NOne of Wisdomes Children will either despaire, or be confident of any thing in this inferiour World, all things are subject to such a strange Revolution. Wee of­ten see the money destined to set out a Triumph imployed in furnishing a Fu­nerall, and the purple, together with these great preparations turned into Balmes, Blackes, and Cypresse. Pluto sometimes snatcheth Hymens Torch out of his hand, and leads the new linked [Page 2] couple from the Bridall Bed into his solitary Vault. Nay, it hath been recorded that an Execu­tion hath bin chang'd into a Coronation, and a Scaffold built for a Delinquency, hath become a Throne of Glory. Wee have many certain signes of Danger and Sicknesse, none of Security, there being in one part, or other daily examples of men that die, singing, laughing, eating, and drinking. The strongest Humane Fabricke Na­ture ever built, a crumme going down awry de­stroyes. Force and Chance take away the Yong, and Maturity the Old. Nothing visible that is not mortall, no Object hath sense lesse fading then itselfe. The generall Tide washeth all pas­sengers to the same shore, some sooner, some la­ter, but all at the last. Every man must take his course, when it comes, never fearing a thing so necessary, yet alwayes expecting a thing so uncer­taine. Our Intemperancy prepares a Feast for Death, and is therefore called the Mother of Physicians. This goodly Tree of Life is sur­charg'd with Fruit, some fall by clusters, some single, all once. Every thing riseth with the Con­dition of a Fall, and all Encreases have their Di­minutions. This is the firme Bond that compas­seth, and girdeth fast the Bundle of Mortalitie, Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt returne. That all this is true the Noble Subject of this Book is a faire, yet sad Example, much to be lamented because much to be admir'd, of whom somthing I must speak, though it come as short of his in­estimable Worth, as I doe of an accomplish'd [Page 3] Oratour. And here I must crave pardon of the judicious Reader, if I draw not his perfections to the life. My Apologie may be a just complaint that my stile is fetter'd by the idle Censures of Schismaticall Fools, whose purblinde souls can­not discerne betweene a fawning Flattery and a due prayse, who have hardly language good e­nough to make themselves understood, much lesse to perswade others, except it be never to read them againe. I could without the aide of any Rhetoricke at all, pen one of their dimme foggy Lines, wherein there is nothing conside­rable, that I would not reduce into a poesie for a Ring, so that they might weare their own sto­ry on what finger they please. But there are more then humane helps required to give a Heröe his true Character, whose magnanimous soule har­bours not a thought small enough to enter into their narrow, passive brains. As in the Ancient Sacrifices, it was not lawfull to kindle the Altars of the Gods with any materiall common Fire, but with the pure Rayes of the glorious Sun: So a divine flame is required to illuminate that Spi­rit which undertakes to characterise the soules of great and eminent Men. I confesse, freely, the the wings of my invention flag, and are not able to beare her to the Summity of her towring sub­ject. It is a received opinion, that Wit encrea­seth Griefe, and Griefe Wit. I finde the former part of this Tenent true; for that small propor­tion of Wit Nature hath given me, turns to my disadvantage, in that it makes mee to appre­hensive [Page 4] of his worth, and consequently of his losse; but the later I prove in my selfe to be false; for now the charming Eloquence of Anthony, Crassus, and Cicero is required to limme this rare Piece, a stupifying Dulnesse seizeth on mee, and the very Knowledge of what I have to write di­stracts me, so I know not what to write. And yet this is no wonder at all; for my best bloud being lost in him, my worser remayning must needs chill, and no man is ignorant, that where there is not Focus in Venis, there cannot be Subtilitas in Intellectu: When Warmth forsakes the Veines, Subtilty must of necessity abandon the Head. Yet were I master of as great an eloquence as Demost­henes himselfe, my best words could not give his Vertues a clothing correspondent to their lustre. The most skilfull Painter cannot give a Picture all the lively Graces contained in the Naturall, from which it is drawne; Nor can the most ex­pert Oratour fully, and truly delineate the Beau­tie of an Originall so sublime that it transcends his Understanding. As it is more easie to tell what is not in Heaven then what is: So it is by farre more facile to number the Vices which hee had not, then the Excellencies of which hee was the happy possessour. But because in great De­signes, even attempts are laudable, and that by many, this Testimony of my Duty is look'd for at my hands, I am content to take the advan­tage though of a most unhappy, and unwelcome occasion to seale up my former Affection, and publish to the World the damage I have re­ceived [Page 5] by this fatall Deprivation, nor I alone but all his Stock, and all the lovely Brood of Honor, and Pietie. And I now opportunely choose to make this Oblation to his Memory. Quando nec laudantē adulatio movet, nec laudatū tentat elatio; When neither Flattery moveth me, nor vain-glory assaileth him. My comfort is, I have chosen a Theam where (to some judgments) the highest Hyperboles wil passe for defective Truths. Sure I am, I need not feare to out-speake his merit and my love, w^ch ought to be so much that it cannot possibly appeare too much. I dare tell Envie and Detraction to their Teeth, that prayse justly be­longs to the pious deceased, & that I may cal it, with Pliny, the charitable Dew that makes Ver­tue spring up in the Living. Who knowes my friends better then I my selfe? If they are not such as I make them, sure I am, I believe them such. No Crowne can give mee such content as does this comfortable errour; for such captious Criticks will tearm it, though in my beliefe it be an upright and impartiall Veritie.

Before I enter into his commendations, I must entreat all my Readers to consider that (be­sides the fore-mention'd Obstacle) there is yet another, which is that my Pen is too straightly confin'd, the bounds afforded her not being large enough to make a Demonstration of her Agil­lity, and Sufficiencie; for Obstinacie her selfe can not deny that (mans Life being but a Span) shee hath little more then an Inch allotted her to tra­verse in, he dying at the Age of Fourteen. Shee [Page 6] must therefore be enforced onely to draw in a smal Card the first Spring of his Youth newly de­liver'd of such beautifull Issues commendable both for their Ornament and Odour, as are able to commit a Rape on all knowing Soules, and to send out a perfume as farre as Posteritie. Had he he arriv'd at the Autumne of his Age, shee had then beene Mistris of a Field large enough to exercise her Art in, and shee would have presen­ted the Surveighers of this Worke with as Beau­tifull Fruit as the large, spreading Tree of Ho­nour ever bore. Wee might well divine of him, as Antigonus did of Pyrrhus, Magnus futu­rus si senesceret, Hee would prove great, if Aged.

The common Method in handling matters of this nature commands me to make the first part of this Discourse the place of his Birth, the Nobilitie of his Race, and Disposition, and to continue and close it up with the Vertues practised in his Life, and the Sanctity expressed in his Death.

IN setting downe the place of his Birth I shall follow the usuall course of others who hold it Where a wor­thy man of a faire Line is born, and bred is necessary to be knowne. a Circumstance very necessary to make knowne where a worthy man, and of a faire Line is born, and bred, in that it is not the Fertility and Beau­ty of the Soile, but the manners, and goodnesse of the Dwellers that commend the place. True it is that Isaac commands Iacob that hee should [Page 7] not take a wife of the Land of Canaan, but of Mesopotamia in Syria, being more renown'd. I must not thwart the Scriptures, nor denie that some countries are more famous then others, but I desire to know whether, or no the Braverie of their Inhabitants have not conferr'd on them the Renowme they are so big with. What made Greece the Wonder of the World, but the Lear­ning, and Valour of her people? What makes her now the contempt of all men but the Base­nesse, Dulnesse, and Cowardise of the same? What once was Ireland but another Goshen? There was a time when the people of this Coun­try being asked how they had dispos'd of their sonnes, their Ordinary Reply was, Mandati sunt ad Disciplinam in Hiberniam, They are sent into Ireland to be instructed. Within the remem­brance of many, the Americans are not at this day more barbarous, then were the more Northerne Natives of that Iland, though now (Heaven be praysed) they have almost quite shaken of the cumber some shackles of that Cymerian Igno­rance. I infinitely applaud the speech of Ari­stotle to a vain-glorious Fellow, who boasted himselfe a Citizen of a mighty Citie, Noli, inquit, hoc attendere, sed an dignus sis magna, & illustri Patria: Have not an eye, said he, to the splendour of thy Country, but to thy own Worth, and exa­mine whether thou deservest to be derived thence. So that wee see there is no Climate so obscure that is not illustrated by the Birth of merito­rious [Page 8] men. Had Sir Philip Sidney written his Poem, or Sir Walter Raleigh his History amongst the Savages of America in Greeke or Latine, I am confident all succeeding Authours would have nam'd America as often as now they doe Rome, or Athens, and those rude creatures would have received an imputative worth from them, whereas now they are in little, or nothing to be distinguish'd from their Cattell. Or had they penn'd those their immortall Workes in the In­dian Tongue (after once they had come to light) wee should have studied that unpolish'd Lan­guage as hard, as now wee do the Orientall Dia­lects. Did not a Gaditanian come from the far­thest part of the World to see the farre fam'd Livie?

I will here cut off this no impertinent Digressi­on, with relating that this hopefull young Lord breath'd his first Aire at Stafford, which Towne and Country the memory of him will for ever com­mend, ennoble, and endeare to all such as professe themselves friends to him, or Goodnesse.

BEfore I begin to speake of the Antiquity of his Family, I must necessarily insert somthing of noble Extractions in generall, because there are some clownish Infidels who believing there is no such thing as a Gentleman.

[Page 9] That in all Ages, and Nations the more Wor­thy have beene distinguish'd from the rest by Su­periour it is here pro­ved against all clownish In­fidels, that there is such a thing as a Gentleman. Titles, and callings is undeniable. The Hebrews sever'd them from others by stiling them Jeduim, Horim, Scalithim, Scheliscim, Avarim, Massegucrim, Artsilim, Maginim, Guevirim, Guibborim, Nedivim, Kervim, Ahhaschedappe­nim, by which is signified in the propriety of that Language, that they are Illustrious, Gene­rous, Principall Men, not much inferiour to Kings. But they were most honour'd who were descended from the greatest Houses, and these they named Benhorim, Children of Noblemen. Moses Governour of Israel, to the end he might rule the people well, and worthily, selected seven­ty Men of Eminent Condition, Hachamim, and Jeduim, Wise, and Noble men well vers'd in Affaires of State. And Iosuah his Successour ad­ded others of the same qualitie. Men of Hono­rable Bloud have ever been held to be of Royall Condition, and reverenc'd as little Kings, be­cause them in severall Provinces their Princes have graced with great Titles, Priviledges, and Prerogatives, and on them have conferr'd their Regall Authoritie, that by this meanes they might be more reverenc'd, and obey'd by the people whom under them they were to govern. There is no man, saith Livy, so stupid, that hee is not enflamed with a Desire of Domesticall Glory. The words of the same Author in another place are these. Parentage and Nobilitie are great Or­naments, [Page 10] doubtlesse, for a man to enjoy here in this life, but farre greater to leave behinde him to his Posterity. Harken to Cicero, Omnes boni semper Nobilitati favemus, & quia Reipublicae utile est Nobiles esse homines dignos Majoribus suis, & quia valere debet apud nos senex clarorum homi­num de Republica meritorum memoria, etiam mortuorum: All we who are good ever favour No­bility, because it is a thing profitable to the Com­mon-wealth to have men worthy of their Ance­stors, as also that the aged Memory of famous Men deserving well of the Common-wealth (though dead) ought to be in esteem with us. Plato divides Nobility into foure parts. The first are they who derive themselves from good, and just pa­rents. The second have Princes their Ancestors. The third are they whose Progenitors have been great Warriours, and Lawreated Triumphers. The fourth and best, are they who excell in Mag­nanimitie, and Greatnesse of Merit. And truly I am of Plato's minde; for though I am a never yielding Advocate for men of remarkable Stocks, yet I believe not that Honour is confined to run in certain particular Channels, or that the Rationall Soule should be bound to the same Lawes with the Vegetative, or Sensible. Where Nobility is onely Nuda Relatio, a meare bare Re­lation, and nothing else I esteeme it, not a Grace, but a Disparagement. I shall never seeke for that Fruit in the Root which I should gather from the Branch. Vertue is the legitimate Mother of [Page 11] Honour, not Fortune, who, though shee be a Queene, many times imitates unhappily some of her owne Ranke in suffering her selfe to be en­joy'd by Groomes, and fixeth there her Admi­tion where the World placeth its Derision. Him Him whom Vice, and Ignorance doth still detain prisoner in the Heard of the Vulgar, if by his own vertuous actions hee cannot separate him­selfe from them, my Vote, nor Judgement shall ever give him Freedome. In this I am seconded by no worse a man then the most Eloquent De­mosthenes. De Nobilitate parùm laudis praedica­re possum, bonus enim Vir mihi Nobilis videtur, qui verò non justus est licet Patre meliore quam Jupiter sit genus Ducat Ignobilis mihi videtur. Nobility I cannot much predicate; Hee who is a good man appeareth to mee noble; Hee who is not Iust (though hee derive himselfe from a better pa­rent then Jupiter himselfe) seemes to mee Ignoble. The French usually say, Le Splendeur de Vertu la Noblesse de Race: The Splendour of Vertue is the Nobility of Race.

I am not ignorant that the Censure and Cu­stome of many Kingdomes are against mee, where all men have respect, and precedencie gi­ven them by their great parentage, not their good parts. But above all other, the Dane is the Amongst all Nations the Dane is the greatest Ado­rer of Nobili­tie. most strict Observer of Descent. In Denmarke he is not ranked amongst the Gentry, who can­not prove him Een Herremand auff Seisten Auf­ner, A Gentleman of sixteene Descents by Fa­ther [Page 12] and Mother. At all Triumphs, and Til­tings it is proclaim'd, that hee who is not such must not presume to handle a Sword or Lance, or enter into the Lists. Nay, it is most certaine, that at those great Solemnities they have excep­ted against some base sonnes of their owne Kings defective in Bloud by the Mothers side, and would hardly be pacified by their Princes answer, which was, that what honour was want­ing on the Mothers side was superabounding on the Fathers. In the Raigne of Fredericke the Second King of Denmarke, there lived a most learned Man named Erasmus Laetus, who for his Science, and pleasing Discourse, was admitted into the best Companies, and had an eminent place at all Tables. He proud of his high vallue, and ambitious of higher, travell'd to Venice, and was there created a Venetian Knight, and in com­ming backe was, made Poet Laureat by Caesars own hand. The first Table hee came to after his return home was the Chancellour of that King­dome who plac'd him lowest of all his Guests, not sticking openly to tell him that the Reve­rence, and Superiority which before was given him as a profound Scholar, was now denied him as a Superficiall Gentleman. If in that Kingdome an ignoble man defloure a noble Maid, his head is infallibly cut off, and shee lives, and dies shut up betweene two Walls. If any woman gently borne marry a Roturier. (as the French call him) with us a Peasant, she is deprived of her portion, [Page 13] and never taken notice of afterward by any of her Kinred. In some places of Polanda a gentle­man hath this priviledge that if hee kill a Bur­ger, a Hind, or any other ordinary man by paying downe foure shillings he is quit.

I abhorre this foolish strictnesse, and severity, yet could wish we were not as carelesse this way, as they were punctuall, our Tables then would not be so throng'd with Farme, and shop-Gen­try. The Ancient Romans in this case excluded omnem quaestum, All manner of gaine. If my Vote might passe for good, all originalls of great Families hereafter should issue out of Schooles and Campes, there being no other beginning of power to warrant them from censure and laughter. A true testimony of this I will give you in Pallas Freeman, of Claudins the Empe­rour, a servant as Worthy, as his Master Wise. You shall see an Emperour, and a Senate of Rome (Lords of the World) conspire and com­bine to eternize this Pallas, and to set him up a marke of greatnesse, and glory to all succeeding Ages. The Senate presented this abject fellow with the Praetorian Dignity, and 150 Sesterces, the former of which he tooke, the later hee re­fused. They assemble together on purpose, and humbly thanke this sottish Prince for this his servile Favourite, in that he had vouchsafed to commend him to the Senate, and by that gave them occasion of shaping him a reward answe­rable to his merit. Upon his rejecting this their [Page 14] pecuniary offer, they flocke againe to the Empe­rour, imbrace his knees, and submissively be­seech him to perswade Pallas to accept of their gift, which supplication of theirs, this foolish Emperour presented to Pallas. Behold an Em­rour, and a Senate, saith Pliny, contending for su­periority in slavery. You would have thought by this their so frequent conventing before Caesar, that either the Confines of the Empire had beene enlarged, or the Armies had return'd in safety. Within the first stone of the Tiburtine way they built him a Monument with this Inscrip­tion. Huic Senatus at fidem, pietatemque erga Patronos Ornamenta Praetoria decrevit, & Sester­tium centies Quinquagies, cujus honore con­tentus fuit. On this man for his Faith and Piety to his Patrons, the Senate conferr'd the Prae­torian Ornaments, and presented him with 150. Sesterces, but he contented himselfe with the Ho­nour onely. The excellent Pliny repines so much at the grace and honour done this Furcifer (for so he calls him) that he breaks out into this bit­ternesse of Speech. This mancipated Senate, saith he, stiled that modesty in him, which, indeed was Insolency. How I applaud my fortune, that I liv'd not in their Times, in whose behalfe I blush so many yeares after their committing of this base folly. But why should wee repine at this? Rather let us laugh, that they may not thinke they have made any great purchase who are come to that degree of happinesse, as to be laughed at. By this one [Page 15] Example we may clearely perceive, that it is not in the potency of Princes to create a never fa­ding A never fa­ding Honour is not the gift of Fortune, but of Vertue. honour, that supreame blessing being in the gift of Vertue onely.

That the originall of true Nobility is not de­riv'd from any accidentall good flowing from Fortune, or Linage, but receives its birth, and growth from the ability, and Harmony of a ver­tuous Mind, I will both by reason and example demonstrate.

By reason; for if solid and ligitimate Nobili­ty It is here pro­ved by reason that Nobility depends not on the will of Fortune. depended so on the will and beck of Fortune, that she could circumscribe the markes, and En­signes of Honour within the narrow compasse of the womb, & give, and take them away at her pleasure, there would be nothing left in the spa­cious circumference of this earthly Globe for a Wise man to desire, who knowing Fortune to be so changeable, that some of the Ancients u­sed to make her Statues of Glasse, as an argument of her fragillity, and even then suspecting, and fearing her when she most fawnes on him, pla­ceth not his confidence at all on her, but in­volves himselfe within his owne vertue, which onely can secure him from her tyranny. What ever is in her possession he scornes, though hee may have it for the fetching, because she is so blinde that she cannot penetrate into his worth, and so base that shee lodgeth oftner and longer with the the ignorant and infamous, than with the more deserving and more knowing. Hee [Page 16] smiles at their arrogancy and pride, who upon an idle perswasion grounded on their Nobility, pre­sume to take place of others, whereas, indeed, nothing is more vaine, abject, and more remote Nothing is more remote from the na­ture of true Nobility, than an anci­ent stocke void of vertue from the nature of true Nobility, than an anci­ent stocke voyd of vertue. The judgements of Plato, and Seneca will here bee inserted oppor­tunely, who affirme that if we be inquisitive af­ter Pedigrees we shall finde that there is no slave who is not sprung from mighty Kings; nor no King that is not descended from despicable slaves. By which we may apparantly see that it is not greatnesse of Blood, but of Merit, that really dignifies any man. For my owne part, I seriously protest, I should glory more in being the happy Master of the lofty minde, and low Extraction of undaunted Maerius, than in enjoy­ing all the vast Dominions of Tersytha, and Sar­danapalus, together with the innumerable splen­dent Images of their Ancestors. That Alex­ander the Great was truely Noble, no man will deny, in that he was sonne to so puissant a Mo­narch as Phillip King of Macedon: yet was he so farre from being puffed up with any vaine­glorious conceite of his royall descent, that Plu­tarch upon his credit assures us, he being yet a Child, repined at nothing so much as at his Fa­thers glorious Actions. To this purpose is re­markable that passage betweene him and other Children, who (alledging to him his happinesse in being sonne to so brave a Prince, that made [Page 17] such large Conquests, and onely for him) recei­ved from him this magnanimous answer. What bootes it me to possesse much, when I my selfe have done nothing memorable? So prosperous a successe attends all my Fathers Enterprizes, that hee will leave me nothing to Conquer. O generous speech proceeding from a high aspiring minde, deser­vedly destin'd to Conquer, and governe this lower Hemispheare. Me thinkes I heare him thus enlarge his reply. Hath my Father in one night deflowred both Fame and victory, and extor­ted from them a vow never hereafter to waite on a­ny but him? shall I then live like a Plant, and one­ly grow to stand still? Sloth is the common Nurse to all Vices, and in learning nothing, we learne to doe ill. I like the Custome of that Nation who suffered not their Children to be taught any thing sitting, and alwaies sacrific'd to the gods the last Commer to the Army. Barre mee Motion, and action, and conclude mee a Trunke, not a Man. Shall I lye still imprison'd within the Straights of my owne Greece? No, I am resolv'd not onely to trace my Sire, but to out-goe him. I will have this massie Globe measur'd, that I may see how much is left for me to overcome. The Sunne shall not discover more then I will Conquer, onely I would not so soone vanquish as he surveighs, lest my Valour should want employment. Of the same thred with this opinion of Alexander, is that of Lijcus in Seneca's Hercule furente.

It resteth now, that I confirme by Example It is here by example con­firmed that Descent is no sound Argu­ment of true Nobility. what I have proved by Reason, that Descent is no sound Argument of true Nobility. The truth of this, the very consideration of the incon­stancy of humaine affaires will assure us, in that the Presidents are most frequent of men this day prostrate, and the scorne of all men, to morrow exalted, and their very nods observed.

If wee looke backe upon old Rome wee shall quickly perceive, that not long after shee was built, many obscure men became her Rulers. Who knowes not that Tarquinius Priscus, one of her most famous Kings, had for his Parents a banish'd Merchant, and a servile Woman? Was not Servus Tullius the sonne of a meane fellow, and a Maid servant? Was not the birth of Tul­lus Hostillius, who preceeded both these in the Empire, very meane, he having beene in his Nonage sometimes a Neatheard, sometimes a Shepheard? Now let us come to the Caesars themselves, and examine whether or no they were of more renowned extraction than their Kings. Augustus himselfe (whose Greatnesse and Happinesse grew to a Proverbe, (Sis Augusto Fe­licior, Trajano melior) and whose surname at [Page 19] this day the German Emperours with pride u­surpe, shutting up all their Titles with Semper Augustus, ever Augustus) was not his Grandfa­ther a Silver-smith, and his Father an Astipula­tor? Both which Cicero writing to his brother Quintus avoucheth to have obtain'd the Quae­storship by supplication. What other Founder of his Stocke had Vitellius than a Libertine, or Freed man, whom Cassius Severus, and many others maintaine to have beene no better than a Tayler. Trajan, the best of all the Caesars (in whose Reigne the Mappe of the Roman Em­pire was at the fairest) swamme at first in no Flood of Fortune, and that hee was of no great House. Nerva himselfe inferres, who when he de­sign'd him Emperour, and commended him to the Senate, bade them looke into the mans me­rit, not his parentage. Pertinax none of their worst Emperours had a slave to his Grandfather, and a freed man to his Father. Piscenninus Ni­ger, no bad Prince, had no better a beginning. Opilius Macrinus, was first a Servant, then a Freed man. Galienus, Posthumus Lolienus, and Martius, whose Reigne continued but three dayes, could not glory much in their Pedigrees, the later of which was but a Smith. Galerius had poore Country parents, and he himselfe was an Armorour, and from thence got the sirname of Armentarius. Of the same poore condition were Maximinus, Pupienus, and Balbinus, his co-Regnant. The vertuous Aurelius was born [Page 20] meanly. The Father of the most accomplish'd Probus was a Gardner, yet was hee Lord of so many perfections, that Valerius the Emperour earnestly by Letters exhorted his Sonne Gallenus to imitate him in all things, using often to say by the way of Allusion to his Name, that if his Cognomen had not beene Probus his Praenomen should have beene such. Bonosus rose from a Schoole-master to be an Emperour. Dioclesian was the Sonne of a Notary. Licinius, and Maxi­minianus, Eutropius, and Paulus Orosius, num­ber amongst the Plebeians. The Father of the Emperour Valentinianus was a Rope-maker, whence he himselfe got the nickname of Fune­rarius. Iustinius was but an Armorour. I must not omit Basilius the Macedonian, who being brought Captive amongst other vendible slaves to Constantinople was there created Emperour. I cannot passe over Abdolominus, or, as some wil have him call'd Abactonius, who was brought by Alexander from drawing water, and watering Gardens, and by him made King of Sidonia, to to the eternall dishonour of all the discontented Nobility of that Countrey. Nor must I con­ceale Antipater, the succeeder of Alexander in the Kingdome of Macedonia, who was Nephew to a she Player, that acted the Clownes part. Ar­saces, King of the Parthians, is reported to have beene the sonne of the people. The Parents of Cambyses, King of the Persians were of poor con­dition. Darius the sonne of Hystaspes, who [Page 21] bore no better an Office under Cyrus then that of a Serjant, was exalted to be King of the Persians, and was the first of that Name. Here I must in­troduce the Father of Eumenes carrying of bur­thens, and Telephanes, who being but a base Coachmaker, obtained the Lydian Crowne. I cannot but insert Mydas, who by the Phrygians was called from the Cart to be their King, and Ptolomaeus who made so large a Step, as from be­ing a common Souldier to be crowned King of Egypt. Tyridates clome from a servant to be King of the Parthians. Livy informes us, that Vectius Messius King of the Volscians, was more commendable for his Deeds then his Birth. Who is ignorant that Parrhasius, and Lycastus (being exposed by their Mother to the mercie of the weather, and wilde beasts) were found, and brought up by Tilliphus a Shepherd, and after­wards governed Arcadia. That the Shepherd and Hog-heard Tamberlaine was afterward King of the Scythians, is obvious to every mans know­ledge. I will here make a holy conclusion with David, and Saul, whom God himselfe withdrew, the one from following the Ews, the other from following the Asses, to rule over the Hebrews.

Notwithstanding all these fore-mentioned Honour and Vertue con­joyned, out­shine solitary Merit. Presidents, I would not have any man conceive me to be so simple, that I believe not two good things together are better then one single, that Desert, and Noble Bloud conjoyn'd, farre out­shine solitary Merit. As the purest bloud al­wayes [Page 22] resorts to the Heart as the first liver, and the last dier, and the noblest part of the Body: so for the most part Perfections and Graces, as the Requisites of Honour, make their repaire to the more Honourable of Mankinde. Abortion sounds not so strangely in our eares as degenera­ting, because the former is cōmon, the later not. We not very often, see any man of a Noble strain in whom we detect not some Impression, some seeds of his Parents worth, which in time spring up, bud, and flourish in him. Lightly, he who is well borne ponders with himselfe whether or no, his Predecessours acquired their Dignitie by Arts, or Armes, which once knowne he seeks by the same meanes at least to preserve, if not to in­crease the Honour they have left him.

If our Hodiernall Nobility would spend some Arts & Arms should be the study of the more Noble. time in this Meditation, and diligently exercise themselves both in Letters, and Armes, their Honour would not be assail'd on all sides by the Vulgar as at this day it is, and it would no longer appeare as in some it does, a meere shadow of a consumed Body. The Emperour Adrian Suc­cessour both in the Empire, and Vertue to Tra­jan, (equally an Enemy to Vice, and Sloth) used to say, that it was not decent to see a young Gen­tleman without a Book in one hand to teach him Wisdome, and a Sword in the other to defend the same against all Barbarians whatsoever. So amiable was the Conjunction of both these in his sight, that he did never eat without two stan­ding [Page 23] by him of severall Abilities, one to dis­course to him of the secrets of Nature, the other of Stratagems of Warre. And that this was the Custome of the other Emperours, appeares by the two Masters of Nero, Burrhus, and Seneca, the one a Martialist, the other a Philosopher. Charlemaine, Lewis the Debonaire, Saint Lewis and others had them in such esteeme, that they held the joyning of them together as necessary, as the linking of the Husband, and the Wife.

The Politickes dispute which of these two should have the Precedencie, but in the end give it to the Gowne, in that Good Letters can in­structus in the Military Discipline, but Armes cannot impart the Knowledge of the Arts.

I may seeme to some to have dwelt too long on this weighty, and necessary Argument of Honour in Generall, whose pardon I crave, and so proceed in my Method to treate of his No­bilitie by Race, who is now my deplored Theam.

I am utterly void of all insight in Heraldry, and therefore can write nothing in this kinde, save what I have upon trust, but that little I shall deliver shall be back'd with great Authorities. That his Ancestors have been Dukes, I am con­fident, every man hath heard, but how great in Authority, and Revenue it may be all men ap­prehend not. I am inform'd by a Knight skilfull and Excellent not only in our English, but For­raigne Heraldry also, that the Dukes of Buc­kingham [Page 24] have been so great, that Earles have been the Stewards of their Houses, and that they have The Dukes of Buckingham, have beene so great that Earles have bin Stewards of their Hou­ses. disbursed eight hundred pounds yeerly old Rent in Pensions to Earles, Barons, Knights, and Gen­tlemen. To this worthy Testatour of their Greatnesse, I shall yet adde a far greater: namely, the Right Honorable Henry Earle of Northamp­ton, a Lord so omniscient that he seem'd to all learned men living in his time, A walking A­thens. In a speech of his contain'd in a Booke entituled, The Arraignment of the Traitours, his formall words are these. It was a Monke of Henton, that seduc'd the late Duke of Bucking­ham, to the Ruine of as great a Name as any Sub­ject in Europe (excepting onely the Sirname of a King) can demonstrate, by which I receive a ble­mish, and all those that descend from him. This is enough for mee, in that I cannot blazon Coates, nor draw Pedigrees, and because I am unwilling to disparage some whose Names the Staffords bore in former times, and afterwards forsooke them as somwhat too obscure, and low, for their lofty deeds.

Wee have all this while dwelt in the Suburbs, wee will now enter the Citie, and glad our eyes with the splendour of it. Imagine all the premises to bee but the Cur­tain, which now being drawne wee will gaze on the Beautifull Piece, his Life, so pure and innocent to the outward sight (in Gods eye who can be justified?) that what was said of Scipio [Page 25] Nassica, may be applyed to him, Nihil in vita nisi laudandum aut dixit, aut fecit; Through his whole Life he never did, or spake any thing that was not commendable.

The first care of his Excellent Parents was to His pious E­ducation. let him know there was a God that made him, and they taught him by gesture to acknowledge this Truth, ere hee could by speech. The erection of his eyes, and Hands spake for him ere his Tongue could. To learne the Arts, and Sciences requires a convenient Ripenesse of Age, but it fares not so with Religion which is to be suck'd in with the Mothers, or Nurses Milke. A Vessell Religion is to be suckt in with the milke. reteines long the sent of that wherewith it is first season'd, and therefore hee was taught to name, and know his Heavenly Father before his Earthly. When he came to have the use of speech, hee was instructed every morning with an hum­ble heart, and in a submissive phrase to crave the conduct, and safeguard of God for that Day, and in the same lowly Language to implore his Almighty protection for the ensuing Night. Then was hee carried into Gods sacred Temple there to offer up prayers, and Vowes due to his Maker. True it is, that we not only see, but han­dle God in his Creatures, but we no where speak univocally, and unanimously to him, nor hee at all to us but in his Church.

And that hee might judge of Religion and His learned Education. Goodnesse aright, these his solicitous Parents gave him a learned Education: for though Lear­ning [Page 26] be not the Adaequate Cause of Vertue, Though lear­ning be not the Adaequate cause of Ver­tue, it is the adjuvant. (that being Assuefaction in Goodnesse) yet that it is the Adjuvant, all men not Contentious will easily grant. Some there be (who affirme) that Vertue cannot be taught, because though the In­tellect may be informed of the true forme of Vertue, yet the Will by this Instruction cannot be made flexible. Experience proving to us that many profoundly Learned, are withall damna­bly Wicked. But this falls out by accident, when Science meets with a perverse, and depraved Nature. If we consider Learning in it selfe, wee shall finde that though it doe not necessarily engender Vertue, yet it moves, and enclines the Will to embrace it. To this alludes that of Ovid.

There are many forcible, convincing Reasons, why a learned man is more apt to follow Vertue then an unlearned. Amongst many other I will onely produce four. The first is, that by studying the Arts, and Sciences the thoughts of man are averted from dwelling on corporeall things, the ordinary objects of his Affections, and by that means the occasions are cut off, that usually allure him to be enamour'd on Vice. Secondly, he who is a curious searcher into the Nature, and causes of things, judgeth of them aright, and esteemes them as they are. Hence it comes to passe, that [Page 27] he magnifies things truly great, and contemnes those equally base, and is nothing at all moved with such Events as in the Vulgar beget Terror, and Astonishment. Thirdly, through the Know­ledge of things Naturall, and Supernaturall, hee discernes many causes why wee should adhere to Vertue, and detest Vice: For hee who under­stands the Nature and Excellencie of God, will desire to be like him, and hee who knows that God hath created all things under the Sunne for him, will be enflam'd with a divine love towards him, and approve himselfe gratefull, and service­able to this his Heavenly Benefactour. Likewise hee who espies in the bruite creatures themselves Images of Vertues, in some that of Fortitude, in others that of Temperancie, and Chastitie, in all an Instinct, and Industry in undergoing those Offices they are made for, and which are proper to them, will easily be induced to thinke it a shame, and dishonour to him, if he (having the use of Reason, and having the stampe of the Deity upon him) should be found defective in his Duty. Fourthly, and lastly, Learning layes before us the true Forme of Vertue, and furnish­eth us with Examples of brave accomplish'd men, with the rewards, and Glory they purchas'd by their Perfections: and on the contrary, the ig­nominious, and horrid ends of such as have li­v'd, and died mancipated to their owne sordid, enormous Imperfections, the Meditation where­of will render a knowing man an Admirer of [Page 28] Goodnesse, and a loather of Wickednesse.

They who are so obstinate as to reject these Reasons in favour of Good Letters, will surely be ore-borne, and have their Judgements recti­fied, and reform'd by the Authoritie of great Men, who have declared themselves Fautours of Erudition. This Example of Alexander, sub­jecting Great men have declared themselves fautors of Learning. himselfe to bee the Disciple of Aristotle, shall bee the Leader. Before hee attempted the subduing of the World, hee desired to know what the World was, and it is likely that the knowledge of it invited him to the conquest thereof. How he doted on Homers Works is no­torious even to Dablers in Story. The same A­lexander it was, who would have no difference of Habit betweene the Grecian and the Barba­rian, saying, that their knowledge, and their ig­norance, were markes sufficient to distinguish them. That incomparable Prince Alphonsus King of Spain, Sicily, and Naples, (Coetanian with Charles the Seventh of France) after he had once read in Saint Augustine, that an illiterate King was no other then an Asse crowned, had igno­rance in such detestation, that where ever hee went, and at all times whether in Warre, or Peace, hee endevour'd both by Reading, and Conference, to better his Understanding, and at so high a rate he valued Science that hee gave for his Crest, A Book open. It was a frequent saying with him, That his dead Counsellours, his Books, were to him farre better then the living, since they [Page 29] without flattery, Feare, or bashfulnesse, presented to him Truth naked without any disguising Cover­ture. I ingeniously confesse, I never reade that speech of Solon, without infinite de­light, who lying on his Death-bed, & over-hea­ring some of his learned Visitants desputing and deciding some subtile question or other, atten­tively listned to their Disputation, which a stan­der by observing, demanded of him why he now ready to leave the world, should give eare to their discourse: to whom he made this answer, worthy to be treasured up in all memories; Ut cum illud audiero moriar doctior. That when I have heard that poynt discuss'd, I may dye the more learned. Aristippus being demanded by one, in what his sonne should bee better'd if he learnt the Arts, and Sciences; answer'd. Etsi nulla alia in re, nequit, certè vel in hoc, quod in Theatro non sedebit lapis supra lapidem: If in nothing else, saith he, yet truely in this, that hee shall not sit in the Theater one stone upon another. The same Phi­losopher often protested that hee had rather bee a Begger than a Foole, in that the former onely wants money, the latter humanity. Antisthenes confounded the studious, and the noble, and ad­monish'd his Scholars, that learning was the on­ly Viaticum, that in stormes and shipwracke when all things else perish'd, would boy up in spight of evill Fortune. Aristotle was so great a student, that when he went to rest, he used to hold in his hand a Ball of Brasse over a [Page 30] large Bason of the same Mettall, that when hee slept, the noyse of the Ball falling in­to the Bason might awaken him. To one who asked him how the Learned differ'd from the ignorant, hee replyed, ut Viventes a Mortuis: As the Living from the Dead. Hee would often repeate this his owne speech, That Learning was an Ornament in prosperity, in adver­sity a Refuge; and that Tutors were farre to bee preferr'd by Children, before Naturall Parents, be­cause they received from the later the benefit of li­ving onely: but from the former the felicity of li­ving well, and blessedly. I dwell the longer on this poynt that it may serve as an Admonition to all parents, especially the more Noble to be­stow on their Children a breeding answerable to their Birth. In elder times, a Sonne was dis­charged in all duty of obeying, comforting, and relieving his parents in their Age, if he could prove that they had neglected to instruct him in his Youth. The Ancients held, that they who provided Lands, and ample possessions for their posterity on whom to bestow a learned Educa­tion, they would would not be at the charge, re­sembled a silly fellow, that hath more care of his shooes than his feete. They thought that the heaping up of Riches for a flat-witted Coxe­combe, who knowes not how to use them, was as if a faire sweete Lute should bee presented to one who knowes not how to make it speake harmoniously. They deemed ignorance to bee [Page 31] at best but a dead Sepulcher, in which many were buried alive.

Of the same minde were the tender parents of this sweet young Lord, and therefore inces­santly exhorted him to be carefull rather of aug­menting his Knowledge than his Estate, whom he readily obeyed, his ambition & their will be­ing like two Lines that meete in one Center. The first shew of his inclination to vertue, was his love to Science, and her Favourites, which I may properly call the entry to that future Glory which vertue intended him, and Time deprived him of. Though he had Lands to till, he forgot not to manure his mind: Some by necessity are constrained to study hard, he by delight was invi­ted to his Book. He was none of those who ima­gine all that time lost which they lose not, ac­counting all those Houres mis-spent which they take from their pleasures, & give to their studies. He would praise every man that aspir'd to Knowledge, whether hee were his superiour, his inferiour, or his equall in Learning. His Superiour had his best words as his due, because he deserved them. His equall he would not de­spise, lest he should be thought to undervalue himselfe; and his inferiour hee would not con­temne or insult over: for he held it no glory to excell the inglorious. The very desire of Lear­ning he thought laudable in any man, much more the Acquisition of it. It was an infallible Maxime with him, that except those Eternall [Page 32] Workes of the soule, wee can properly call no­thing ours, in that all other things wee leave behind us find other owners. He therefore la­bour'd that by a barbarous Ignorance hee made not a forfeit of an Inheritance so inestimable as is a faire Fame, which was able to make all the survivours of his name happy sharers in that honour posterity shall pay him. But what was the scope of his study? was it accutely to scold and wrangle, after the manner of the Times? No, his thoughts could not but bee at peace, whose spirit was composed of nothing but sweetnesse and mildnesse. Was it to pry into the unrevealed Mysteries of the Deity? No­thing lesse; for hee had found that many secrets in Nature, remaine yet unexplicable, much more then are those of God inscrutable, and impeni­trable by any humane eye. He had purus'd the Fable of the Poets, which tells us that Minerva strooke Tyresias blind, for beholding her naked. The Morall is full, and significant, implying that the Deity must not be over-curiously searcht into. Was it for Vaine-glory, and to learne things more curious than profitable? No, he could not be proud of Knowledge, who under­stood that man was ignorant, and a stranger to himselfe, till God reveal'd him to himselfe. He learnt nothing being a Child, that would not prove advantagious to him being a Man. He hated superfluous Science, and made choise of such Authors onely as may instruct, not distract [Page 33] his minde. He knew it fared with the soule as with the body, which is not nourish'd by the greedy devouring of much, but the good di­gestion of a little. He made, according to the Proverbe, no more haste than good speed, fin­ding, that to come to the end of a long journey required not to runne a pace, but to be ever go­ing. Was it language and words he onely hun­ted after? Neither of those, for he loved the Kirnell farre better than the shell. If none of these, what then was the aime of his study? sure­ly nothing but vertue, which hee knew to bee Res, non Verbum, as one sayes, A Thing, not a Wordonely. And understanding that the Poets feigne her to have short armes, inferring, that he who covets to be embrac'd by her, must make a neare approach to her before hee can come within her reach, and attaine to that supreame Happinesse; he came so close up to her, and con­vers'd so frequently with her, that all his actions ever after savour'd of her sweetnesse. Her hee made his supporter, knowing that ingenious Antiquity represented her to us by a Hierogly­phick γ, whose toppe parts two wayes, and re­sembles a Musket Rest, to denote the aide and support shee affords those that put their trust in her. And because she divides her selfe into ma­ny branches, whereof some are divine, some morrall, he resolved seriously, and intentively to practise, first the former then the later. The three Theologicall hee first chose to exercise [Page 34] himselfe in, were Humility, Obedience, and Cha­rity; and that taske ended, hee purposed to make a strong Essay to gaine a habit in all the Cardinall, and lesser Morall Vertues. In the service of these he made a vow to spend the re­mainder of his dayes, setting apart the vertues of Italy, where every Painter, Dancer, Tooth­drawer, and Mountebanke is cald a Vertuoso.

Here his religious parents stept in againe to his ayde, who did not imitate the Images of Mercury set up in times past in the common Roades, with the fore-finger poynting out the way to passengers, but standing still themselves, not bearing them company. This loving couple (as happy in themselves, as in him) were his guides not onely by Advice, but Action.

The reason why hee beganne with Humility was, that it render'd him more apt and able to Humillity extolled in it selfe and him. acquire the rest, and was the vertue his, and our blessed Master commenc'd and ended with, and all the Saints in imitation of him have studi­ed, and with diligence put in practice. Our sweetest Saviour forbade his Disciples to di­vulge his miracles, least the World might thinke he gloryed in them, as appeares by his cure of the Leprous, of the Blind, of the Lame, and of the Dumbe, &c. In his Transfiguration hee gave them the same charge; Reveale this Vision to no body. His Disciples demanding who should be the greatest in the Kingdome of Heaven, he answered, Whosoever shall humble himselfe like [Page 35] one of these little ones, shall bee greatest there. What taught he but Humility, when hee said, When thou art invited to a wedding, take not the first place at the Table. What can perswade a man sooner to avoyd Vaine-glory, and to enrole himselfe amongst the servants of Humility, than his moving example of the Pharisee, and the Publican? He made choise to bee conceived of a poore humble Mother, and to bee borne not onely in no remarkable Country, but in a Stable, where beasts onely were witnesses of his Birth. Thirty yeares hee lurked in the World, in somuch that we read little or nothing of him in all that time, save that when hee was twelve yeares old, hee was found hearing, inter­rogating, and determining in the Temple. A­bout his thirtieth yeare hee sent not for Saint Iohn Baptist, but came to him, and deman­ded Baptisme at his hands: wherein wee learne a profitable lesson for the proud, who dis­daine to visite their Inferiours. Hee that came from Heaven scorn'd not to wait on earth, on his owne servant: and shall insolent men who live on earth, and are made of earth, scorne or grudge to give each other a visite? He began his preaching in the same humble manner as John did, Repent, &c. He intruded not into the Nup­tials of the rich and lofty, but of the meeke, and penurious, where Wine was wanting. When hee understood they meant to make him a King, hee flew into the Mountaines to conceale himselfe. [Page 36] He being Lord of all things, paid Tribute as a servant. Hee travailed commonly on foot, and when he was weary, hungry, and dry, his lodging and fare were little better then that of the irra­tionall Creatures. This is with ease proved, for he complains himselfe, that hee hath not a house to put his head in: and wee finde that when hee was faint and thirsty, hee had no other repose then on the ground, nor no other drinke then that pure Water drawne for him, by that purer Samaritan. Hee elected humble Disciples, and preached to them Humility. Hee said not to them, Be Omnipotent as I am Omnipotent, Be Wise as I am Wise; No, no, his Doctrine flew a lower pitch, and was delivered in a more stoop­ing phrase, Be humble, as I am humble. He named himselfe the sonne of man, oftner then the sonne of God, and though hee was truly both, in that he participated of both Natures, yet hee chose his Denomination oftner from the inferiour na­ture then from the superiour. Hee made his En­try into Hierusalem, not like a Triumpher in a Chariot, nor on a proud Courser with rich Trappings, but on a sily Asse void of rich Fur­niture. Being to depart out of this World, that he might leave behind him an unequall'd and unheard of Example of Humilitie, he wash'd his Disciples feet, and wip'd them with the linnen cloth wherewith hee was girt. Lastly, every cir­cumstance of his Passion rellisheth humilitie. Did the Saints digresse a whit from this path trod by [Page 37] their Redeemer? Surely no, one proofe where­of we have in St. John Baptist, whose thoughts, deeds, and words were all humble. The Iewes enquiring of him whether hee were Christ, or a Prophet, he answered negatively to both: where­as our Saviour protesteth that the Humane Race could never boast of a greater then he. Hee assu­med no higher a stile then, I am the voice in the Wildernesse, &c. His Diet, his Raiment, and his Lodging were all contemptible. How often did that faire recover'd Bankerupt of all Grace, Mary Magdalene, fall at our Saviours feet, and wash them with her teares? After the miraculous cure of the lame by Peter; his speech was lowly, not attributing the fact to himselfe, but to the divine Vertue, and the Invocation of the Name of JE­SUS. When upon his entry into Caesaria, Cor­nelius meeting him fell at his feet, hee rais'd him up, saying, I am a man also as thou art. Paul, and Barnabas hearing that the Inhabitants of the City of Lystris, concluded they were Gods and resolved to sacrifice to them, cut their garments in pieces, and running into the midst of the Throng, cried out; What mean you to do? Wee are no other then poore Mortals, as you are; Yet with this their clamour could they hardly keep the superstitious people from sacrifi­cing to them. Paul submitted himselfe to learne of Aquila, and Priscilla, the Art of Tent-making, and got his living by it. This last, but most lear­ned of the Apostles, was a submissive petitioner [Page 38] for the prayers of others. I beseech you Brethren, saith he, even in the Name of our Lord Iesus Christ, and the Charitie of the Holy Ghost, to assist me with your Prayers. In other places hee termeth him­selfe the least of the Apostles, and professeth that he deserveth not the name of an Apostle. In his Epistle to Timothy, hee descendeth yet lower; Iesus, saith hee, came into the world to save Sin­ners, whereof I am the chiefe. Of the same Hu­mility rellish these his meeke formes of speech, Not aspiring to height of Knowledge, and thinking themselves superiours to one another onely in Hu­militie. Armatura tutissima animi Modestia, saith Saint Basil, A modest humble minde is an Ar­mour of proofe. Wittily Saint Bernard, As the morning Light is a sure signe that the Sun is en­tring into our Hemispheare; so the very dawne of Humility in any man, is an infallible Token of ap­proaching Grace. This is the Vertue that swee­tens all the rest, and a good Frame, and securitie ever attend it. By this the holy Martyrs have triumph'd over Tyranny, and Death, and by it have obtain'd the eternall Crown of Glory they now weare. He who void of Humility, seeks to engrosse other Vertues, doe like him who gathe­reth dust to throw it against the winde. This Vertue never entred into the Heads or Hearts of the Heathen. Nulla tanta est Humilitas, (saith Valerius Maximus) quae dulcedine Gloriae non tangatur: There is no Humilitie so great, as to be altogether senselesse of the sweetnesse of Glory. Hu­milis [Page 39] satis est (they be the words of Livy) qui aequo jure satis vivit, nec inferendo injuriam, necpatiendo etiam: He is humble enough, who is a just observer of this equall Law, neither to act, nor suf­fer an injury. To these I may adde that of Iso­crates; Legi, Principi, & sapientiori cedere mo­destum est: It is the part of a modest humble man to subject himselfe to the Law, his Prince, and those in wisdome above him. The Philosophers in the beginning were so proud as to assume to themselves the stile of Wisemen, Pythagoras be­ing the first, (as witnesseth Laertius) that mo­destly called himself a Philosopher, that is, a Lover of Wisdome. Socrates, indeed, seemed to look towards Humility, when hee said, Hoc tantum scio me nihil scire: I onely know this that I know nothing. But this was spoken respectively, that what hee knew, was nothing in respect of that whereof he was ignorant. The Stoicall, Magni­loquent Sect uttterly excluded Humility, and the Cynick though hee appeared sordid and abject, was thought by other Sects as inwardly haughty as hee was outwardly dejected, which was inti­mated by his speech, who said to one of them, That hee espied his pride through the hole in his Cloake. The Poets went this way altogether, as farre as they,

[Page 40] As saith the Horace, and Seneca in his Thyeste; addeth,

In this submissive Vertue this our sweete Bud of Honour grew to such a height, that hee had many noble Emulatours who aspired to climbe to the same degree. Hee made Mans miserable condition the Mirrour wherein his Humilitie beheld her selfe. Hee rightly conceived, that as the Tree that growes high must take deep root: so the Minde that ascends to God must first pro­strate it selfe before him. His sanctified soule (if her Creatour accepted of her poore endevours) was altogether carelesse of the applause of men, like a chaste Spouse, who being ravish'd with the delight she takes in the kisses and embraces of her Husband, is nothing at all mindfull or carefull of the frownes, or favours of others: yet did she humbly comply with all men as farre as the Service, and Honour of her Maker would give her leave.

This Vertue prepar'd him to receive the yoke of Obedience, which he readily put on, and ne­ver Obedience commended in it selfe, and him. after disobediently cast off. He was confor­mable in all things to the Word of God, the Church, his Prince, Parents, Tutours, and Supe­riours That there was a God hee learn'd from the Order, and Beauty of the Universe, which to attribute to the Vertue, or power of things [Page 41] created were to ascribe the motion of the wheel to the wheele it selfe, or the Excellencie of an Image to the Pensill. Hee saw nothing that put him not in minde of God, but being admitted to be a member of his mysticall Body, his Church, he there saw him more cleerly, spake to him, and receiv'd from him his divine behests, of which he forth with vowed himselfe a most obe­dient, and religious observer.

The Duty hee owed his Parents, Nature had His obedience to his parents. ingrafted in him, and Grace had assured him that hee deserves neither the stile of Noble, nor of Man, who neglects to bee dutifull to those to whom he owes his Life, and Being. A reverence to these in-seated in the Bloud. Two strange de­monstrations of this Veritie wee finde in Livie, and Valerius Maximus. The first is, that Marcus Two rare ex­amples of fi­liall duty, and pietie. Pomponius having accused Lucius Manlius of cruelty to Titus Manlius his sonne, the said Titus went to the House of Pomponius then Tribune, and with his Sword drawne, threatned to kill him, unlesse hee would sweare to let the Processe fall against his Father, and forced him to take that Oath. The later in Valerius Maximus, is of a Woman condemned to die by Famine, whom her Daughter then a Nurse (having leave daily to visit her Mother) nourished with her milke, which pious deceit of hers being detected, bred that relenting, and astonishment in the hearts of the Judges, that they not only pardoned the Mother, but in memory of this pious, dutifull [Page 42] fact of the Daughter, razed the Prison to the ground, and erected in the same place a Temple to Pietie. Diceret aliquis, saith Valerius, hoc esse contra legem Naturae, nisi Naturae prima lex esset diligere parentes: A man would say, that for the Daughter to give suck to the Mother were a thing preposterous, and against Nature, were it not that the first Law of Nature is to love our Parents. A­ristotle affirmes, that the Storks nourish their Dammes, in way of a gratefull recompensation of their care, and pains in breeding them. Quic­quid praestiti, saith Seneca, infra aestimationem Paterni Muneris est: What ever I have perform'd, comes short of the Benefits for which I stand a Debtor to my Father. None but Monsters of In­gratitude forget such blessings as these.

His Tutours he honour'd and obey'd, not for feare of punishment, but love of Discipline. Hee His obedience to his Tutors. sufferd not himselfe to be hail'd, and dragg'd to his Book, but was as sedulous in learning as his Masters in teaching, who (no doubt) had told him that the Muses love a smiling Schollar, not one who lowers on them, and beholds the Schoole with the same countenance Malefactors looke on the Gibbet. I cannot say whether his alacrity in receiving, or his care in executing his Tutors commands were the greater.

The esteeme of the holy Prophets, Apostles, and Fathers of the Church had this Vertue in ought to advance it much in our esteeme. God bound man to obedience presently after his crea­tion [Page 43] in the state of innocencie, the breach whereof hee severely punish'd. Noah readily o­bey'd all Gods commands when the Floud was at hand. The swift obedience of Abraham was admirable, when without any delay at all, he made haste to sacrifice his sonne, and with his owne hands to let out his own blood. It is wor­thy our observation, that when ever the Chil­dren of Israel, or any of Gods servants fought with, or against his will, they had accordingly good, or bad successe. God told that if hee wil­lingly executed all his precepts, hee would ever fixe the Throne of his Kingdome in Hierusalem: but on the contrary, if he did not perform them, he would cut Israel from off the face of the earth. Therefore, saith S. Gregory, is obedience better then sacrifice, because by sacrifice anothers flesh, but by obedience our own wils are subdued, slaine, and of­ferd up to the Almightie. An obedient man, saith Saint Bernard, deferres not the execution of a com­mand, but straight prepares his eares to heare, his Tongue to speake, his feet to walke, his hands to worke, and all his thoughts are fix'd on the will of his Commander. And in another place, the same Father saith, That there is, no doubt, but hee de­serves more grace, and favour, who prepares and makes himselfe readie to receive a command, then hee who willingly executes the same. To this al­ludes that of Plantus,

And that of Terence,

Wee will conclude this point with that which Ovid speaks of Achilles.

The next that presents it selfe to our view is Charity, a Vertue that will usher any man to Charitie prai­sed in it selfe, and him. Gods presence, who is ambitious of that greatest of Glories. This Love is the King of all the pas­sions of the soule, and motions of the Heart, he attracts all the rest to him, and renders them con­formable to himselfe. His Essence consists in do­ing good works readily, diligently, frequently. Let us heare that excellent Father Saint Augu­stine magnifie this Vertue. In Charity, saith hee, the poore are rich, and without it the rich are poor. This sustaines us in adversitie, tempers us in pro­sperity, fortifies us against unruly passions, and makes us joyfully do good works. This was it made Abel delightfull in Sacrifice, Noah secure in the [Page 45] Floud; Abraham faithfull in his peregrination, Moses merry amidst injuries, and David meek in tribulation. This made the fire a playfellow to the Children in the Furnace. This caused Susanna to be chast above the temptations of man. Anna after the use of man, and the blessed Virgin without the knowledge of man. This animated Paul to be free in arguing, Peter humble in obeying, the Christi­ans gentle in their confessions, and Christ himselfe prone to pardon sinners. What shall I say? should I speake with the tongues of men, and Angels, and want Charitie I were nothing, it being the soule of Divine Knowledge, the Vertue of Prophesie, the salvation contained in the Sacraments, the fruit of Faith, the riches of the poore, and the life of the dying. He addes, A man may have all the Sacra­ments and yet be evill, but he cannot have Charitie and be so. Againe, Science if it be alone, is puffed up with pride, but because Charitie edifies, she suf­fers not Knowledge to swell. He calls it in another place, the cement of soules, and the societie of the Faithfull. Saint Hierome commends it to us in these words. I do not remember any one hath died an ill death, who willingly perform'd the Works of Charity: the reason is because hee hath many Inter­cessours, and it is a thing impossible that the pray­ers of many should not penetrate the sacred eares of God. Sweetly, saith St. Gregory. As many boughs spring from one root; so many Vertues are deriv'd from Charitie alone, in which not rooted, no branch of goodnesse can flourish. To these Suf­frages, [Page 46] I will adde that of Hugo, O divine Chari­tie, I know not how I should speake more in thy prayse, then that thou didst draw God from Heaven to Earth, and didst exalt Man from Earth to Hea­ven. Needs must thy force be great, since by thee God was so humbled, and Man so exalted.

In so few yeares as fourteene, a man can ex­pect onely a propension to this, and all other Vertues: yet he that looks for no small progresse in this, and most of the other (for the practice of some are not incident to that tender age) shall not have his expectation deceiv'd. For his Cha­rity, I may truly averre, that it was extensive not onely to his friends, and acquaintance, but to the poore, to strangers, and enemies also. Some friends he chose both for support, and ornament, His love to his Friends. as appeares by his love, and imitation of his truly good, and great Guardian, the Earle of Arundell, Lord Marshall of England, for no soo­ner had age ripened his judgement, but hee ele­cted him for the object of his affections, and the modell of his actions. A copy drawne from so faire an originall, you will say could not prove deform'd. Others hee chose for delight, and all hee lov'd with a heart wherein Truth kept her Court. Some he would to his power so sudden­ly, secretly, and cunningly relieve, that they of­ten times found their wants supplyed, before they knew from whence the benefit came, resem­bling in this a Physician, who cures his patient unawares, before he dreams of a recovery. Hee [Page 47] approved that speech of Diogenes, Manus ad a­micos non complicatis digitis extendi oportere: That a closed hand is not to bee reached out to a Friend. Where he discovered a compleat worth, he disdained not to be a suitor, and first to make an offer of his service, in imitation of a Husband­man, who first tilleth, and soweth the ground, and then expects the fruit of his labour. His word, and the effect of it, were as inseparable as heat and fire. This true property of a Gentle­man the Ancients decipher'd to us, when they painted a Tongue bound fast to a Heart. He was no importunate, or severe Exactor of the re­turne of a love answerable in greatnesse to his owne; wisely, and nobly considering that hee is no true friend who is alwayes no more a friend then his friend is.

Marry (I must confesse) hee was exceedingly His curiositie in the choice of his friends. curious, and cautious in his choice, following in that the counsell of Bias the Philosopher, Ami­cos sequere quos non pudeat elegisse: Follow such friends whom to have chosen you need not be asha­m'd. Hee applauded that of Anacharsis, Multo melius est amicum unum egregium quam grega­rios multos possidere. It is farre better to enjoy one brave Friend then many meane and vulgar. Hee knew that they who in haste, and without ma­ture advise contract friendship, suffer the same inconveniencie as they do, who greedily and ha­stily devoure sundry meates which they can nei­ther quickly with ease and safety cast up, nor re­taine. [Page 48] He discreetly weighed, that friendship made with the wicked, is as unstable Vice, the Basis whereon it is built. As the Ocean with great labour strives to worke all dead bodies to the shore; so a generous friendship expells all such as are lost, and dead in sinne. It is not e­nough to be wise and good our selves, but we must not keepe the foolish and the wicked com­pany, except we will incurre the censure of the World, and be our selves thought such. Vice, and the Vitious he fought with, after the man­ner of the Parthians, flying. If his dearest friend had solicited him to joyne with him in any act not warranted by Vertue, he would have answe­red him with Pericles, who to an intimate friend that woed him to forsware himselfe in his be­halfe, replyed; I am my friends friend as farre as the Altars. As if he should had said, I will passe for thee through all miseries, dangers, and ship­wracks, save that of Conscience, which like a Maid of Honour, I must preserve inuiolated, and immaculate.

As he was extreamly nice, and carefull, not to entertaine debauch't friends, so was hee also re­solv'd A herd of Friends hee lov'd not. not to admit of many. He was not igno­rant that a River which hath many Armes, and out-lets, is alwayes in danger of being low, and drye. Plutarch maintaines, hee cannot be faith­full, and honest, who hath a herd of friends, be­cause many may want his Faith, and assistance at one and the same time, to all which hee cannot [Page 49] bee serviceable. But those he had once judicially chosen, and on whom he had fixed his affection hee still regarded with the same countenance; whether they were in a flood, or an ebbe of Fortune, cleane contrary to the course of fla­terers, and dissemblers, who fawne on their friends in aboundance, and forsake them in pe­nury, not unlike in this to Flies, which came in swarmes to a Kitchin full of flesh, and abandon it empty.

His affection to his friends tooke nothing His love to the poore. from his care, and love of the poore. It was not hidden from him, that the chiefe worke of mer­cy, is to have pitty on a mans owne soule; hee therefore first endeavoured to mundifie his owne heart, knowing that God more than man respects the pure minde of the giver. True it is, he was in his Nonage, and had no great store out of which his Liberallity should flow, but all hee could spare Charity dispos'd of. God Crownes the intent where he findes not the faculty. Le­gitimate Mercy proceedes not from a full purse, but a free bosome. He that in his heart com­passionates his neighbours infortunity, deserves more of him, and in the sight of God, than hee who gives him onely a materiall Almes, for hee who gives, parteth onely with his outward sub­stance; but he who affords the indigent sighes, teares, and groanes, imparts that which comes from within, from the very Center of the soule. He kept to himselfe onely what was ne­cessary, [Page 50] and the superfluous he imparted to the Needy. Hee piously meditated, that Poverty is a consecrated Field, that quickly returnes the sower a plentifull harvest. It fares with spiritu­all, as with temporall Husbandry, unlesse seed be scattered, no encrease can be expected. He laid up his Treasure in his true eternal Country, Heaven: He thought continually that he heard the voice of his Saviour thus saying. I was thy Bene­factor, now make me thy Debtour, become my Vsu­rer, and thou shalt centuply receive the Summe thou disbursest. In obedience to his command he assisted, as farre as in him lay, all that wanted. He that gives indifferently to all, shall ever bee mercifull, but he who sits upon the Lifes of the poore, and judgeth them according to their faults, not their necessities, shall seldome or never doe good. We ought to cast our eye on nature, not on the person, according to that of Aristotle, who being reprehended for succouring a Lewd, but poore man, replyed, De Humanitati, non Ho­mini. I give to Humane Nature, not to the man. He murders the poor, who denyes him that whereby he subsists. Most accursed is he who shuts up in his Coffers the Health and Life of the distressed. In vain he lifts up his hands to heaven, who extends them not to the succor of the afflicted. It is a love­ly ruine, and a pleasing spectacle to Christ, to see a devoute man undoe himself with his own hands, in freely and readily bestowing al that he hath on the naked. But oh! it is deservedly to be lamented [Page 51] that the whilome downy open hands of mercy are now shut, and brawny, and that most men ei­ther out of a flinty Nature, or out of a needlesse feare to be thought Vaine-glorious leave to bee pious. To the former hard-hearted brood, whom no misery of another can move. I wil say with Pli­ny, If they merit the Epithets of wise & valiant they shall not be denyed them, but we will never grant they shall be stiled wise, and valiant men Men, since they have unman'd themselves, lost their bowels, and cast off all Humanity. The later, who make Vaine-glory their scruple, I can assure that the Benefit is not despicable before God, which is confirm'd in the sight of men, but that which is done to the end men may see it.

From his pronesse in giving, we now come His ready for­giving of in­juries. to his readinesse in forgiving, another office of Charity, executed with farre greater difficulty than any of the former. To love desert in friends, or supply the wants of the needy, reason and Na­ture invite us, but to suffer disgraces, and intolle­rable injuries from worthles men, is a thing they both abhorre: for that of Seneca is most true; Duplicat dolorem sustinentis indignitas Inferen­tis. The griefe of the sustainer is doubled by the in­dignity of the Afflictor. Appositively to this Cicero; Qui se non defendit, nec obsistit injuriae, sipotest, tam est in vitio quam si parentes, aut ami­cos, aut patriam deserat: Hee who defendeth not himselfe, and repelleth not an injury, if he can, com­mits as great a crime as he that forsakes his Parents, [Page 52] Friends, or Countrey. It is a thing not very hard for flesh and blood to rejoyce in God, and his Blessings, but very difficult it is to take plea­sure in all Slanders, Infamy, and Persecutions for his sake: for that gentle submissive soule, in­to which Ambition, nor the least thought of honour ever entered, would yet most gladly a­voyd all abuses, and dishonours. But our now truely blessed one, the beloved Theme wee now handle, had learnt this holy humble Art of him, whose life was nothing but a continued passion. All injuries intended, or acted against himselfe he could freely pardon: but those which were directed against the Majesty and dignity of his Maker, he could not endure. In such a case a ho­ly Fury becomes the Child of God. It favour'd in his opinion of more piety and wisedome, to overcome a slight injury, that reached not to his Parentage, or Religion, with silence, than with a tart replye; having found in Story, that small words have overthrowne great Cities. No wrong being equall to that which is done with reproach, and contumely, in that to an He­roicke Spirit the losse of blood is not so grievous as that of Reputation.

We will now descend from the Divine to the Valour mag­nified in it selfe and him. Morall Vertues; amongst which Valour (accor­ding to the generall vulgar beliefe) is the first required in a Lord, or Cavallier. Therefore the Poets feigne the god of Warre himselfe to bee borne in Thrace, because the people of that [Page 53] Country are hardy, and couragious. This was to denote that Fortitude usuall resides amongst men of a generous, and lofty straine, whose Edu­cation leads them to knowledge in good Let­ters, which at once informes them of the Re­nown of their Ancestors; and that the image of Fame was ever placed before the Temple of Mars, to intimate, that the great exploits of daring, and undaunted men, are by her carried in­to every corner of the earth. It will not bee a­misse here to insert the judgements of the Fa­thers of the Church, passed on this vertue. St. Austin shall be the Chorus: Qui vera virtuta for­tis est nec temerè audet, nec in inconsultè timet. He who is truely valorous neither dares rashly, nor feares unadvisedly. That of St. Hierome deserves our observation. Fortitudo via Regia est, aqua declinat ad dextram qui temerarius est, & per­tinax, ad sinistram qui formodolosus est, & pavi­dus: Fortitude is the Kings high way, from which he swarves on the right hand, who is foole hardy, and obstinate: He on the left hand who is coward­ly, and fearefull. Wisely and pertinently Cassio­dorus. Vir vocatus, a viribus, qui nescit in adver­sis tolerādo deficere, aut in prosperis aliqua elatione se jactare, sed animo stabili defixus, et Coelestium rerum contemplatione firmatur manet semper in pavibus. Man is so called from his strong and manly mind, which knowes not how to faint in suf­fering adversity, nor to boast & insult in prosperity, but fixed in a stable resolution, and confirmed by [Page 54] the contemplation of heavenly things remayns ever­more fearelesse. The Heathens themselves dif­ferd not in opinion from these holy men, as Ci­cero testifies in his Rhetoricks: Sicut scientia re­mota justitia caliditas potius quàm sapientia ap­pellanda est: sic animus ad periculum paratus si sua cupiditate, non aliena utilitate impellitur Te­meritatis potius nomen habet quam Fortitudinis: As Knowledge not accompanied with Justice, is rather to be called Craft then Wisdome: so a minde readie to encounter danger, if it be driven thereunto by its owne desire and pleasure, not the publick profit, meriteth rather the name of Teme­rity then Valour. In the same place, hee thus de­fines Fortitude. Fortitudo est immobilis inter adversa gloriosa animi claritudo res arduas pul­chrè administrans, quae nec adversis infestando frangitur, nec prosperis blandiendo elevatur: For­titude is an unmoved glorious serenity of the mind fairly administring things difficult, which is nei­ther broken nor dejected with the frowns of For­tune, nor puffed up with her smiles.

This Vertue is justly admir'd of all, truly un­derstood, All men ad­mire, few un­derstand what valour is. and practised but by a few. Some think it valour to kill themselves, some to injure and provoke others, and almost all believe that a va­liant man ought to feare nothing. For the first, that a man ought not to lay violent hands on himselfe all good Christians conclude. Aristotle thus cryes, this self-murther done: Mollitudinis est laboriosa fugere: It argues a man of Effemina­cie [Page 55] to seek by Death to flie from the troubles, and labours of this life. This Philosopher, and the Pythagoreans held that as a souldier ought not to leave his station without the command of his Generall. So no man should dare to goe out of this life without the leave of God, and Nature that gave it him. Wee will therefore spare the proofe of a thing so universally granted by all Christians, and many Philosophers. But withall the strength of Divinity and Philosophy, I shall never bee able to convince the greater part of Mankind of another errour almost as damna­ble as this, and that is a foolish, and pernicious Tenent, that they may lawfully send Challenges, and accept of them, though the occasion of the quarrell be Wine, Dice, or prostituted Women. Nay, many a man is the Martyr of Temperan­cie, and is kill'd because hee will not excessively drinke. I knew two Gentlemen of great quali­tie, and little wit, fall out in a Taverne upon a protestation of the greatnesse of their mutuall love each to other. In this ardencie, each strove for prioritie in affection. One said, Thou art dea­rer to me then I to thee, whereupon the other re­plied with the Lie, and was run thorough in the place where he stood. Monsieur de la Noue a g [...] ­lant and learned French Captaine demonstrates the misery of these Duels upon slight occasions, by an infortunitie that befell himselfe in the like case. Hee being importun'd by a Gentleman of his Nation, not Acquaintance, to be his Second; [Page 56] willingly, and thankfully condiscended to his Request; for, indeed, the French think them­selves never so much honour'd as when their friends value them at so high a rate, as to put their Honours, and Lives into their custodie. Well, this brave Second associated his Principall into the Field, where they were to fight two to two. He no sooner arrived there, but with grief and horrour hee beheld his neerest Kinsman, and dearest friend hee had in the World ready to en­counter him, as being the opposite Second. You may easily conceive, what a combat there was in his noble brest betweene Honour and Affecti­on, but the former being a Tyrant quickly over­came, and suppress'd the later, and violently hal'd this great Commander to combate his Friend, who there fell under his sword. I will omit all other examples, for all come short of this. Non mediocris animi est fortitudo, saith Saint Ambrose, quae sola defendit ornamenta vir­tutum omnium: Fortitude beares no meane deje­cted minde, which alone defends the Graces, and Ornaments of all the other Vertues. Sure I am, the most part of our Gentry put it to a cleane contrary use, and exercise it onely in the defence of Vice, and her deformed Litter. These silly brothers of the Sword either by the force of Drinke, Fury, or Ignorance, are rendred as stu­pid as the Natives of Barbary are with the ex­cessive eating of Opium, which hurries them into Quarrels, that Grace and Nature both tremble [Page 57] at. The Spartans ever before a battaile, tempered and allaid the choler of their Souldiers with the melodie of the Flute, and other instruments, that so their anger might not deface their Reason. We had need of some charming Musick to qua­lifie the heate and rage of our Rorers. Hardly will they endure the Test of the Scripture, who cannot undergo that of Aristotle. First, sayes he, a valiant man fights not for feare of Infamy, or Re­prehension. Secondly, not for the awe hee stands in of Military Discipline. Thirdly, not out of confi­dence of his skill in the Military Art, or of his own strength and armature. Fourthly, not being urged thereto by the violence of naturall passions, as An­ger, Griefe, Lust, and the like. Fiftly, not out of ig­norance of his enemies force, nor out of feare of servitude, or hope of bootie. Sixtly, a valiant man is the Champion of honestie; for which onely hee is to combate all that oppose it. He could not ima­gine any thing in excellencie above Honesty, which he still makes his utmost scope, not being so blessedly subtile as to discerne God and his Church. Examine wel all these Requisites of Va­lour, and how many now a dayes shall we disco­ver and allow valiant; most men fighting against all the Rules of Honesty, and the Laws of God? If our Nobility and Gentry shall diligently per­use ancient Histories, they shall finde that their renowned Ancestours never ascended to the Throne of Honour this way. Debaushes, Quar­rels, and Duels were not the degrees by which [Page 58] they mounted. They singl'd not out an enemy in the field upon exchange of idle words, never drawing their swords but to rescue their Coun­trey out of the jawes of Ruine, or their Prince from the Height of a Breach, or from the Centre of the Enemies Battalion. The Valour not thus nobly imploy'd, they reputed no other then a womanish choler, a simple passion and a feeble revenge unworthy of a man magnanimous. Cer­tainly, our Gallants cannot but imagine the great Alexander, and the mightie Iulius to be no­thing inferiour to them in this Vertue, yet did not they judge that a foolish hastie word should be put in ballance with a Life. These Master­spirits of the World were utterly ignorant what reparation of Honour the Lie claimed, and of the circumstances in managing a Quarrell, which these Hacksters make our yonger sort believe to be a Mystery, and by this ridiculous Science get their Livings. Those great Worthies concluded that the offence alwayes return'd upon his head that offerd it. From these single, bloudy Encoun­ters, what can Gentlemen expect other then if they kill, to have their Lands confiscated to the King, and (if married) to have their Wives and Children live by the succour of the Knapsack, to leave infamy to their Posterity, and to have no other Historiographer then the Hangman; whereas their lives lost in a set Battaile, would make them ever live in the best Chronicles of theirs, and after times. Now suppose they fall [Page 59] themselves under their enemies hands, what can ensue but a burial of their Names together with their bones, and (without Gods infinite extra­ordinary mercy) the damnation of their soules? These Duels, and the Horse-races of our Gen­try so much in request with them, have two goodly originals. The first began amongst the slaves of Haniball, after he had passed the Alpes, and the later amongst the Butchers of Barnet, who (their London Markets once ended) sound­ly dows'd in drinke, used to run home for wa­gers. What will these Fighters say, if I prove to them out of the great Secretary of Nature, Ari­stotle, that a man may feare, and yet be valiant? First, saith he, a valiant man may dread all things shamefull and wicked, and the Infamy of himselfe, and his. Secondly, he may feare all things so dread­full, that they exceed the power of Humane Nature to withstand, as Thunder, Lightning, Earthquakes, Inundations, and the like, which yet he feares not, so that they shall make him forget to do the office of a man resolved. Nay, hee stops not there, but maintaines that a valiant man may flie from an enemy without being justly branded with co­wardise, in case hee findes his Life may be more profitable to his Countrey then his Death. Hee cannot then be said to shun death out of pusilla­nimity, but to reserve himselfe for a greater good.

But I desire to be read by my owne Light; for I would not have any man thinke that I inferre [Page 60] by this Invective against the abuse of this He­roick Vertue, that I counsell any Gentleman to endure grosse Injuries of a high nature, such as may disparage his whole Race, Countrey, Reli­gion, or hazard the safety of his person; for of these foule wrongs, all Nations allow a Repul­sion, and the Ancients called this harmlesse de­fence, Incorruptam Tutelam. Therefore Mars was pictured with his Bosome open, to shew un­to us that worthy men ought to expose them­selves to all dangers, for the preservation of their Honour.

This deare Gentleman, whose losse wee con­dole, had not yet received force and vigour to make a demonstration of the externall va­lour, but the internall he had abundantly, as ap­peared by many seeds of true Magnanimity, which both by his carriage and speech, were ea­sily to be discern'd in him. Such sparkes as these of a great minde the Romans discover'd in Cato yet a childe, and by those judg'd of his future Two admira­ble signes of Cato's future valour disco­ver'd in him yet a childe. Greatnesse. Two of these, as most remarkable, I shall here insert not onely to delight but to con­firme, and strengthen the mindes of my Readers. He, and his brother Caepio, being educated in the House of their Unkle Livius Drusus, it happe­ned that the Latines were at that time suitours for the obtaining of a City, and that one of the chiefe of them, Popedius Silo, was entertain'd, and lodg'd in the House of Drusus. Popedius one day amongst the rest talking, and jesting fami­liarly [Page 61] with the children, said to them, Will not you intercede with your Unkle that wee may have a Citie granted us? To this Caepio fairly and rea­dily assented, and promis'd his utmost aid, but Cato silent and sullen, look'd on him with a brow knit, which Popedius observing, in a feigned fury, tooke the childe up in his armes, and held him out of the window, threatning to let him fall, unlesse hee granted his request. Notwith­standing all his threats, Cato still continued his silence, and his frowns; whereupon Popedius set him down againe, and whispered this softly to his friends standing by. What will this childe doe when he comes to be a man? I believe wee shall not obtaine by his consent one voice from the people of Rome. Another proofe of his Magnanimity hee gave in the time of Sylla. Being about the age of fourteen, Sarpedon his Tutour carried him to salute Sylla, who civilly and gently receiv'd him, in remembrance of the friendship he had contra­cted with his father. The palace of Sylla, was then no better then a slaughter-house, into which men were carried bound, and there suffered all kinde of wracks and tortures, and after those death it selfe. The heads of proscribed men were as commonly and openly carried in and out, as if they had belong'd to beasts: which Cato at se­verall Visits, not onely took notice of, but with­all mark'd how good men sigh'd and groan'd at this cruelty, and he himselfe abhorring so bloudy a Tyranny, with a resolute minde, and counte­nance [Page 62] said to his Tutour; Why does no man kill this monster of men? To this Sarpedo replyed, Be­cause they fear him more then they hate him: but you answered Cato, have given me a Sword that I may dispatch him, and free my Countrey from servi­tude. Hee utterd this with such fiercenesse, that Sarpedo after that time seldome or never pre­sented him to Sylla, or, if he did, it was not with­out preparation of him by his authority, and ad­vise.

From the vanquishing of outward Enemies, Temperancie extolled in it selfe, and him. our method leads us to the subduing of inward, which are our passions and affections. The Con­querour of these is Temperancie, who is Na­tures Minion, and studies her preservation. By this Reason governes the sensuall part, tames it, and makes it endure the Bitt. Without this, our passions will violently carry us into the gulph of pleasure, out of which few or none return at all, or, if they doe, it is not without suffering of shipwrack, and extreame perill. Delights betray us with kissing, and having charm'd us into a profound sleep, we no sooner awake, but wee see our selves environ'd with Horrour and Despair, out of whose sharpe claws none ever yet escaped unwounded. In the entry to Voluptuousnesse we discerne nothing but Roses, Violets, and the prime flowers of the Spring strewed in our way, but in comming backe, wee view nothing but unked, dismall Objects of solitude, and sorrow. The comfort is incredible of those who joyfully [Page 63] flie into the imbraces of this Vertue, loathing and abhorring the very shadow of Intemperan­cie, which ugly Traytresse never leaves Youth till she hath brought them to those Precipices which she hath prepared for their destruction. The fa­mous Oratour Demosthenes upbraided the Athe­nians with this folly, that they never treated of peace, but in mourning Garments, which they wore for their friends lately lost in the Warres. And this is the custome of luxurious men, they never so much as mention Sobriety, and Conti­nencie of Life, till they are under the lash of the Physician, or the hand of Death. We are by much more vertuous, saith Pliny, in sicknesse then in health, wee then make God and Vertue our conti­nuall meditation, and are no longer ruled by our passions and affections. We are not then Amorous, Ambitious, Covetous, Revengefull. Riot is like a fierce untamed Tiger, the keeping whereof is as perillous as the taking. Wee must here imitate Vlisses, not his followers, whom Circes turn'd into Swine. If wee lend an eare to the inticing, ravishing voice of pleasure, we also shall be trans­form'd into beasts. This Vertue is exercis'd in brideling, and restraining the inordinate appetite to meat, drinke, and Venery. The Romans used ever to imbowell their dead, and not to allow those ignoble parts, the panch, and guts buriall, as being the onely causers of our Dissolution. Hee is unworthy the Name, and Definition of man, who lives onely to eat. Diogenes called the [Page 64] Belly the Charybdis of the Life. Musonius the Philosopher warns us that it is decent, and be­hoofefull that man alone, amongst all Creatures, being descended from the Gods should chiefly nourish himselfe, as they do, with contemplati­on, not minding food farther then to satisfy na­ture: Drunkennesse, and Gluttony are com­prehended under excesse, who is the common mother to both.

The Ancients represented to us the uglinesse Drunkennesse dispraised. of the former, by picturing Bacchus naked and young, to signifie unto us, that Drunkards can keepe nothing secret. As when Wine begins to worke in a Vessell, that part of it which is in the bottome mounts up to the top: so a Drunkard discloseth the secrets that lie in the very bottom of his heart. His Chariot was drawn by Lions, Leopards, and Panthers, to intimate unto us that Wine metamorphoseth them into Savage bruits, that drinke it beyond measure. They drew him clad in Goats skins, to denotate the incontinencie of such. His Sacrifices were ordi­narily executed by women, to argue the effemi­nacie of men given over to that vice.

Neither are Surfeits of meate lesse odious and Gluttony re­prehended. enormous then these of drinke. What a strange and undecent sight is it to behold men lothing, and longing for meats, like women with child? Where this Vice raignes, nothing of value can reside. As when we behold the Sun through va­pours, and clouds, he appeares not to us so beau­tifull [Page 65] as when hee is in his full shine, having no­thing interpos'd between him, and us: so a soule charged with Repletion & Fumes that arise from excrements, and meates undigested is eclipsed, and through the mists and fogs raised by sensua­lity can discerne nothing subtile and generous, expressing no more harmony in her functions than we can expect from an instrument fild with Durt and Rubbish. Uncleane spirits love un­cleane lodgings, as we may perceive by the Divells in the possessed man, who petition'd our Saviour that they might enter into the herd of hogs, not into Oxen, Sheep, or any other clean Beast, nourish'd with cleane food. The example of Dives should much terrifie these ravenous de­vourers, who was so cruelly tormented in his Tongue, the Organ of Tast. The devill knew man to be so prone to this sinne, that he made it the baite to catch our first Parents, and the snare wherwith he thought to hold fast our Redemer. If thou bee the sonne of God, said hee, command these stones to be made bread. Innocentius thus inveighes against this superfluous feeding. Gu­la Paradisum clausit, primogenituram Vendidit, suspendit pistorem, decollavit Baptistam, Nabu­zardam Princeps coquorum Templum incendit, & Hierusalem totam evertit: Gluttony first shut up Paradise, sold the Birth-right, hang'd the Ba­ker, beheaded St. John Baptist, Nabuzardam the Master Cooke burnt the Temple, and overthrew the Walls of Hierusalem. The frequent use of de­licious [Page 66] meates and drinkes amongst the Ro­mans (as their Jecur Anserimum, their Porcus Trojanus, Sumen, Vvedulae, Ficedulae, Phaenicop­teri, and their generous Wines, Cecuba, Falerna, &c.) caused them to be as much censur'd by suc­ceeding Historians, as their vertues made them admir'd. The Naturallists report, that the Sea-horse hath his heart placed in his belly, to in­timate his voracity. Philoxenes wished his neck were as long as a Cranes, that he might the lon­ger feele the sweetnesse of his meate. I knew an old witty Epicure of this nation who hath often in the presence of a whole Ordinary, wish'd him­selfe a Cowe, that hee might eate his meate over twice. Alas, said hee, a man hath small pleasure in feeding twice a day halfe an howre at a time, I would bee ever eating. He wished if hee must needes goe to heaven hee mought bee wound up thether by a Jacke. All the while this glutton pamper'd his body, his soule starv'd, receiving no nutriment, but what was uncleane and putrid. Sminderides rode a wooing attended by a thou­sand Cooks, a thousand Fowlers, and as many Fishers. That this sin of gluttony is no solitary vice, but is ever accompanied by Incontinency. St. Hirome tells us. Semper Saturitati junct a est Lascivia: Vicina igitur sunt venter, & genitalia; pro membrorum ordine ordo vitiorum. Lascivi­ousnesse ever associates saturity. Therefore are the Belly, and the secrets placed close by one another, to shew that they are as neare in consequence and de­pendancy [Page 67] as in scituation, the one feeding and maintaining the other. Wherefore they were in no errour, who stiled hunger the friend of Vir­ginity, in that it cooles the boyling blood, and renders the Flesh subject to the Spirit. Water, Fruits, and Rootes were mans first sustinance. Lord how farre is his dyet alter'd from its first simplicity? Remarkable is that saying of Alexander: I know no better a Cooke to procure me an Appetite to my dinner, than to rise betimes, nor to my Supper, than to eate little at Dinner. E­pictetus Counsaileth us, not to decke our Rooms with Tablets and Pictures, but with Sobriety, and Temperancy; in that the former onely feed the eyes, but the later the soule, to which they are eternall Ornaments.

This our sweetly dispos'd Lord closely follow­ed the advice of this Philosopher, who in all his Actions did nothing without the consultation, and approbation of Sobriety, and Modesty. Hee never was invited to a feast, but he diligently cal'd to minde that hee had two guests to enter­taine, the body, and the soule; and that what e­ver he bestowed on the one, would be corrupted, and converted into Excrements; but what hee conferred on the other would enjoy the same E­ternity with it. He observ'd such a beautifull Order in all his desires, that they never ranne be­fore, nor lagg'd behinde, but ever kept that rank in which Reason had placed them. He lived by a Rule composed, and confirm'd by either Testa­ment, [Page 68] and taught his soule to affect nothing shee might not lawfully covet. Thus wee see the ad­mirable fruit Temperancy brought forth in his mind, and will in all other wherein shee is once planted. I will give a period to the discourse of this Vertue, with the words of Prosper, who thus extolls it. Temperantia facit abstinentem, par­cum, sobrium, moderatum, pudicum, tacitum, & Verecundum. Haec Virtus si in animo habitat libidines fraenat affectus 'temperat' desideria sancta multiplicat, vitiosa castigat, omnia inter nos con­fusaordinat, cogitationes pravas removet, scienti­am inserit, ignem libidinosae cupiditatis extin­guit, mentem placida Tranquilitate componit, & totam ab omni in semper tempestate Vitiorum de­fendit. Temperancy makes a man abstinent, spa­ring, sober, moderate, chast, silent, and modest. This Vertue once entred into the mind, bridles lust, tempers affections, multiplyes holy desires, and chastiseth the vitious, sets our confused thoughts in order, and removes the wicked ones, inserts knowledge, quencheth all libidinous flames with­in us, composeth and setleth the minde in a pleasing Tranquility, and evermore defends every part of it from all Stormes raised by Vice.

Justice challengeth a place here, and deserved­ly, it being a Cardinall Vertue, and of great Justice exal­ted in it selfe, and him. eminency, not only amongst the Morall, but Di­vine vertues also. Homer sayes, she was begotten by all the gods, so divers, and so admirable are [Page 69] her effects. Cicero thus commends her to us: Justitia Virtutis splendor est Maximus, ex qua viri boni nominamur. Justice is the greatest splen­dour of vertue, from which we purchase the names of good men. Most elegantly Cassiodorus: Iustitia non novit Patrem, non novit Matrem, veritatē novit, personā no accipit, Deum imitatur: Iustice knows neither Father, nor mother, she knowes Truth; she is no respector of persons, and is in that an imitator of God. According to the strict or slacke practice of this vertue, all Common-wealths have flou­rish'd, or decay'd. Without her what were Man-kinde, but a confused multitude of rave­nous hungry Lyons, living by rapines, and mur­ders. This Vertue consists of two parts, the di­stributive, and commutative. The distributive is chiefely Regall, and appropriate to Empe­rours, Kings, Princes, and to all those who de­rive their Authority from them. The Com­mutative is an equall and just dealing betweene all men, of what Condition soever they be.

The former part is of greatest dignity, and acted but by a few, and they of great ranke, and quality: yet of those few how many shall we find that execute the great Offices committed to their charge by God himselfe with impartiality and e­quity? The difference Aristotle puts betweene a just Prince and a Tyrant is, that the aime of the former is the publicke good, the scope of the later is his owne profit. These two behold their Subjects with a different eye, no otherwise than a [Page 70] Shepherd, and a Butcher looke on a sheepe to different ends, the one to preserve, the other to destroy it. A Tyrant is like Boreas, that ever threatens shipwrack and ruine; A just King re­sembles Zephyrus, whose breath begets plentie and sweetnesse. That a just King, or Judge ought to be a most studious, and carefull Investigatour of the Truth, is taught us by the example of God himselfe, who said, I will descend, and see whe­ther the cry which is come unto mee be just, or no. The Ancients pictur'd Astraea (whom they made a Representour of Justice) without a head, which they said was in Heaven, to signifie that Justice should not regard men, but have her eyes fixed on God. In Athens the Delinquents ever pleaded before the Judges with their faces covered, lest the sweetnesse of some pleasing countenance should so much move, and so farre work upon them as to make them doe injustice.

Two stupendious presidents of Justice wee have in two mighty Monarchs, Seleuchus, and Two stupen­dious presi­dents of Ju­stice. Cambyses. Seleuchus having made a law, the trans­gression whereof he ordaind to be punish'd with the losse of both eyes: it most unfortunately hap­pened that his own sonne was the first transgres­sour of it, whereupon being a most indulgent Father, and withall a most severe Justicer, to sa­tisfie the rigour of the Law, he caused one of his own eyes to be pulled out, and another of his sonnes. Cambyses having condemned a cruell and corrupt Judge to be flead alive, caused the chaire [Page 71] of Justice to be covered with his skin, and make the sonne of this monstrous Oppressour sit, and give judgement in it, for an astonishment, and terrour to him, and all succeeding Judges. Iunius Brutus executed his own children, for their con­spiring against the liberty of their Country. By the severe Lawes of Draco, which were written in bloud, when the Authour of a Crime could not be found out, even things inanimate were ci­ted, condemn'd, throwne out of the City, bani­shed for ever, or broken in pieces, according to the Nature of the Fact. As a Physician, or Sur­gion oftentimes administers stinking and loth­some potions, nay, sometimes cuts off a limbe, and all this for the preservation of his patient: so in the body politick, a just Judge alwayes in­flicts bitter punishments on the putrid, wicked members of the Common-wealth, nay, some­times cuts them off, having this for a State­maxime, that hee who is mercifull to the bad, is cruell to the good.

In this distributive part of Justice, no wise man can look that this our mirrour of the youth­full Nobility should attaine to the least degree of perfection, since neither his few yeares admitted, nor his Prince called him to sit in the seat of Ju­stice. In the commutative part hee was no way defective, doing to all men as hee would be done unto. In this hee strictly in all points obeyed the advice of Seneca: Quisquis Justitiam sectari de­sideras prius Deum time, & ama, ut ameris à Deo. [Page 72] Amabis Deum si in hoc illum imitaberis, ut velis omnibus prodesse, nihil nocere. Ab alio expectes quod alteri feceris. Praestabis parentibus pieta­tem, cognatis dilectionem, pacem cum hominibus habebis, bellum cum vitiis praestabis, amicis fidem, omnibus aequitatem: Whosoever thou art that de­sirest to follow Iustice, first feare, and love God, that thou mayst be beloved of God. Thou shalt shew thou lovest God, if in imitation of him thou seekest to profit all, to hurt none. Expect from another what thou hast done to him. Thou shalt make an expressi­on of pietie towards thy Parents, love to thy Kin­red, thou shalt have peace with all men, warre with vices, thou shalt keepe thy faith unviolated to thy friends, and observe the Lawes of Equitie towards all men.

What should have beene placed in the Front, comes here in the Reare, and that is prudencie, Prudencie commended in it selfe, and him. a vertue which serves, measures, graces, and crownes all other vertues whatsoever. As a­mongst precious stones some are of greater prize then the rest, and by their presence impart to them a lustre: so prudencie amongst all other Vertues, is of greatest esteeme in the eyes of all men, as being to the rest a Guide, a Gage, and an Ornament. As the eye in the body is by all pre­ferred before the other senses: so prudencie in the soule is commended above all other perfe­ction. In the troope of Vertues she hath the most honourable charge. Prudencie gives a measure, and a Gage to every other Vertue; for (if not [Page 73] measur'd, and directed by discretion) a needfull Care turns into an utter Despaire, a decent grief into Rage and Bitternesse, Love into Flattery, Hope into Presumption, Joy [...]nto Wantonnesse, and a just Anger into an immoderate Fury. So that wee may perceive an undiscreet vertue to be no better then a Vice. This is shee that hath e­ver an eye to what is past, present, and to come, and out of all three picks this advantage, that her Adversary can never surprize her unawares, or take her unprovided. Shee laughs at that u­suall saying of Fools, I had not thought. As in the warres, though the Enemy be farre off, the Watch is still constantly set: so she is alwayes vi­gilant, and hath a severall ward for every blow of Fortune. She is like double-faced Ianus looking two severall wayes at one and the same time. This all men will readily grant me, that if For­tune cause a Tempest to rage and rore, shee shall not so soon sink him, that fore-seeing the storme hath taken in his sailes, as him, who mistrusting nothing, beares them all out. Prudencie teach­eth us that in this rolling, tottering World there is nothing stable, & that the best remedie against an evill is the prevention of it. To be briefe, her assistance is more necessary, cleane through all the affaires of this life, then on the Sea is the govern­ment of a Pilot, who knows not how to asswage the violence of a storme, nor to appease the fury of the Windes, nor to gaine his desired Port at his pleasure; whereas prudencie will for the [Page 74] most part either prevent, or frustrate all practi­ces that tend to her ruine. As if there were no Sun, we should live in a perpetuall darknesse, for all the comfort, and light the other Stars could afford us: so except the beams of this bright, and radiant prudencie reflect on all our actions, and Negotiations, they will appeare dimme and sordid, notwithstanding all the light the other Vertues can lend us. This vertue was in such re­pute with Agesilaus, that hee exhorted his soul­diers, now ready for the combat, that they should not minde the multitude of their Enemies, but bend all their forces against Epaminondas their Generall; for hee once subdued, all the rest would in a trice be vanquish'd: For, said hee, none but wise and prudent men know how to prevent a de­feat, or obtain a victorie. This Vertue eminently and superlatively appear'd in all the proceedings of Christ himself with the Iewish Nation. When hee had attain'd to the age of twelve yeares, hee sate in the Temple amongst the grave Doctours, questioning, answering, and instructing; and the Text witnesseth, that all who heard him stood amazed at his prudent demands and replies. Hee also deluded the Priests and Elders of the Iewish Synagogue, by prudently answering one question with another. When they asked him by what power hee did those Miracles? hee demanded of them, Whence the Baptisme of John was? When again they demanded of him if he were the Son of God? he replyed, You say that I am. This pru­dencie [Page 75] (next to the Invocation of his Father) was the onely Engine wherewith hee defended himself against the pernicious plots of this Gene­ration of Vipers. As no Architecture can come to perfection, without the help of the Compasses & the Rule: so stands it with Human Actions, with­out the aid of prudencie, none of them can re­ceive their grace, and accomplishment. Let a man be master of all abilities imaginable, if he be not withall judicious and prudent, to make a right use of them, and to produce them in their proper times and places, they will acquire him rather shame then glory. If one could have Aristotle and Seneca, without book, and were withall in­judicious, inconsiderate, & undiscreet, he would oftener purchase laughter then applause. Diodo­rus (omitting the idle Fables of Proteus) in­formes us that hee was adopted King by the E­gyptians, in that he excell'd all men in Wisdome, which made him so cunning in giving, and ta­king counsell, and in changing it with dexterity when opportunity served, that hence arose the Fable, that hee could turn himselfe into so many formes and shapes. If in his determinations hee altered any thing, you could not so properly say he chang'd as hee fitted his minde to the present occasion; as we see the hand is the same still whe­ther it be shut or extended. Indeed the minde of a Wiseman is, as Seneca sayes, like the state of the World above the Moone, where there is no change He alwayes returns home (as it is said of [Page 76] Socrates) with the same countenance hee carri­ed out; and, according to Epictetus, is like him­selfe even in his dreames.

This our incomparable Child of Honour gave strong essayes to climbe the summity of this vertue, both by diligent reading, and obser­vation of all the writings and actions of the wise. In his conversation he ever applyed himselfe to those who had deservedly gain'd a fame in good Letters, or had acquir'd wisedome by Experi­ence; whose sage precepts, and admonitions, hee as greedily dranke in, as a thirsty Traveller doth Water from a cleare fountaine. These he made the mirrour, wherein he daily dress'd, and com­pos'd his mind, which was a Paradise into which the Serpent never enter'd, but he receiv'd a suddaine repulse. Two times especially hee made choyse of, to prepare and examine himself, the Morning, & the Evening. In the first he fore­cast what was that day to bee done, in the later he cald to minde what that day he had done. To doe good was his fixed resolution, and when he had the power to doe harme (like the true sonne of Prudency) he never had the will: wher­as the Nature of a foole is, when he hath not the ability, then to have the will to doe mischiefe, This Vertue was defused cleane through all his endeavours, nay through his very habit, gesture, and discourse; which were neither too mimical, too anticke, nor too grave, but sutable to the modesty required in so greene an Age. Impu­dency [Page 77] (which Politicians prophanely call the gift of God) he hated so in others, that hee never gave it countenance, nor harbour himselfe. In his Discourse he warily proportion'd his words to the bignesse of the subject he spake of: in imi­tation of a Mariner, that fits his Sayles to the smalnesse or vastnesse of his Vessell. As slender men lightly weare their cloaths loose, and large, a little to augment their bulke: so small wits, who want matter, enlarge themselves in words; whereas indeed, that speech is best which com­prehends most sence in fewest words; as wee e­steeme that Coyne most, which in a small com­passe includes a great value. Hee was not hasty to speak, or in speaking, but in both prudent­ly observ'd a decency. He was very carefull not onely what he vented, but what hee heard, that it relished not of Immodesty, Levity, or Vice; for he held that, what ever it was, a villany to act, it was also a villany to harken to. Hee talked alwayes opportunely, and appositively, never a­bove his knowledge. He derided those who with a great dinne utter'd nothing but high profound Non-sence, resembling in that the Cy­presse trees, which are great, and tall, but beare no fruit. A visit given to a wise, but sick man, by one of these babling, curious impertinents, af­flicts him more than his disease. His owne se­crets, those of his friends, or of the state, he nei­ther reveal'd, nor pryed into; for he was sure he could at any time speake what he had conceal'd, [Page 78] but he could not conceale what he had once spo­ken. En la boca serada moxca no entra (sayes the Spanish Proverbe) Into a mouth closed a Flie never enters. Hee had happily read, or heard, that Anacharsis the Philosopher was accustomed to sleep with his right hand on his mouth, and his left on his secrets, being of opinion, that the Tongue more than Concupiscence needed a bridle. Not to be tedious, I may boldly, be­cause truely, averre that Prudency was the gene­rall of his Demeanour, Speech, and Actions, and gave to all of them a Wise and safe Con­duct.

You see, pious Reader, what embellishment, what Ornaments his Life, like a sparkling Jew­ell, His Death. was set with; and I imagine you cannot be­lieve so faire a beginning could have a foule end. You cannot surely be at once so stupid, and un­charitable: If you can, you shall quickly be con­vinc'd of your Errour, and shall see this Sun-set, with the same glory in which he rose. First, in his sicknesse that led to his death he made use of His Patience. his patience, a Vertue which miraculously over­comes by yielding. As he would not shunne his death, so he would not hasten it, but used all lawfull, and possible meanes to prevent it; no o­therwise than the Master of a Ship, who when the sayles are rent asunder, the Mast cut downe by the boarde, and a Leake sprung in the ship, yet still labours for life, and leaves no way un­sought to preserve it. But when hee saw his in­constant [Page 79] Mistresse, Nature, ready to abandon him, and that as well Necessity forced, as God cald him hence: then selfe-love, the Lifes Jay­lour could no longer with-hold him from rea­dily running into the Armes of Death, who he knew would soone usher him into the imbraces of his Saviour. He beheld Death no other­wise then a Pilot does the Winds and the Sayles, that will bring him to his desired Haven. He endured the terrible approach, and the furious assaults of Death with so undaunted a resoluti­on of a man, and so firme unmoved a beliefe of a Christian, that he became at once a pleasing, and sad spectacle to his friends, who believed he could not so patiently undergoe such paine and torments, without the extraordinary assistance of some Beatificall vision. We see many in the darke are afraid of every thing, but the com­fortable light expells all feare: so it is for those who are blinded with the Mist Atheisme, and Impiety, have cast before their eyes to doubt, and tremble: security becomes such as live and dye in the true Light, and are illustrated with the beames of Gods favour, as was this Patient of Heaven, who not being curable here, was thi­ther to be translated. Before the comming of the Holy Ghost upon the Apostles, they feared Death, and forsooke their Lord, but when they were once illuminated from above, they undaun­tedly appear'd before Tyrants, and constantly suffer'd Martyrdome. Having sent his desires [Page 80] long before to cast Anchor in Heaven, hee lon­gingly expected his owne passage with a calme, patient, and contented minde, wherein no dis­temper ever stay'd, but as an unwelcome stran­ger. At length when he perceived all his sen­ses were ready to forsake him, being innocently ambitious to retaine to the last his knowledge of all things, he suddainly by a holy Art drew the vastnesse of his memory into a Compendium, and remembred God onely in whom are all things, in whose Fatherly eternall protection we confident, and submissively leave him.

In this bud of Honour two things are de­servedly Two things to bee lamen­ted in his Death. to be lamented. First that it dyed un­der the hand of a Royall Gardner, who meant to underprop and cherish it: Secondly, that it so soone faded.

All men will confesse his infortunity was great in departing this life in the Reigne of a His infortuni­ty in dying so immaturely in the Reigne of so gracious a Prince. Prince great in the Union of the Roses, greater in that of the Lawrells, but greatest of all in the love of his people. He knowes full well, that full ill it went with man-kind if the Almighty Maker of all things should confine his favour to one onely, and neglect the rest of Humanity, and therefore as a god on earth (in imitation of of the Heavenly) distributes his favours amongst all his subjects, but not eodem gradu, because they are not ejusdem meriti. Like the Sunne, he strives to impart the light of his countenance to all, and whither his beames cannot reach, thi­ther [Page 75] his warmth extends. Though all cannot enjoy the honour of his presence, all are sharers in the comfort of his benefits. We are not more happy in living, than this brave deceased Lord was unfortunate in immaturely dying under so gratious a King, diligent in the search after de­sert, and magnificent in rewarding it, who in all probability (upon a proofe made of his faith, and merit) might in him have raised his whilome great House to that Height from which Ty­ranny unmercifully threw it downe. I say to the same Height, not the same Titles.

As concerning the immaturity of his Death, The immatu­rity of his Death. I willingly acknowledge the suddaine, unexpect­ted deprivation of one so deare, and so hopefull, must needs be bitter, and grievous to all those whom blood, friendship, or acquaintance had link'd to him. Yet ought they not to grieve immoderately, the sorrow of a Christian being by Christ himselfe bounded, and confin'd. Wee may deplore the absence of our departed friends, but we must not too much bewayle their deaths, because they are with God. As not to feele sor­row in sad chances is to want sence; so not to beare it with moderation, is to lack understan­ding, since it is fit that griefe should rather be­wray a tender then a dejected minde. The effects of our sorrow must not too long out-live the cause. We moysten not the earth with pre­tious Waters; they were distill'd for nobler ends, either by their Odour to delight us, or [Page 82] by their operation to preserve our health. Our Teares are Waters of too high a price to be pro­digally powred into the dust of any Graves. But we unwisely court sorrow, and as a Lover al­waies espyes something in his Mistris that in his opinion exalts her above her Sexe, so wee la­bour to finde out causes for our excessive griefe, and to prove our present losse unequall'd, though indeed, it have many paralells. As the light handling of a Nettle makes it sting us, but the hard griping of it prevents that harme; so wee should not stroke and cherish our griefes, but out of Divinity and Humanity compose a probe that may search them to the quicke. Hee who heateth an Iron, takes it not out by that part which the fire hath enflamed, but by that end which remained without: Nor should wee take our afflictions by the wrong end, but if wee can finde any comfort to arise from them, wee should discreetly lay hold on that. Hee who comes into a Rosary, findes every Rose guarded with innumerable Thorns, yet he warily gathers the one without being pricked by the other. The most bitter accident hath a graine of sweetnesse and Consolation in it, which a wise man extracts, and leaves the Gall behind.

To apply this; out of the subitary death of this Noble Gentleman wee may cull many com­forts. True it is, that Death is sayd to kill the old by Maturity, and the young by Treachery, and that unripe, untimely ends, are by all ex­treamly [Page 83] pittied; but if we will harken to Rea­son, issuing out of the mouths of the most pro­found Philosophers, she will tell us that brevity Brevity of life to be prefer­red before Longevity. of Life is to be preferred before longevity. If we will give beliefe to Seneca, he will assure us that Nature never bestowed a greater Benefit on man than shortnesse of Life, it being so full of Cares, Feares, Dangers, and Miseries, that Death is become the Common wish of all men afflicted. He who dyes soone, should no more complaine than he whose Navigation in a rough troubled sea is quickly ended. We ac­count not those the best trees that have with­stood the rage of many Winters, but those who in the least time have borne the most fruit. Not hee who playes longest, but sweetliest on an Instrument is to bee Commended. Compared with Eternity, the longest and the shortest Life differ not. Life is not a constant Fountaine, but a fickle Floud that quickly rises, and as suddainly falls. Some have compared life to a Bird in a Childes hand, which sometimes flies away before hee can well fasten his hold on it. By the vertue of that Organ wherewith wee first behold the shine of the sun, by the defect of the same we are brought into the darknesse and shadow of death. It is so, it is so, Hee that built this faire Fabricke would have nothing stable, and permanent in it but himselfe. This goodly, rationall, subtle creature, Man, above the Stars themselves, and next to [Page 84] God himselfe in Dignity, able to penetrate into the deepest secrets of Nature, to observe the mo­tions of the heavens, & to compasse both heaven and Earth in a thought, is onely immortall here below by succession; Generation being as restlesse as corruption. The mistocles rightly affirmes that no creature is so miserable as Man, in that none but he knows the use of life, yet when with great studie and industry, hee hath attain'd to that knowledge, he is by death depriv'd both of life and it together. Age brings to us experience in one hand, and Death in the other. Iust were the teares, and sweet was the Humanity, saith Pliny, of that Royall and youthful Xerxes. Graecian, who wept to thinke that not one of that glorious immense Ar­my hee then commanded should survive one Age. Such a gentle commiseration of humane frailty made Anselme thus cry out. O durus Casus! Heu! quid perdit homo? quid invenit? perdi dit beat itu­dinem ad quam factus est, & invenit mortem, ad quam factus non est. O hard hap! Alas! What did man lose? What did he finde? Hee lost the blessednesse to which he was made, and found death to which he was not made. Shal then the valiant, & the learned have a harder fate then fools, in so soon parting with those Crownes which Mars and Apollo have placed on their heads? shall they so suddenly be deprived of the comfort of that faire Fame which with bloud, and sweat, with fasting and watching they have purchas'd? Yes, yes, Caesar shall never terrifie the World again with his va­lour, [Page 85] nor Cicero charme it with his eloquence. The sword of the one, and the pen of the other have now with their Lords the same eternall and unprofitable rest. Alas, alas, Mans is as brittle as glasse, but not so conserveable. As he encreases in growth, his life decreases. As whether one sleeps, or wakes in a ship under saile he is insensibly, as it were, carried away towards his intended Port; so what ever we are doing, we unawares sail towards the region of death. Time deals with man Arith­metically; He first addes to his Beauty, and multi­plies his Graces, and then hee substracts all these, and makes a long lasting Division between him and Nature. It were strange, if we should think wee shall never arrive there, whither wee are ever going. Plutarch writes of creatures in a certain part of the World which are borne in the morning, are in their prime at noon, grow aged towards the evening, and are dead ere night. Had these reasonable soules as wee have, they would have also the same passions. They would after our womanish custome lament their untimely death who die before noon, esteeme them happy that live till the evening, and yet bewaile them too who depart at night. Our fond whining were seasonable, and to purpose, if it could pre­vent the death of our friends, or call them from the dead; but it savours of a vain, foolish arro­gant ambition to desire they should be privile­ged, and exempted from the fatall, common condition of Mankinde, since wee cannot be ig­norant [Page 86] that God hath set down a period beyond which Nature her self shal not passe. Nothing re­presenteth better to us this world then a theater; God hath set down a pe­riod, beyond which Nature her selfe shall not passe. wheron one acts a King, another a Lord, a third a Magistrate; others again play the base servil parts of fools, messengers, & mutes. Some of them stay, stare, strut, & look big a long time on the Stage; others only shew themselvs, & without speaking This World compared to a Theatre. one word, as soon as they come on go off againe; to conclude, all have their Exits: So we poore Mortals who are sent by our provident omnipo­tent Creator into this world, to undergo several charges (some wherof are honorable, some igno­minious) have al an egresse out of this life, aswel as an ingresse allotted us. Some a long time be at this earthly Stage with the Majestie of a Tragedian; others are fools & sneak up & down to the laughter of all men; others again lie manacled, bed-rid, or (which is the worst of Fates) distracted. Some no sooner enter but they go out again, as did that child in the besieged, depopulated, desolate town of Saguntum, who by an instinct of Nature, no sooner put his head out of his Mothers wombe, but he pull'd it in again, as divining the approch­ing destruction of his Citie and himself. To con­tinue the similitude; As hee who acted an Empe­ror (the Play once done) is no better then he who represented a slave: so the Grave, as Horace saith, equals all, the King & the Beggar. Pertinently to this S. Ambrose, We are born naked, saith he, and die naked, & there is no difference between the car cas­ses of the rich, and the poore, save that the former [Page 87] stinke worse through a repletion with excrements, which surfets of delicious fare have left behinde. This world is Deaths region, about it as a trium­pher over all flesh he rides his circuit. Since then his cōming is so necessary, so inevitable, whether he comes in the dawne, the noon, or twilight of life, let us bid him welcome. What should hinder us to doe so I cannot tell; since as there is no ship but in one Voyage or other dasheth not against some hidden rock, or shelf: so the most happy life is not free from infinite crosses and disasters. Yet though every man knows the inconveniences & pe­rils of this life, saith S. Austin, and that he must once die, yet all men seeke to shun, and defer the houre of death; not onely the heathen, but they to who believe the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. To our reproch the holy Father spake this; for though it be no shame for a Gentile to fear death, whose onely scope of life is to see and be seen, to know & be known; yet to a Christian it is, whose aime and desire should be not onely to serve God faithfully here, but also to raigne gloriously with him hereafter. What is necessarily to be done, a wiseman does voluntarily; let us not therefore with the foolish Tyrant in Lucian, either with tears, prayers, or bribes vainly think to perswade inexorable Death, but wisely consider that wee are neither the first, nor the last; All have gone before, and must follow us. Nay, not a man dies, that hath not at the same time many to accom­pany him, who arrive at the house of Death by severall waies. Life is a due debt to God and [Page 88] Nature, as long as we have it, we enjoy a bene­fit, when wee are deprived of it wee have no wrong. Let us then daily render it backe to him that gave it, since hee is a bad debtour who unwillingly payes. As a Souldier, the signe once given, readily obeyes the command of his Generall, and armed at all poynts, followes him through all Dangers, and faceth Death him­selfe: so must we chearefully observe the very Beck of our Heavenly Commander, and through all miseries and destruction it selfe make our way to him. Death should be no longer formidable to us, since our Redeemer hath taken out his sting, and hee is now no other then an old toothlesse Dragon. It is a foolish thing to de­light in sleep, and abhorre Death, sleepe be­ing onely a continuall imitation of it. Hee that seriously contemplates the priviledges, and ad­vantages that accompany a Christian Death, will be in love with it. It is the Refuge of the affli­cted, and the end of all earthly evils. It takes not life from us, but presents it to the custodie of Eternity. It is not an end but an intermit­tance Death to a Christian not a punishment, but a tribute. of life, nor no longer a punishment, but a Tribute, and we are gainers by it. As he who hath a long time layne in a darke dungeon, is be­yond imagination joyfull when he comes to the light: so the soule when shee is freed from the vapours and clouds in which the flesh involv'd her is ravish'd with delight. While shee is yet in the body, though her ambition reach at Heaven, [Page 91] yet is shee still clogg'd with that heavy masse of earth, and cannot so nimbly and nobly operate as she would. She may fitly be call'd the Guest, and the Body the Host, that makes her pay dearly for her clayie lodging. For if a Magistrate be vexed and busied to subdue and pacifie the Rebels of a seditious Citie, needs must the soule be trou­bled and afflicted, who hath a harder office as­sign'd her, which is to bridle, and restrain the vitious, inordinate, dissolute affections which are inseparable adjuncts to her while shee hath a conjunction with the body.

The prerogatives of Death being so many, and so certaine, let us no longer condole the de­cease of this our compleatly noble Friend, but congratulate his happy departure hence, and his safe arrivall in the Imperiall Heaven. When Pro­culus Iulius had reported to the Romans that hee had seene Romulus, and that assuredly hee was a God, a Wonder it was, saith Livie, how much they gave credit to this Tale, and how greatly the misse of Romulus, both amongst the Com­mons, and Souldiers, was by this beliefe of his Immortalitie digested. Much more should our sorrow be mittigated by the confidence we have that this our blessed Friends soule is ascended to him from whom it descended. When Brasse or Gold is melted to make the Statue of some great deserving Man, wee say not that the Mettall is lost, but dignified: In like case when a Body is turn'd into its first Principles, Dust, and Ashes, [Page 88] [...] [Page 91] [...] [Page 92] wee who have an eye to the glorious Resurrecti­on of it, thinke not it is utterly ruin'd, but dis­solv'd to be refin'd. As in the Eclipse of the Sunne or Moone, wee nothing at all wonder, or grieve, because wee know either Starre will re­assume its former splendour: So wee who are conscious of the divine promise of Immortali­ty should undismay'd, believe the death of this our honour'd friend, no other then a passage to a better eternal life. I wil conclude with this double consolation to all his Honourers. First, that hee died with that matchlesse comfort, The love of all men, and heard yet living, the judgement men would passe on him dead, and was, as it were, present with Posterity. Secondly, that whereas here hee ranne a perpetuall hazard, in that hee carried a heavenly Treasure in an Earthy Ves­sell, hee now lives in an unmoved Securitie, and that Treasure is enclosed in a Magazine to which the Heavens are Walls, and the Angels Warders. It is now high time to cover this sweet, beautifull issue, who with the Rose and Violet is lay'd downe to sleepe in the Bosome of his first Mother the Earth, and shal enjoy, though it may be not so suddaine, yet as certaine a Spring as they, and which is more, an everlasting.