shee is nothing, yet all of every thing. But now since she is, let us see what made her this all; she was Wife to Phedimus, a Cyrenaean Citizen. As when we see the Eastern Morn shoot his fiery-pointed darts, we say they are the Tipstaves to usher into the World the approaching Snnne; presently we see himselfe attended by his Page, the Day; anon he goes to bed, then it is night: So shall you see the Aretaphila in her glimmering, Wife to Phedimus; then in the bright of day, Queen and protectresse of the Cyre­naeans; after that her re­turne [Page 150] to the solitary di­staffe: then like a man that hath lost the other eye, I'le bid good night to all the World. Nicocrates the Tyrant having made the sword his Oratour to plead his Title, usurp'd do­minion over the Cyrenae­ans; among other his blou­dy butcheries, hee put to death the innocent Phedi­mus; and then forc'd the incomparable Aretaphila to be his Queen. She re­senting the publick cala­mities more then her pri­vate injuries, meditates a remedy for both, and by advise of her nearest friends, attempts the poy­soning of the King. The Tyrant had an old woman [Page 151] to his mother, named Cal­bia; this carcasse, a better name I can hardly afford her outside, was the inside of a Sepulchre; her head was unthatch'd as an old Parsonage; her eyes (like lights at the last snuffe, when the extinguisher is readie to make their Epi­taphs) sunk low into their candlesticks; her eares now deaf, now happy (such was her tongue) they have lost their sense; her nose worm'd like a peice of Homer of the first bind, offended with her breath, bowed to her chinne to damme it up; her cheeks hol'd as the earth in dog-dayes drouth; her lips fit to bee kiss'd by none but [Page 152] by themselves; her teeth rotten as her soul, hollow as her heart, loose as the shingles of an old silenc'd steeple, scragged as a dis­parked pale, stood at that distance one could not bite another; her tongue so weakly guarded, scolds like the alarm of a clock; her chin was down'd with a China beard of twenty haires; her brest lanke as a quicksand, wasted as an hour-glasse at the eleventh use; one arme, one legge, one foot shee doff'd with day, and as a resurrection, dond with the morrow; her bones (pithlesse as a Stallion for seven Poste­rities) the slightest feares might now make rattle in [Page 153] her skinne; her body (wa­sted to no waste, blasted with lust as an Oak with lightning) was as famili­ar with diseases, as a Phy­sician: to conclude; she is odious beyond all com­parison: one sight of her would make the heat of youth recoile into an in­fant continence. Yet she maintaines two Painters & three Apothecaries to maintain this old-old ug­linesse, as the rare thing shee hath been these four­score yeares in getting. But I have too long, like a Sexton, convers'd with rottennesse. She was Cal­bia, and in that, her soule was a wel acquainted with sin as a Confessor: shee [Page 154] was Nicocrates Mother, and in that name she car­ried to the faire and ver­tuous Aretaphila, the envy of age, the wormwood of a mother-in-law; a word that is the originall that signifies all that is ill in the sexe: yet for the re­liefe of some few particu­lars, read it like Hebrew, and it yeelds something that is good. This Calbia discovers the poison-plot. Then, as eagerly as my young Master in the Countrey fastens on the red-Deere-pie (tougher then Drakes biskets that went round the world, hoary as Methusalem) en­taild by his Grandsire to the house for ever; shee [Page 155] seizes the faire Aretaphila into her tallons, more gri­ping then poverty it selfe; nails that scratch like the law, and are as good a cure for the itch as the Goale for theeves; her she brings to the rack, there intending, after confessi­on, with most subtle tor­tures to let out her life. Oh, that Love in his Olym­piads should bee drown'd in those faire eyes! those eyes, more eloquent then all Rhetorick, that would raise an Anchoret from his grave, and turne the Fiend Fury into the Che­rubin Pity, that those eyes should be of no other use then to vent sorrow to in­exorable ears! that those [Page 156] white and red roses (which no rain but what fell from those heavenly eies) could colour or sweeten, should wither in their prime! those lips that staine the rubies, and make the roses blush! those lips that command the scarlet-co­loured morn into a cloud to hide his shame, should kisse a mercilesse and si­new-sundring rack! that breath which makes us all Chamaelions should bee wasted into unregarded sighs! that those brests eternally chast, and white as the Alps; those legs, columnes of the fairest Parian marble, columnes that support this monu­ment of all pens, should [Page 157] bee stretch'd into anato­mies! that her body that would call a soule from heaven into it, should bee mangled like one that hath hang'd in chaines these three years! that her skin, smooth as the face of youth, soft as a bed of violets, white as the queen of innocence, sweet as the bean-blossomes af­ter raine; that that skin, the casket of that body, the karkanet of that soul, should be jag'd and torne with that remorselesse pi­tie we commonly bestow upon a scare-crow! After long racking, when Calbia saw shee could rack no confession; then when more torment would have [Page 158] been a reliefe; she was ta­ken down from the rack, and her body was pinn'd, as an unwelcome courte­sie, upon her soule. Thus noble and pious guilt is twin-brother, and carries the same face with inno­cence: so was she spirited, that those tortures could scarce trie her patience, lesse her truth; and though Calbia was not fully pos­sess'd of any course to put her to death; yet had shee cruelty enough to doe worse then kill her to make a cause. But, Are­taphila, though her Coun­tries liberty, and her owne honour lifted higher then the flatteries of life, or feare of death; resolv'd in [Page 159] spite of cruelty or fate, to live whilst shee had offred Nicocrates and Calbia to her oppress'd Countries rage: therefore the se­cond time she was brought to the rack, when fearing she should be sacrific'd to Calbia, not Calbia to Cy­renaea, to calm Nicocrates, shee thus bespake him:

Great Sir, when you were pleas'd to lift my humble fortunes up to those glories that willing­ly engage a womans pride; when by kind fate, and kinder Nicocrates, I was snatch'd from base private arms, to the embraces of a Prince: were these cheeks dy'd into ingratitude and crueltie to make them [Page 160] lovely? can your brest har­bour such a thought; that this brest which you were pleas'd to think worthy to harbour yours, can swell with those two monsters abandon'd by the most in­famous of our sexe? But since (such is my hard fortune) I am reduc'd to that misery as to defend mine innocence; hear me Nicocrates; not that I beg life; for I scorne to stoop (now I am suspected) so low as to take it honou­rably. This potion (which the comments of envie interpreted a poyson) is a confection, not of Can­tharides for thy lust: but of all those ingredients that may strengthen ver­tuous [Page 161] love. This ture in­nocence had no designe upon thy life, which (oh thou all-seeing Skie wit­nesse) I value as much a­bove mine owne, as mine honour above mine ene­my: but fearing lest like a needle betweene two loadstarres, the stronger might attract thee; and my unworthinesse (how happy am I in it since it pleads mine innocence!) might betray me to a wor­thyer Love; I devis'd this potion to make thy love lasting as mine, which else would soon consume, fed with such withred fewell as this poore declining face; this face that can boast nothing but her sor­row, [Page 162] which (since deriv'd from you) is most wel­come to these eyes, and is receiv'd as your Em­bassadour, into this heart­lesse heart. Oh let these tears for ever drown these eyes! oh let this sorrow sacrifice this innocent heart in all her glory to the great Nicocrates! oh let Aretaphila, the Areta­phila that is (since she)—

There (though no tongue could praise her but her owne) the Tyrant impatient (such oratory have teares in a faire face) to heare more, tearing his haire, his rage too hastie to be silent; hee express'd as much spleen to Calbia, as shee to Aretaphila. [Page 163] What furies (said hee) fled from their black regi­on have possest thy black­er soule (fir to lend rage to all the horrid haggs of Tartarie) to act a deed, which, oh you Heavens! can you behold without raine and thunder, your combin'd sorrow & rage? can you rend the clouds which are but the suck'd up vapours of the earth; and not her that takes in all the poysonous sin of hell to fortifie her wick­ednesse? Accurs'd fury! curs'd from the cradle to the tombe, curs'd above all that ever Heaven and Earth yet curs'd! May all the sins of me, my Name, and House returne into [Page 164] thy venom'd soule, till they have press'd it into the low despaire of nere-below-repenting sinners. Then in his fury, too great for more words; he had rack'd his Mother Cal­bia; had not the vertuous Aretaphila stepp'd in be­tweene him and his re­venge. Nicocrates now gladly possest of her inno­cence, endeavours by stu­died favours to raze out all the injuries imprinted on her body and her soule: but shee like an Anvile, too much heated by the last blowes to coole sud­denly; meditates upon an­other, and more safe way for the Tyrants death. She had a Daughter, every way [Page 165] exactly perfect, for she was Daughter to Aretaphila. The Tyrant had a brother called Leander; you have already all that commends him; hee was an haire-braind, wild-headed, un­rein'd young man; one whom lust or ambition might flatter into the most desperate attempts. Aretaphila wrought so far with the King, that a match between her Hero-Daughter and the young Leander was by his con­sent concluded; her shee counsels to insinuate into her Husbands rashnesse, and perswade him (and oh what will not this pesti­ferous night-geare doe!) to besiege his brothers [Page 166] Crown. Leander not con­tented with the King­dome hee enjoyd in her; thought now nothing lesse then to raise himselfe as high as his ambition, brib'd his Swiz—servant Diapheries, who in the first nick of opportuni­tie murthred Nicocrates. Whither do these crowns and scepters, the worlds magnalia, but indeed the balls of Fortune, hurrie thee, fond Leander? thou hast not kill'd the Tyrant for the Countrey: but slaine thy brother for the Crowne. Through how many restlesse nights, and lesse restlesse thoughts do we encounter these sweet-bitter joyes: and as the [Page 167] more we graspe the water into our hands, the lesse wee hold: so is content the farther from us, the more we seeke it in these fading glories of the World; which like an i­gnis fatuus, first lights us through wild untrodden pathes unto themselves; then through vaste ayrie thoughts they lead us up to that precipice, from whence we fall, and there they leave us. Aretaphila could not appease her re­venge till she had pluck'd up the Tyrant by the roots. First shee incenc'd the Citizens against Lean­der, the Traitour to his Prince, the parricide of his Countrey, the fratri­cide, [Page 168] and lastly the muder­er of her Husband. They with one consent adjud­ged him to bee sowed up into a sack, and cast into the sea. Then judgement proceeded to Calbia, whom they condemned to the fire, and shee was burnt a­live. Diapheries not worth naming, and therefore I think not worth hanging, the Storie mentions not his punishment. The Cyre­naeans now prostrate their lives and fortunes to the devotion of Aretaphila, that was owner of them both; they offer her divine honours, and beseech her to take further protection of the Countrey. But she who to doe her Countrey [Page 169] service, could subdue her thoughts to be a Queen; can fall from that height, to rise above all Crowns, into her owne content; she shaking off those glo­rious loades of State, reti­red from all the crowding tumults of the Court, in­to a solitary and truely happy countrey-conditi­on; there to spinne out her thread of life at her homely distaffe: where we will leave her a veryer wonder then the Phoenix in the Desart, the alone Paragon of all peerlesse perfections. Her actions (so above the criticisme of my purblind judge­ment) I am not able to comprehend, much lesse [Page 170] contradict, or controvert. I am silent, lest you should passe that censure upon me for her; which Famia­nus Strada did upon Ho­race for Plautus; that my judgement is judicium si­ne judicio.