The academie of eloquence containing a compleat English rhetorique, exemplified with common-places and formes digested into an easie and methodical way to speak and write fluently according to the mode of the present times : together with letters both amorous and moral upon emergent occasions / by Tho. Blount, Gent. Blount, Thomas, 1618-1679. 1654 Approx. 390 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 123 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2006-06 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A28452 Wing B3321 ESTC R15301 11720108 ocm 11720108 48341

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A28452) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 48341) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 14:20) The academie of eloquence containing a compleat English rhetorique, exemplified with common-places and formes digested into an easie and methodical way to speak and write fluently according to the mode of the present times : together with letters both amorous and moral upon emergent occasions / by Tho. Blount, Gent. Blount, Thomas, 1618-1679. [8], 232 p. : ill. Printed by T.N. for Humphrey Moseley ..., London : 1654. Reproduction of original in Bodleian Library.

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eng English language -- Rhetoric -- Early works to 1800. 2005-07 Assigned for keying and markup 2005-11 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2006-01 Sampled and proofread 2006-01 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2006-04 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

THE Academy of Eloquence By Tho: Blount Gent:

Demosthenes.

Cicero.

Fr: Lo: Bacon.

Sr: Ph: Sidney.

W: Faithorne. Fe:

THE ACADEMIE OF ELOQUENCE. Containing a Compleat ENGLISH RHETORIQUE, Exemplified, With Common-Places, and Formes, digeſted into an eaſie and Methodical way to ſpeak and write, fluently, according to the mode of the preſent times, Together with LETTERS both AMOROƲS and MORAL, Upon emergent occaſions.

By THO. BLOUNT Gent'

CICERO, Ʋt Hominis decus eſt ingenium: Sic ingenij lumen eſt Eloquentia.

LONDON, Printed by T. N. for Humphrey Moſeley, at the Princes-Arm's in S. Paul's Church yard. 1654.

TO ALL NOBLE GENTLEMEN AND LADIES OF ENGLAND.

WEre it abſolutely neceſſary for him that ſhould write of Eloquence to be perfectly Eloquent, I would eaſily confeſs my ſelf too raſh in this enterpriſe: But having ſeen often thoſe treat knowingly of Painting, that never held Pencill; and Cicero remarking that Aratus, by the comon conſent of learned men, wrote excellently of the Heavens & Stars, though he was no celebrated Aſtronomer; I'm encourag'd to ſay, Why then may not I too diſcourſe of Eloquence, without being a Orator?

Galen that great Maſter of Phyſick, who wrote ſo learnedly of every part of that Science, was little ſeen in the Practick; Nor are thoſe, that diſcourſe beſt of the embattailing Armys, and differencing military functions, alwaies the beſt Warriers, or the moſt daring. The like may happen in this ſubject, that he, who is able to ſet down the Rules and Laws which ought to be obſerv'd in Speech or ſtile, may notwithſtanding find himſelf defective in the application, and ſo may be ſaid to give that to others, which he has not himſelf.

The conceits of the mind are Pictures, whoſe Interpreter is the tongue, and the order of Gods Creatures in themſelves, is not only admirable and glorious, but Eloquent; he then, that could apprehend the conſequence of things in their truths, and deliver his apprehenſions as truely, were a perfect Orator; Thus Cicero; Dicere recte nemo poteſt niſi qui prudenter intelligit.

Eloquence is equally fortunate in taming Paſſions and in charming ſenſes: ſhe imitates Muſick, and makes uſe of the voice of Orators to enchant the Eares, with the cadence of Periods, and the harmony of Accents; whilſt the geſtures, apt motions, Natural Aire, and all thoſe graces, which accompany exact Recitation, ſteal away the Heart by the eyes, and work wonders upon the will. But Eloquence is chiefly grounded upon Wiſdom, & Wiſdom ariſes principally from a due pre-conſideration of all our actions; Hence that excellent ſaying of a modern French Author, Il eſt impoſsible de bien dire, ſans avoir bien penſé, 'tis impoſſible to ſpeak well, without having firſt well conſidered what to ſpeak. And Plotinus ſays, 'tis wiſdom to think upon any thing, before we execute it.

Now, as 'tis certain, that No harmony, can appear in his thoughts, nor ſoundneſs in his reaſon, whoſe ſpeech is faltering and prepoſterous: So likewiſe no clearneſs nor perfection in that Fancy, which delivers it ſelf by a confus'd abortion. Great is the diſparagment which flows from the defailance of the Tongue: it not only diſhonours the perſon of the Speaker, but even ſullys the opinion of his reaſon and judgement with a diſrepute, and oft-times renders the very truth ſuſpected.

If then it ſo befall our verball expreſſions, which are tranſient and leſs lyable to cenſure, and where one hanſome expreſſion may excuſe a number of ſolaeciſmes; how ſhall that perſon be eſteem'd prudent, whoſe pen layes him wide open in a fungous and ſordid ſtile; how ſhall we expect ingenuity from him, whoſe leiſure and Genius, aſsiſted with the examen of his eyes, yeild us no ſpirit in his writing? He that has worth in him and cannot expreſs it, is a Cabinet keeping a rich Jewell and the key loſt, ſayes a modern. Author; whereas a good ſtile, with choiſe matter and embroidery of well choſen words, is like a beautifull Woman with a virtuous Soul, who attracts the eyes and charmes the hearts of all beholders.

This excellent faculty of ſpeech ha's bin in high eſteem even from the very infancy, & will be to the end of the World; For in ſacred Story we read,Prov. 16.21, 24. the wiſe in Heart ſhall be called prudent and the ſweetneſs of the lips increaſeth underſtanding: Pleaſant words are as an honycomb; ſweet to the ſoul and health to the bones. Hence 'twas, an ancient Author maintained, that Pericles (the Orator) was no leſs Tyrant in Athens then Pyſiſtratus; without acknowledging other difference, then that this exercis'd his Empire armed, the other without armes, by the ſole terror of his ſpeech, which Ariſtophanes compar'd to a thunder bolt, as Homer did that of Vliſses to a Torrent, that beares down all with its violence. And 'twas ſaid of old, that the tongue of Cyneas (the fam'd Scholler of Demoſthenes) conquer'd more Citties, then the ſword of Pyrrhus, the valiant King of Epire.

To have ſaid thus much, of the much more might be added in behalf of this charming Faculty, and of the diſadvantage commonly attending thoſe who are unskill'd in it, may ſerve as an inducement to the youth of both Sexes (for whoſe benefit this little Work is chiefly intended, and to their acceptance conſecrated) to make the peruſall of it their ſubſervient Recreation for vacant houres, this wth little ſtudy, will not only facilitate your diſcourſe into the moding language of theſe times, but adapt your pens too with a quaint & fluent ſtile, then which no qualities (with confidence I ſpeak it) can render you more accompliſh'd.

Here ſhall you be furniſht with all neceſſary materialls and helps in order to the acquiring ſo great a treaſure; ſuch helps as have bin adviſed and often wiſht for, but never before publiſhed.

I. The firſt part containes a more exact Engliſh Rhetorique, then has been hitherto extant, comprehending all the moſt uſefull Figures, exemplifi'd out of the Arcadia and other our choiſeſt Authors.

II. In the ſecond part, you have formulae majores or Common-places, upon the moſt uſual ſubjects for ſtile and ſpeech; The uſe and advantage whereof is aſſerted by my Lord Bacon, who (in his Advancement of learning) ſayes thus; I hold the diligence and pain in collecting Common-places to be of great uſe and certainty in ſtudying; as, that which aids the memory ſubminiſters copy to invention, and contracts the ſight of judgement to a ſtrength.

III. In the third place you ſhall find Formulae minores (as my Lord calls them) leſſer formes, which he then reckon'd among the defects in our Language, and sayes, they are as it were, the Portals and poſtern dores of ſtile and ſpeech, and of no ſmal uſe.

IV. Laſtly, you have a Collection of Letters and addreſſes written to, for, and by ſeverall perſons, upon emergent occaſions; with ſome particular Inſtructions and Rules premiſed, for the better attaining to a Pen-perfection.

The Formula's are but Analects, which like the Humble-bec I gather'd in Spring time out of the choiſeſt Flowers of our Engliſh Garden; nor have I in the Rhetorick or Letters tranſplanted much from my own barren Seminary; I may ſay to ſome noble Correſpondents, what the Poet did of old in a like Caſe, ſic vos non vobis — But, you will eaſily diſtinguiſh Tinſill from better mettal: what is mine will appear to be ſo, by the Bluntiſmes that frequently occur, the reſt are of better allay; So that, if the defects of my own Eſſayes be but pardoned, the reſt I am confident will abide the touch, and paſs for Sterling.

T. B.
AN Engliſh Rhetorique exemplified.

FIgures and Tropes (ſayes Alexander the Sophiſter) are the vertues of Speech and Stile, as Barbariſmes and Soleciſmes are the vices; we ſhall then begin with A METAPHOR or Tranſlation is the friendly and neighbourly borrowing of a word, to expreſs a thing with more light and better note, though not ſo directly and properly as the naturall name of the thing meant, would ſignifie. As to ſay, Drops of Dew are Pearls; Flowers in Meadows are Starres, and the murmuring of waters, Muſick; that little Birds are Angels of the Forreſts; Whales are living Rocks, or Ships with ſouls; that the Sea is a moving Earth; and fountain water, liquid Cryſtall. And in expreſſing Deſirous; a kind of Deſire, is thirſt, and not much different from thirſt is hunger; Therefore for ſwords deſirous of bloud, Sir Philip Sidney ſays, hungry of bloud. Where you may note three degrees of a Metaphor in the underſtanding; Firſt, the fitneſs to bloudſhed in a weapon uſurps the name of Deſirous, which is proper to a living Creature, and then that it proceeds to thirſt, and ſo to hunger.

The rule of a Metaphor is, that it be not too bold nor too far fetch'd; And though all Metaphors go beyond the true ſignification of things, yet are they requiſite to expreſs the roving fancies of mens minds, which are not content to fix themſelves upon one thing intended, but muſt wander to the confines; Like the eye that cannot chuſe but view the whole knot, when it purpoſely beholds but one flower in the Garden; Or like an Archer, that knowing his Bow will overcaſt or carry too ſhort, takes an aim on this ſide or beyond the mark. Beſides, a Metaphor is pleaſant, becauſe it enriches our knowledge with two things at once, with the Truth and a Similitude; As this, Heads diſinherited of their naturall Seigniories, whereby we underſtand both beheading, and the government of the head over the body, as the heir hath over the Lordſhip, which he inherits; Of which in another place, To divorce the fair marriage of the Head and body; where beſides the cutting off of the head, we underſtand the conjunction of the head and body to reſemble a marriage. The like in concealing love, uttered in theſe words, To keep love cloſe Priſoner. There came along the ſtreet a whole fleet of Coaches, for a great number. Longinus ſaith, That Metaphors and exchanges of words, are of excellent uſe, and much conducing to height in eloquence.

An Allegory is the continuall proſecuting of a Metaphor, (which before I defined to be, a tranſlation of one word,) and that proportionably through the whole ſentence, or through many ſentences; As Philoclea was ſo invironed with ſweet Rivers of vertue, that ſhe could neither be battered nor undermined: Where Philoclea is expreſſed by the ſimilitude of a Caſtle; her naturall defence, by the naturall fortification of Rivers about a Caſtle; and the Metaphor continues in the attempting her by force or craft, expreſſed by battering or undermining. Another, But when ſhe had once his Enſign in her mind, then followed whole ſquadrons of longings, that ſo it might be with a main battle of miſlikings and repinings againſt their Creation; where you have Enſigns, Squadrons, main Battels; Metaphors ſtill derived from the ſame thing. i. Warr.

As I ſaid before, a Metaphor might be too bold, or too far fe ch'd, ſo I now remember it may be too baſe, and too bald a tranſlation; As the Tempeſt of judgment had broken the main maſt of his will. A goodly Audience of ſheep, Souldiers of friendſhip, or ſuch like. Too baſe, as in that ſpeech, Fritter of fraud, and ſeething pot of iniquity. And they that ſay, A Red herring is a ſhooing horn to a pot of Ale. But if you ſpeak of diſdainfull atter, you may uſe the groſſer terms.

Therefore for generall delight, take your expreſſions from ingenious Arts and Profeſſions; to pleaſe the learned in ſeverall kinds; As from the Meteors, Plants, Beaſts in naturall Philoſophy; And from the Starres, Spheres and their motions in Aſtronomy; from the better part of Husbandry; from politick government of Cities; from Navigation, from the military profeſſion, from Phyſick; but not out of the depth of thoſe myſteries; And (unleſs your purpoſe be to diſparage) let the word be always taken from a thing of equall or greater dignity, As ſpeaking of Vertue, The skie of your vertue overcaſt with ſorrow, where 'twas thought unfit to ſtoop to any Metaphor, lower then the Heaven.

An Embleme, an Allegory, a Simile, a Fable, a Poeticall Fiction differ thus. An Embleme is but one part of the Similitude in the body and the other part under application in the words; An Allegory is the ſimilitude of the application expreſt indifferently, and joyned in one ſentence with words, ſome proper to one part, ſome to another; A Simile hath two ſentences of ſeverall proper terms compared. A Fable is a Simile acted by Fictions in Beaſts; A Poets Tale, for the moſt part by Gods and Men. In the former example, Paint a Caſtle, compaſt with Rivers, and let the Motto be NEC OBSIDIONE NEC CUNICULIS, Neither by ſiege nor undermining, that is an Embleme. Lay it as it is in Sir Philips Philoclea; Vertue, environed, Rivers, battering, undermining, the terms of the other part; Put all theſe terms in one ſentence, and it is an Allegory; But let it be thus, There was a Lamb in a Caſtle, and an Elephant and a Fox beſieged her; The Elephant would have aſſaulted her, but he could not ſwim over the River; the Fox would make an earth to get under her, but he feared the River would ſink in upon him and drown him; then it is a Fable. Let Spencer tell you ſuch a Tale of a Fairy Queen, or Ovid of Danae, and 'tis a Poeticall Fiction: But utter it thus in one ſentence, As a Caſtle, compaſſed about with rivers, cannot be battered or undermined. (And thus in another) So Philoclea defended round about with vertuous reſolution, could neither be forced nor ſurprized by deceit; Then it is a Similitude in its own nature, which is the ground of all Emblemes, Allegories, Fables and Fictions.

METONIMIA is an exchange of a name, when one word comes in lieu of another, not for a ſimilitude, but for other naturall affinity and coherence; As when the matter is uſed for that which conſiſts thereof; As, I want ſilver, for money. When the efficient or author is uſed for the thing made; As my blade is right Sebaſtian; for, of Sebaſtians making. The thing containing, for the thing or perſon contained; As the the City met the Generall, for the Citizens. The adjunct, property, or quality, for the ſubject of it; As, deſerts are preferred, for men deſerving. Take heed young idleneſs; for, idle youth. Give room to the quoif, for, the Serjeant; with the like.

SYNECDOCHE is an exchange of the name of the part for the whole, or of the name of the whole for the part. There are two kinds of totall comprehenſions; An entire body, or a generall name; As, my name is toſſed and cenſured by many tōgues, for many men; where the part of an intire body goes for the whole. Contrariwiſe he carries a Goldſmiths ſhop on his fingers, for Rings. He fell into the water and ſwallowed the Thames, for the water. So the generall name for the ſpeciall; Put up your weapon, for your Dagger. And the ſpeciall, for the particular, As, the Admirall is gone to ſea, for Admirall Blake. The particular for the ſpeciall. As I would willingly make you a Sir Philip Sidney, for an eloquent, learned, valiant Gentleman; or, for many; as, the Hollander they ſay comes againſt us, for the Hollanders, and ſuch like; which (becauſe they are eaſie) I have exemplified familiarly. Both theſe figures ſerve well, when you have mentioned ſomthing before, that may require Variety in repetition.

CATACHRESIS, in Engliſh, Abuſe, is now grown in faſhion, as moſt abuſes are; It is ſomewhat more deſperate then a Metaphor; And is the expreſſing of one matter by the name of another, which is incompatible with, and ſometimes clean contrary to it; As, I gave order to ſome ſervants of mine, (whom I thought as apt for ſuch charities as my ſelf) to lead him out into a Forreſt, and there kill him; where Charity is uſed for Cruelty. But this may alſo be by the Figure IRONIA. The abuſe of a word drawn from things far differing; As, a voyce beautiful to his ears. Accuſing in himſelf no great trouble in mind by his behaviour or action. Do you grudge me part of your ſorrow being ſiſter in Nature, I would I were not ſo far off a Kin in fortune? This is a uſuall figure with the fine converſants of our time, when they ſtrain for extraordinary expreſſions; As I am in danger of preferment. I am not guilty of thoſe praiſes. I have hardly eſcaped good fortune. He threatens me a good turn. All by the contrary. And as he ſaid that miſliked a picture with a crooked Noſe. The elbow of his Noſe is disproportionable.

The ear is not onely pleaſed with ſtore and variety of words, but takes great delight in the repetition of the ſame words; which, becauſe they may be at the beginning, at the middle, in the end, and in ſundry correſpondencies of each of theſe places one to another; it happens that it has purchaſed ſeverall names of Figures; As Repetition of the ſame word or ſound immediatly without interpoſition of any other, is called EPIZEUXIS. O let not, let not from you be powred upon me deſtruction. Tormented, tormented? torment of my ſoul, Philoclea tormented. This figure is not to be uſed but in paſſion.

ANADIPLOSIS is a repetition in the end of a former ſentence, and beginning of the next; As, you fear leſt you ſhould offend; offend, O how know you that you ſhould offend? Becauſe ſhe doth deny, deny? now in earneſt I could laugh, &c. Why loved I? alas, alas; why loved I? to die wretched, and to be the example of the heavens hate, and hate, ſpare not; for our worſt blow is given. — From whom they have commonly ſuch reſpect, and reſpect ſoon opens the door to perſwaſion, &c. This figure is often and handſomly uſed by Sir William Davenant in his Preface to Gondibert. And as no man ſtrikes in thought upon any thing, but for ſome vehemency or diſtruſt; ſo in ſpeech there is no repetition without importance.

CLIMAX is a kinde of ANADIPLOSIS, by degrees making the laſt word a ſtep to a further meaning. If it be turned to an argument, it is a SORITES; A young man of great beauty, beautified with great honor, honored with great valor. You could not enjoy your goods, without government, no Government without a Magiſtrate, no Magiſtrate without obedience, and no obedience, where every one upon his private paſſion doth interpret the Rulers actions.

Now to make it a SORITES or climing argument, joyn the firſt and the laſt with an ERGO. As ERGO you cannot enjoy your own goods, where every man upon his own private paſſions doth, &c, This in a penned ſpeech is too Academicall, but in diſcourſe more paſſable and plauſible. Seeing to like, liking to love, loving to, &c. Deceived me, after deceit abuſed me, after abuſe forſaken me. What doth better become wiſdom then to diſcern what is worthy loving? What more agreeable to goodneſs then to love it, ſo diſcerned? and what to greatneſs of heart, then to be conſtant in it once loved. Where the laſt word or ſome one word in the laſt ſentence begets the next clauſe. This Figure hath his time, when you are well entred into diſcourſe, have procured attention, mean to riſe and amplifie.

ANAPHORA is when many clauſes have the like beginning; You whom vertue hath made the Princeſs of Felicity, be not the miniſter of ruine. You whom my choyce hath made the Goddeſs of my ſafety. You whom Nature hath made the Load-ſtarr of comfort, be not the rock of ſhipwrack. This figure beats upon one thing, to cauſe the quicker apprehenſion of it in the audience, and to awake a ſleepy or dull paſſion.

EPISTROPHE is contrary to the former, when many clauſes end with the ſame words; Where the richneſs did invite the eyes, the faſhion did en ertain the eyes, and the device did teach the eyes. And all the night did nothing but weep. Philoclea, ſigh Philoclea, and cry out Philoclea, &c. Either arm their lives, or take away their lives. This is rather a Figure of Narration or Inſtruction, then of motion.

SIMPLOCE or COMPLEXIO, is when ſeverall ſentences have the ſame beginning and the ſame ending. The moſt covetous man longs not to get riches out of that ground which can bear nothing; Why? Becauſe it is impoſſible. The moſt ambitious perſon vexes not his wits to climb to heaven. Why? becauſe it is impoſſible. This is the wantoneſt of Repetitions, and is not to be uſed in ſerious matters.

EPANALEPSIS is the ſame in one ſentence which SIMPLOCE or COMPLEXIO is in ſeverall; As, Severe to his ſervants, to his children ſevere. Or the ſame ſound reiterated firſt or laſt in a ſentence. As, His ſuperior in means, in place his ſuperior. In ſorrow was I born, and muſt die in ſorrow. Ʋnkindneſs moved me, and what can ſo trouble my courſes, or wrack my thoughts as unkindneſs? This is a mild and ſweet Figure, and of much uſe, though ſingle and by it ſelf, not uſuall in the Arcadia, unleſs thus, Overthrow of my deſires, recompence of my overthrow.

EPANADOS is when the midſt and the end, or the midſt and the beginning are the ſame, As, If there were any true pleaſure in ſleep and idleneſs, then no doubt the Heathen Philoſophers would have placed ſome part of the felicity of their heathen Gods in ſleep and idleneſs. Your diligence to ſpeak well muſt be great, but you ſhall be abundantly recompenced for the greatneſs of your diligence in the ſucceſs of perſwaſion. If I ſhould ever wiſh the perfection of your eloquence, it is for your inſtruction, and for your benefit, that I would wiſh you eloquent. This kind of Repetition and the former EPANALEPSIS are moſt eaſily admitted into diſcourſe, and are freeſt from the opinion of affectation; becauſe words recited at the beginning of many ſentences, or at both ends of the ſame, are more remarkable.

ANTIMETABOLE, or COMMUTATIO, is a ſentence inverſt, or turn'd back; as, If any for love of honor, or honor of love, &c. That as you are the child of a mother: ſo you may be mother of a child, &c. They miſliked what themſelves did; and yet ſtill did what themſelves miſliked, &c. If before he languiſhed, becauſe he could not obtain his deſiring; he now lamented, becauſe he could not deſire the obtaining. — Either not ſtriving, becauſe he was contented; or contented, becauſe he would not ſtrive — Juſt to exerciſe his might, mighty to exerciſe his juſtice. Learned Sir Philip ſlipt often into this Figure, yet he ſometimes conceald the particularity of his affection to it, by not turning the words wholly back, as they lay; To account it not a purſe for treaſure, but as a treaſure it ſelf worthy to be purs'd up, &c. Men venture lives to conquer; ſhe conquers lives without venturing, &c. Shewed ſuch fury in his force, ſuch ſtay in his fury; which is rather EPANADOS; Sometimes the ſame ſenſe inverſt in contrary words. As, Parthenia deſir'd above all things to have Argalus; Argalus feared nothing but to miſſe Parthenia. Where he returns fear to miſſe in ſtead of deſire. Neither could you have thought ſo well of me, if extremity of love had not made your judgement partiall; nor could you have loved me ſo intirely, if you had not been apt to make ſo great undeſerved judgment of me. Where he returns, for, extremity of love; loving intirely, and for partiall judgement; great undeſerved judgement.

Though this be a ſharp and witty Figure, and ſhews out of the ſame words, a pretty diſtinction of meaning very convenient for Schoolmen, yet to •• e this or any other unreaſonably or unſeaſonably, is ridiculous. Let diſcretion therefore be the greateſt, and moſt generall Figure of Figures.

PARANOMASIA is a preſent touch of the ſame letter, ſyllable or word, with a different meaning. And as for the running upon the letter more then very little, is more then too much, Sir Philip Sidney in Aſtropell and Stella, calls it the Dictionary method, and verſes ſo made, Rimes running in ratling rowes, which is is an example of it. There is an old Swiniſh Poem made of it in Latine, call'd PUGNA PORCORUM.

Hector, Hanno, Haniball dead, Pompey, Pyrrhus ſpild, Cyrus, Scipio, Caeſar ſlain, And Alexander kill'd.

Agnomination of ſome ſyllables is ſomtimes found in the Arcadia; as, Alas what can ſaying make them believe, whom ſeeing cannot perſwade. And, while he was ſo followed by the valianteſt, he made a way for the vileſt. She went away repining, but not repenting. Our Almſ-deeds are turned into all Miſ-deeds; our praying into playing; our faſting into feaſting. That kinde of breaking words into another meaning, is much ſed in Drolerie, and youthful Diſcourſe; as, you will have but a bare gain out of this bargain, A man not only fit for the gown, but for the gun; for the pen, but for the pike; for the book, but for the blade. The garniſh of this figure hath been in much requeſt in leſs ſerious matters, but the more learned have avoided this kinde of flouriſh, leſt their writings ſhould ſavour more of the general humor, then of private judgement.

POLEPTOTON or TRADUCTIO, is a repetition of words of the ſame linage, that differ only in termination; as, exceedingly, exceeding. His faulty uſing of our faults. Sometimes the ſame word in ſeveral caſes; as, for fear, conceal'd his fear. Sometimes the ſame word in ſeveral voyces; as, forſaken by all friends, and forſaken by all comfort. Sometimes the ſame adjective in ſeveral compariſons; as, much may be ſaid in my defence, much more for love, and moſt of all for that divine creature, who hath joyned me and love together. This is a good figure, and may be uſed with or without paſſion, yet ſo as the uſe of it come from choice, and not from barrenneſs.

To Amplifie and Illuſtrate, are two of the principal Ornaments of Eloquence, and gain mens mindes to the chiefeſt advantages, Admiration and Belief; For how can you commend any thing more acceptable to our Attention, then by telling us it is extraordinary, and by demonſtrating it to be evident. We love to look upon a Commet above all Stars, for theſe two excellencies, its Greatneſs and its Clearneſs; ſuch in ſpeech is Amplification and Illuſtration. We amplifie five ways, by Compariſon, Diviſion, Accumulation, Intimation, and Progreſſion.

Compariſon is either of things contrary or equal, or things different: Equal, as, Themiſto les and Coriolanus (both great States-men, both of great deſerts to their Countrey, both baniſhed, both dead at one t me: Themiſtocles his Councel could not prevail against the Ingratitude of the Athenians; nor Coriolanus his Diſcretion overcome the unkindeneſs of the Romans; the one was too excellent, the other too noble, for the envious eyes of their Countrymen to endure, ſuch is the force of vertue, above all quarrels of Nations, or diviſions of Allegiances; that their exiles were honorably entertained, Coriolanus by the Volſci, Themiſtocles by the Perſians, both by their enemies, and both leading great Armies againſt thoſe Countreys, which ſo ingratefully expelled them) were ſo inwardly reſtrained with a conſcience of ſacking their native ſoil, that they rather choſe violence to their own lives, then to the lives of their fellow Citizens, and took it for a ſufficient revenge, to make it evident that they might be revenged. But this is not ſo forcible an Amplification of things equal indeed (wherein, as you ſee, all the ſeveral points of a conſorted, equality are to be ſearched out), as when things ſeeming unequal are compared, and that in Similitudes, as well as in Examples; for inſtance, where a woman is compared to a ſhip, out of Plautus, both ask much tacking, and ſometimes rigging: And you ſhall profit moſt of all, by inventing matter of agreement in things moſt unlike: London and the Tennis-Court are like: for in both all the gains go to th hazard. Policy is like the Sea, it ſerves for intercourſe of profit, for defence againſt in aſions; the •• are both •• bings and flowings, calms and tempeſts; the obſervation whereof may make a man firſt wiſe, then rich. But as the water ſerves for many outward uſes, ſo can it not pleaſe, if it be inwardly ſwa •• wed. If you ail up n it, it will carry you whereſo'ere you will deſire; but if you drink it, it doth not ſatisfie, but increaſe deſires. Again for Example; Eriphyle and Tarpeia (both women in whom nature ſhould govern love, and love warrant fidelity) were both eaſily induced to be falſe, with triffling temptations, they both betrayed, not one friend to another, nor the dearneſs of love for the height of preferment, but their moſt aſſured lovers to their moſt deadly enemies, for toys, jewels and bracelets; Eriphyle, her husband Amphiaraus (the ſtay of her life) to Adraſtus, his profeſſed enemy: Tarpeia, the Capitol (the defence of her Country) to the Sabines, that beſieged it, yet neither can remain as invitation, much leſs a encouragement to Treaſon; For Eriphyle was ſlain by her ſon, whom nature ſhould have bound to her defence; Tarpeia by the Sabines, whom her deſerts ſhould have obliged to her ſafe-guard. In comparing of two, when you would raiſe the perſon or thing, which you intend to make excellent, you muſt take the meaneſt parts of a greater example, and match them with the beſt of your purpoſe, and by ſuch partiality you ſhall amplifie and extol the ſubject you treat of; as Iſocrates did in his compariſon of Cyrus and Thaagarus. Otherwiſe for impartial compariſons, which notwithſtanding do amplifie, read the matches, or encounters of the moſt famous Grecian and Roman Examples in Plutark.

Compariſons of things different. In the former Compariſon, is a Compoſition of the points at firſt, becauſe I preſuppoſe the hiſtories on both ſides to be familiar unto you by reading; but if you were to marſhal hiſtories, whereof both or either were not ſufficiently known, then had you need to begin with ſingle relations; As if a man would compare Vaſcus G ma with Sir Francis Drake, he might ſay, Sir Francis Drake indeed travelled round about the world in two years, ſaw divers Nations, endured many perils at ſea, and returned laden with great Treaſure; And Vaſcus Gama firſt ſearched the Coaſt of Quiloa, Mozambique, and Calicute, and opened the paſſage to the Eaſt-Indies. But as it was eaſie for Drake to proceed further in diſcoveries, when he had entrance made by Columbus: So was it moſt dangerous and difficult for Gama to adventure a courſe, without example and direction: Drake ſcoured the Coaſts with a ſufficient company of ſhips, made pillage of others, and thereof furniſhed himſelf for his interprize; Gama went but weak at firſt, loſt moſt of his ſmall Fleet, and met nothing at ſeas, but tempeſts and famine. Drake invaded upon opportunities, hazarded but his own fortune, and retired to ſea upon all advantages: Gama had in charge an expedition of his Soveraigns Commandment, was conſtrained to victual himſelf amongſt barbarous Nations, and not only buy proviſion in their continent with the price of his blood, but durſt not depart without leaving his King proclaimed and poſſeſſed in their Territories, divers places of ſtrength fortified, and eſtabliſhed to his uſe: So that if Gama had been to purſue the example of Drake, as Drake had the light of Columbus and Magellus Travels, Vaſcus Gama's ſpirit was as like to have conquered the whole world, as Drakes fortune was to compaſs it. And where the parts of Collation are moſt obſcure, there your narration muſt be the longer; As, Cicero in comparing Marcellus and Verres, makes a long recitall of the acts of Marcellus to acquaint the hearers with them before compariſon. In ſome caſes, after good confidence of proof, your examples may come in more thick and plentiful; As, If to protract a battell upon advice, be cowardize, then Ph cion, then Metellus, then Fabius, and all the valianteſt Captains of all ages were cowards. If to diſplant the rebellious natives of Scotland, and to root them out of that kingdom, be cruelty, then the Colonies tranſlated by the Romans into Sicily, into France, into the ſeverall coaſts of Italy, & divers other places, testifie great cruelty. But compariſon of things different is moſt commendable, where there ſeems to be great affinity in the matters conferred; As in the King of Spains aſſiſting the Iriſh, and the Queen of Englands aiding the Netherlands. The Spaniard gave aſſiſtance to a people untrue in their Treaties, uncivill in their manners, to thoſe who have traiterouſly rebelled without provocation, and fled out contrary to their own ſubmiſſion, brake their own peace, and waſted their own Countrey. The Queen did but lend ſome few voluntaries to the protection of a Nation, peaceable in their lives, free by their priviledges, a people denying no claim of any true Prince, except perpetual ſervitude of their bodies, and importable exactions of their goods. Another example of things different compared. Is not the marriage of heads of Houſes & Colledges as lawful as the marriage of the Doctors of the Arches, or the Clerks of the Chancery, both were interdicted by the ſame law, & yet I take it not indifferent, that both ſhould by the abrogation of the ſame Law be equally repealed; The one hath his living caſuall by his temporall pains, the other his maintenance certain by Eccleſiaſtical proviſion; The one may purchaſe by the improving his revenues, & ſo may lawfully raiſe a patrimony to maintain his poſterity: The other can by no thrift upon the common goods, gather a living for a wife and children, without imbezeling from the poor, deducting from Hoſpitality, defeating the intent of the giver, or defrauding his ſucceſſion. Laſtly, the one hath all to the uſe of his office, the other is owner of nothing, but to his own behoof and diſpoſition. In theſe two ſorts of Amplifications you may inſert all Figures, as the paſſion of the matter ſhall ſerve.

Compariſon of contraries is the third and moſt flouriſhing way of Compariſon. Contraries are ſomtimes arranged together by pairs one to one, thus. Compare the ones impatiency with the others mildneſs, the ones inſolency with the others ſubmiſſion, the ones humility with the others indignation, and tell me whether he that conquered ſeemed not rather confounded, then he that yeelded any thing diſcouraged. Compare not mind with mind leſt it ſeem fantaſticall, and beyond the triall of our ſenſes; But ſet the ones triumph againſt the others captivity, loſs againſt victory, feaſts againſt wounds, a Crown againſt fetters, misfortune againſt felicity, & the majeſty of courage will be found in the overthrown. More examples of this you have in the figure Contentio, which is one of the inſtruments to aggravate, by way of Compariſon. Yet one example more. He that prefers wealthy ignorance before chargeable ſtudy, prefers contempt before honor, darkneſs before light, death before life, and earth before, heaven.

This is one way of arranging contrarieties.

There is another way of ordering them with interchangeable correſpondence in ſentences, that though each touch not other, yet it affronts the other: As, Shall a Souldier (for a blow with his hand given in warr to a Captain) be diſgraced? And ſhall a Lawyer (for the Baſtinado given in a Court of Juſtice to his companion) be advanced? ſhall we that profeſs Laws, maintain outrage? And ſhall they that break all Laws, yet in this obſerve civility? Where you may ſee every word in the later ſentence aggravated by oppoſition to every word in the former. Another, Did the moſt innocent vouchſafe a part of his glory to pray for his enemies? And ſhall we the moſt ſinfull eſteem it a blot to our reputation to be unrevenged on our brethren? Of this you ſhall have more examples hereafter. But unleſs it be for the Declamatory exerciſe, you are to avoyd too great ſwelling without ſubſtance.

The ſecond way of Amplification, is by Diviſion, which (as a modern Author ſays) is to anatomize it into ſeverall parts, and to examine it according to ſeverall circumſtances; Not unlike the ſhew that Pedlers make of their Packs when they diſplay them, contrary to the German magnificence, that ſerves in all the good meat in one diſh. But whereas the ſame Author ſays, that this Art of Amplifying will betray it ſelf in method and order. I think it rather adorns it ſelf. For in ſtead of ſaying, He put the whole Law to the Sword; let me reckon all ages and ſorts, and ſay; He neither ſaved the young men, as pittying the unripe flower of their youth; nor aged men, as reſpecting their gravity; nor children, as pardoning their weakneſs; nor women, as having compaſſion on their Sex; Souldier, Clergyman, Citizen; armed or unarmed, reſiſting or ſubmitting, all within the Town were deſtroyed by the fury of that bloody Executioner. Note that the diviſions here, are taken from age, profeſſion, ſex, habit, or behaviour. It may likewiſe be from all circumſtances; All dance, the Heavens, Elements, mens mindes, Common-wealths, and ſo by part all dance.

Another example varied, He apparels himſelfe with great diſcretion; Thus amplifie for circumſtances, For ſtuffs, His cloathes were more rich then glittering: As to the faſhion, rather uſuall for his ſort, then fantaſtical for his invention; for colour, more grave and uniform then wild and light. For fitneſs, made as well for eaſe of exerciſe, as to ſet forth to the eye thoſe parts which had in him any excellency. So, to ſay, he would take an occaſion of diſcourſe with a young witty Lady, and would raiſe it firſt from her behaviour. If ſhe ſaid nothing he would partly quarrell with her ſilence; if ſhe ſmiled, he would gather out of it ſome interpretation of praiſe of her favour, and of his own joy and good fortune; if ſhe frowned, he would both move her to mirth, and deny that ſhe could be angry in earneſt; if ſhe were ſad, he would conform his ſpeech and action in that ſoberneſs to her humor, as might beguile her paſſion, by way of falſe confederacy; if ſhe walked or played, the ſecret praiſe of her face, her eyes, her hair, her voyce, her hands, her body, her gait, was the application of moſt conceipts, whatever gave the ground of them; yet with ſuch diſſembling art, as if forgetfulneſs or love alluded in them, not cunning or want of variety.

So you may divide by the forms of ſpeech in general; as, he was never to ſeek how to propoſe or invent, raiſe or maintain, reconcile and diſtinguiſh any Arguments, Hiſtories, Similitudes, Proverbs; Jeſts attended him in great plenty, when he needed to imploy them: he would deliver ſtrong Reaſons careleſly, and choyce words ſmoothly and unaffectedly; he uſed a ſporting wiſdom, an eloquent prating. But with Gallants and Ladies of better reſpect, and leſs curioſity, his duty, their kindeneſs, their common acquaintance, the occaſion of his coming, the remembrance of his laſt conference, the place, the time, the laſt news of forraign parts, the Court, the Countrey, the City, fed his invention, and ſatisfied their ears. All this is but diviſion of the perſons, with whom you converſed, their Manners, Carriage, the Faſhions and Ornaments, the Matter and Subject of diſcourſe. This in ſome ſort uſed, is more properly called Dilatation, then Amplification; and being often practiſed, will inable you to diſcourſe almoſt of any thing, wherein you are not preciſely tyed to the exact manner of diviſion, which Logicians uſe. But you have liberty of ſeeking all things comprized within the ſence of your generall Theame, differ they eſſentially, or in any notable Property. You may alſo if you pleaſe, run over the intire part of Amplification; as, the ſhip was blown up; for the ſhip you may ſay the maſt, ſails, tacklings, keel, prowe, ſtern; for blowing up, you may ſay rent, torn, ſmouthered, ſcattered in the ayr, ſunk under the water, all the circumſtances of blowing up. So in ſaying a fair tree, you may divide the tree into the root, body, branches and fruit; and fairneſs, into talneſs, ſtraitneſs, verdure, ſweetneſs, and ſuch things as are fair in a tree. In deſcribing a gallant man, you may talk of his minde, perſon, his attempting, proſecuting and finiſhing an enterprize. And note, that this Amplification hath in it both credibility and inſtruction; for it makes inſtances of that which being generally ſpoken, would ſeem but a flouriſh, and gives more ſpecial note of that kinde, which univerſally could not be conceived, without confuſion and dulneſs. This kinde of Amplification is more taken up by Cicero then Demoſthenes; for Demoſthenes never uſes it, but as it falls in his way.

The third way of Amplification, is Accumulation, which is a heaping up of many terms of praiſe or accuſation, importing but the ſame matter, without deſcending into any part, and hath his due ſeaſon after ſome argument of proof. Otherwiſe it is like a Schoolman foming out Synonima's, or words of one meaning, and will ſooner beget a cenſure of ſuperfluity of words, then of ſufficiency, of matter. But let us give ſome example to amplifie a Sedition; tumults, mutinies, uproars, deſperate conſpiracies, wicked confederacies, furious commotions, trayterous rebellions, aſſociations in villany, diſtractions from allegiance, bloody garboyles, inteſtine Maſſacres of Citizens. But this example is ſomewhat too ſwelling. Now to deſcribe a beautiful woman; you may ſay, She hath a moſt winning countenance, a moſt pleaſant eye, a moſt amiable preſence, a cheerful aſpect, ſhe is a moſt delicate object, &c. The taſte of former times hath termed it ſweet, to bring in three clauſes together of the ſame ſenſe; as, Your beauty (ſweet Lady) hath conquered my reaſon, ſubdued my will, maſtered my judgement. How this will hold amongſt our curious ſucceſſors in their time, I know not; he that looks on the wearing of it, will finde it bare, how full of ſtuff ſoever it appears. Firſt, it paſſeth for parts of diviſion, when indeed it is but a variation of an Engliſh. Yet notwithſtanding the practiſe will furniſh you ſtore of phraſes, without which you ſhal never have choyce, the Mother of perfection. Cicero in his Orations uſes it much; ſome others follow it to four clauſes, but he ſeldom exceeds three. It has this certain effect, that it will ſufficiently ſecure your vein not to be dry and exhauſted. But to return to our firſt ſort of Accumulation, and reduce it with this under one precept. I take the uſe of this to be in anger, deteſtation, commiſeration, and ſuch paſſions, as you, ſeeming throughly poſſeſt with, would willingly ſtir up in others.

The fourth way of Amplification is by Intimation, and leaves the collection of greatneſs to our underſtanding, by expreſſing ſome mark of it. It exceeds ſpeech in ſilence, and makes our meaning more intelligible by a touch, then by direct treating; as he that ſhould ſay, you muſt live very many years in his company, whom you ſhould account for your friend, ſays well; but he that ſays, you had need eat a buſhel of ſalt with him, ſaith more, and gives you to reckon more then many years in his company, whom you ſhould account for your friend. It ſavours ſometimes of Hyperbole; as, that man that is grown groſs, is grown from a body to a corporation; again, for a little man on horſe back, He was taken for a hat riding on the pommel of a ſaddle. Of this ſort, examples are familiar; So honeſt a wrangler, that his noſe being betwixt, was the onely cauſe why his two eys went not to Law. So the hugeneſs of a Gyant is expreſt, by ſaying, his skull held half a buſhel of wheat. This may be done with Ironia, or denyal. He was no notorios malefactor, but he had been twice on the pillory, and once burnt in the hand for trifling overſights. So, by ambiguity of the word, he draws his ſword oftner then his purſe. This faſhion of Amplification, I term Intimation, becauſe it doth not directly aggravate; but by conſequence or proportion, intimate more to your minde, then to your ears.

PROGRESSIO is the laſt kinde of Amplification, which by ſteps of compariſon ſcorns every degree, till it come to the ſupreme; and ſometimes to advance the matter higher, it deſcends lower. It is an ornament in ſpeech to begin at the loweſt, that you may aſpire to the higheſt Amplification. For example, in reprehending the prodigality of Monuments. I begin with the exceſſes of Alphonſus on his fathers funeral; thence to Alexanders profuſion upon one of his friends Tombs; then to Urbanus, towards his ſervant; thence to Caeſar, on his horſes burial; after that, to the Moloſſians on their dogs; and thence to the Egyptians, that charged themſelves with the ſumptuous burial of a Crocodil. So ſeeming in ſome ſort, to admit the firſt leſs then the ſecond, and by growing weaker and weaker in the exceſs of every one, as I proceed, the laſt will ſeem moſt rediculous, if not odious. So Cicero againſt Verres meaning to amplifie his Bribery and Extortions. It is rigorous exaction (ſaith he) not to abſolve the innocent without money; great cruelty to commit him, till be ranſom himſelf; but not to ſuffer the parties to have acceſs unto him without reward, is wretched covetouſneſs. To ſell the egreſs and regreſs of them that ſhall bring him victuals; nay, to take money that he ſhall have an eaſie death: To put a price upon the ſtrokes that ſhall execute him; So much, that he ſhall be beheaded at one blow; ſo much, at two. This is beyond all degrees of moſt barbarous and intollerable extortion. So in another example; He was careleſs of doing well, a looſneſs of youth; he was inclined to do ill, a weakneſs of fleſh; his minde conſented to offend, a ſhrewd temptation; he committed the act, an unhappy fault; he accuſtomed himſelf to abuſe, a ſad employment: yet he did not this alone, but infected others with his perſwaſion, and ſeduced them by his example. And not that only, but detained thoſe he had drawn in, with freſh inventions, and diſgraced the modeſty of them who reſiſted his corruptions, with ſcorns and deriſions, which could argue no leſs in him, then a moſt reprobate damnable reſolution.

The rule of this is, when you would praiſe or diſcommend any thing, to conſider how many leſs things there are of that kinde, to which notwithſtanding you would give ſome ſhew of importance. As he that would render ſleep obnoxious, may ſay that Idleneſs (which is leſs) by Draco's Laws was Felony. Or, to give that Biſhop his right, that built two abſolute Colledges at his own charges, and indowed them with Lands. Look downwards how rare it is for a Prelate in theſe days, not to grant long Leaſes, diminiſh the revenues of his fee. How laudable it is to repair the ruines of his own decayed Palaces and Granges? How magnificent an Act it is thought for a noble man to build an Hoſpital. How royal for two or three Princes to erect one Colledge. And can there be ſuch an unthankfulneſs, as to bear but an ordinary remembrance of him, that inricht his Biſhoprick, built two the moſt famous Nurſeries of Learning in the Land, was liberal to all wants in his life, and left worthy bequeſts to all degrees at his death. In like ſort, by an example of abuſing the name of God. To make table talk of a mean mans name were injurious; to run upon a Noble mans title, were great ſcandal; to play with a Princes name, were Treaſon: And what ſhall it be to make a vanity of that name, which is moſt terrible even to Tyrants and Devils, and moſt reverend even to Monarchs and Angels? There be two contrary aſcents to the top of this form, either by extenuating the means, as in a former example: or by aggravating them, as in this laſt of ſwearing. And may not a matter be well amplified in this manner, by exchanging the compariſon of every particular circumſtance, that the whole may ſeem the greater? As in this example, It is lamentable that a yong man ſhould be offended with the advice of his experienced friend, tending to his profit. Firſt, it is a hard caſe that counſel ſhould be neglected, but harder that it ſhould offend. It is a ſad thing to ſee any diſpleaſed with good admonitions, but more ſad, to ſee a youth ſo affected, Who would not grieve to have his advice ill taken? but who would not grieve more, to ſee his experience controlled? Ʋnhappy is that youth, that liſtens not to the good exhortations of the Skilful. But more, that diſdains the inſtructions of his diſcreet friend. He is miſerable and unfortunate, that quarrels with the ſound precepts of his dear friends; but more miſerable and unfortunate, that miſlikes directions given for his own good and advantage.

This is a moſt eaſie, clear and uſual kinde of Amplification; For it gives more light and force to every circumſtance. The circumſtances are theſe. The perſons, who and to whom, the matter, the intent, the time, the place, the manner, the conſequence, and many more: Out of every one of which, any thing may be made more notable, and egregious by way of compariſon. And that it may the better be remembred by you, let inquiry be made in every controverſi for the circumſtances, and compare them with other leſs matters, and you ſhall hardly fail of diſcourſe, or be left on ground for want of good invention. There is a richer ſhew in this kinde of amplifying by every circumſtance, then in any other. Firſt, you muſt begin every circumſtance with a new figure. Sometimes with Affirmation, ſometimes with Interrogation, ſometimes with Admiſſion, ſometimes with Ironia. Secondly, when you, upon every circumſtance, urge the whole ſenſe, you are for every circumſtance almoſt to vary the words: As before, for Lamentable; unhappy, unfortunate, heavy, ſad, grievous; ſo for Counſel; A monitions, Advice, Exhortations, Inſtructions, Precepts, Directions. Again, I ſay, remember this kinde of Progreſſion by circumſtances, and urging and aggravating all the points of a Sentence: For you ſhall finde it uſed as much as any figure in Rhetorique, by all good Speakers and Writers.

There are Figures that help Amplification, and make ſhew of ſetting forth a matter fairer then it is. The firſt of them is HIPERBOLE, whereof I will give you ſome ſuch examples, as my own reading long ſince obſerved in the Arcadia. Sometimes it expreſſeth a thing in the higheſt degree of poſſibility beyond the truth, that in deſcending thence, you may finde the truth. Sometimes in flat impoſſibilities, that you may rather conceive the unſpeakableneſs, then the untruth of the relation. Poſſibly, as for Hypocritical Hoſte; he gave as pleaſing entertainment, as the falſeſt heart could give him, whom he means worſt unto. That ever eye ſaw, or heart could imagine. For diligent inquiry; making their eyes, their ears, and their tongue ſerve for nothing elſe, but for that inquiry. This is the utmoſt that is poſſible. But in the very frontiers of impoſſibility, thus, though a thouſand deaths followed it, and every death were followed with an hundred diſhonors. The world ſooner wanted occaſions, then he valour to go through them. Words and blows came ſo thick together, as the one ſeemed a lightning to the others thunder. Sometimes there is no certain quantity of a thing ſet, but plainly and ingeniouſly told unvariably. As, Beyond the bounds of conceipt, much more of utterance. And, this Figure is more for the credit of your wit, then of your ſpeech.

CORRECTIO, having uſed a word of ſufficient force, yet pretending a greater ſtrength of meaning, refuſes it, and ſupplyes the place with one of more extenſion; as, I perſwade you not to let ſlip occaſion, whilſt it may not onely be taken, but offers, nay ſues to be taken. Where the firſt riſing of the matter is, upon, Not onely, but, then upon the correcting, Nay: Again, you muſt be content, nay you muſt be deſirous to take pains, if you will write well; It is the onely quality, which in all actions will gain you praiſe, praiſe (ſaid I,) nay honor. This Figure is to be uſed, when you would make the matter more credible in it ſelf, then by the manner of delivery; 'tis ſometimes uſed upon paſſion, without intent to amplifie. As, you ſtars, if you do not ſuccor me: no, no, you will not help me. O Parthenia, no more Parthenia, what art thou? There are two contrary ways to this form, and both lead to Amplification, but in a diſſembling ſort. The firſt is by Ironia, which expreſſes a thing by the contrary, by ſhew of exhortation, where indeed it dehorteth. As, yet a while, ſleep a while, fold thine arms a while: ſo ſhall neceſſity overtake thee, like a traveller, and poverty ſet on thee like an armed man. It was but ſmall charges of idle money that the Egyptians beſtowed in erecting of a Pyramis of Brick, when the expences in Onyons and garlike for Workmens dyet, came to about 238000 l. of our money. Milo had but ſlender ſtrength, that carryed an Ox a furlong on his back, then killed him with his fiſt, and eat him to his Breakfaſt. Titornus had a reaſonable good arm; that could hold two bulls by the tails, the one in the one hand, and the other in the other, and never be ſtirred out of his place by their violence. Here ſmall, ſlender and reaſonable, amplifie as much as if you had ſaid great, exceeding, or in redible.

Paralepſis (the ſecond counterfeit of Amplification) is when you ſay you let paſs that which not withſtanding you touch at full: as, I make no account of any hinderance in other the direct ſtudies of my courſe: I value not my pains in collecting theſe Obſervations. I will forget that I denyed the earneſt intreaty of many kinde and learned Gentlemen, that ſued to me for helps: I am loath to tell you they are notes of his whom your Maſters of the Ʋniverſity have thought as great a Reader, and a greater obſerver, then themſelves; I deſire not, that you ſhould make any greater eſtimation of them, then of a teſtimony of my love to you, and a pledge of my reſolution to encourage thoſe lovely ſparks of good invention, which if you ſmother and quench in your ſelf, you commit a kinde of intellectual murther. The like is uſed often in Progreſſion. But an other, I urge not to you the hope of your friends, though that ſhould animate you to anſwer their expectation, I lay not before you the neceſſity of the place, which you are to furniſh, wherein to be defective and inſufficient were ſome ſhame; I omit the envious concurrencies, and ſome prepared compariſons in your Countrey, which have ſome feeling with yong men of fore-ſight; I onely ſay, how ſhall our promiſes give judgement againſt us? how ſhall we diſcharge our own Engagements to your Father, if this time hath not taken his full effect of profit in our labours and endeavors. Two figures properly belong to this kinde of Amplification, which are called Accumulation and Diviſion.

The firſt is a round diſpatching of much matter, not plainly and ſimply the ſame in ſenſe, yet tending to the ſame end; as, Loves companions be unquietneſs, longings, fond comforts, faint diſcomforts, hopes, jealouſies, rages, careleſneſs, yieldings, &c. Spite, rage, diſdain, ſhame, revenge came upon hatred. Theſe examples are out of Arcadia. You may frame one thus, All men exclaim upon theſe exactions, Nobles, Gentry, Commonalty; Poor, Rich, Schollers, Merchants, Peaſants, Yong, Old, High, Low, and all cry out upon the hard impoſitions of theſe burthens.

The ſecond Figure differs not much from the firſt, but that the firſt is a ſudden entrance into a confuſed heap of matter: This is a wilde and diſſolute repetition of all that went before. As, you have heard of his pride, ambition, cozenage, robberies, mutinies, in the City, in the Camp, in the Country. What kinſman of his unabuſed, what friend undeceived, what companion uncorrupted, can ſpeak for him? where can he live without ſhame? where can he dye with honor? Theſe two Figures do not only make your cauſe ſeem better, but skilfully and properly uſed, do amaze an adverſary of mean ability.

There are other Figures that come in fitly after Amplification or any great heat juſtly i flamed, Interrogation and Exclamation.

Interrogation is but a warm propoſition, yet it oftentimes doth better then a bare Affirmation, which were but too eaſie and live-leſs a ſpeech: as, The credit of behaviour, is to cover imperfection, and ſet forth your good parts better. Thus expreſſed, Is it not the chiefeſt credit of behaviour, to ſet forth your good parts fairly and clearly, and to cover imperfection. Men are ignorant, and therefore by good expreſſions without raunting or affectation, you ſhall gain a more general opinion, then by ſufficiency ſmothered in too modeſt a ſilence. By Interrogation thus, Are not moſt men ignorant? ſhall you not then by quaint expreſſions, withoutraunting or affectation, pleaſe more, and get a more general good opinion, then by great ſufficiency concealed by your own ſhamefaſtneſs? To diſſemble excellencies is good policy in him, whom his courſe muſt at length neceſſarily draw into light and proof, and then all that he delivers will be admirable, becauſe expectation foreſtall'd nothing of his worth; which may likewiſe be turned into an Interrogation, and is very fit for a ſpeech, addreſſed to many illiterate hearers; is much uſed in Pirocles Oration to the ſeditious multitude, and then it may be well frequented and iterated. Did the Sun ever bring fruitful Harveſt; but was more hot then pleaſant? Have you any of your children, that be not ſometimes cumberſom? Have you any Fathers that be not ſometimes froward? ſhall we therefore curſe the Sun? hate our children? and diſobey our Fathers? An example of many Interrogations. Have you not ſeen a ſtately kinde of courteſie, and a proud kinde of humility? have you not ſeen a wiſe man withdraw himſelf from mean company, with better grace, and more kindeneſs, then ſome ſilly Gentleman that has beſtowed himſelf on fools, thrown himſelf down into the midſt of his miſeries? doth not a commendations, a hat, a good word, a good-morrow, p rchaſe more hearts then a moneths familiar pratling; with a flock of rude people? Do you converſe with your ſuperiors, to learn of them to be able to judge them, and benefit your ſelf? And ſhall not your inferiours do the like with you? Is it not a ſafer gain of popularity, with ceremonies, then with diſcovering your Nature? Many ſuch like Interrogations might be added; but let it ſuffice, that it is eaſie and gentile to ſharpen the flats of affirmations and down-right telling of Tales.

EXCLAMATION is not lawful, but in the extremity of motion; as Pyrocles, ſeeing the mild Philoclea innocently beheaded, cryed out, O Tyrant Heaven, and Traytor Earth, blind Providence, how is this done? How is this ſuffered? Hath this world a Government? The like in the beginning of the ſecond book of the Arcadia in the perſon of Ginetia tormented in mind. O Sun! O Heavens! O Deſerts! O Vertue! O imperfect proportion! And in another Author thus; O endleſs endeavour! O vainglorious Ignorance! Doſt thou deſire to be known? Where? In Europe, how canſt thou be famous? When Aſia and Africa, that have thrice as many people, hear not of thy actions? Art not thou then thrice as obſcure as thou art renowned? Doſt thou look that all the world ſhould take notice of thee, when for five thouſand years three parts of the world took no notice of the fourth. But Europe is the houſe of Fame, beca ſe it is the Nurſery of Arts, and Books, wherein reports are preſerved. O weak imagination! O ſelf-pleaſing fancy! Canſt thou expect in theſe parts from 40 degrees to 90 Northward, ſuch praiſes and honours for thy name, when every Map on every wall ſhews thee as much ſpace from 40 to 90 Southward, inhabited with nothing but ſilence and forgetfulneſs.

ACCLAMATION is a ſententious clauſe of a diſcourſe, or a report, ſuch as Daniel in his Poems concludes with often. It is a generall inſtruction for every man commonly for his pains in reading a Hiſtory, or other mens Books for ſome privat uſe of it to himſelf. Like a Caſh-keeper, who drawing great ſums of other mens money, challenges ſomwhat in the pound for his own Fee. It ſerves for Amplification, when after a great crime or Deſert exclaim'd upon, or extol'd, it gives a morall note worth credit and obſervation. As after the true relation of Scipio Africanus's courſe, who having been chief governor of the greateſt Armies in the world; having all his life time Kings ſuiters for his favour, and nations kept in awe of his Name; yet in 56 years neither bought nor ſold goods or lands, built any Houſe or Caſtle of his own, left not above 46. l. in Gold, and 6. l. in ſilver behind him at his death. It may be folded up in this Acclamation: So little need has he to ſtoop to privat cares, that thrives upon publick victories; and ſo ſmall leaſure has he to be deſirous of riches, that hath been ſo long poſſeſt and ſatisfied with honor, which is the immortall end of mortal actions. Such notes are th ſe ſcraps of policy which ſome now-a-days gather out of Polybius and Tacitus, and not unlike are the Morals that hang upon Eſops Fables.

This Acclamation ſometimes is the cauſe and reaſon of a former Narration, as a ſtory of one, who being a ſervant to a family, and of mean quality, won the doting love of a witty Lady in the Houſe, whereas ſhe never looked upon the humble ſuits, the cunning inſinuations, the noble deſerts of many lovers of higher degree, but with free judgment and careleſs cenſure; This cloſe may follow, So hard entrance hath affection into a heart prepared to ſuſpition, eſpecially in the weakeſt natures, whoſe ſafeguard is miſtruſt: So eaſie is the increaſe of love by inſenſible ſteps, when the ſervice you offer ſeems to proceed out of the goodneſs of your own diſpoſition, which women expect to be permanent, and not out of the neceſſity of your ſuit, which may force you for the time to a wained difference from the proper humor. Yet if this be too much uſed, it is like a note-book gathered out of Hiſtories.

Contrary to Amplification is DIMINUTION, and this deſcends by the ſame ſteps that Amplification aſcends, and differs no more then up Hill and down Dale, which is the ſame way, begun out of ſeverall ſentences; Yet ſome examples in Arcadia, will make you obſerve two ways of Diminiſhing ſingle terms, one by denying the contrary; As if you ſhould ſay, But reaſonably pleaſant; Arcadia ſpeech is, Not unpleaſant, hardly liked, nor miſliked. But why ſhould I give examples of the moſt uſuall phraſes in the Engliſh tongue, as we ſay, Not the wiſeſt that ever we ſaw, for a man of ſmall wiſdome. The ſecond way is, by denying the right of the words, but by error of ſome; As, Thoſe fantaſticall mind-infected people, which Children and Muſicians call Lovers. That misfortune of letting fall his Dagger, which the rude Swaggerers of our time, call, being diſarmed. That opinion of honeſty, which hath lately been ſo proudly tranſlated by the Souldier into the word (Honor.) And ſuch like. But the former faſhion of Diminution ſometimes in Ironious ſort goes for Amplification, As ſpeaking of a great perſonage, No mean man; This is an ordinary Figure for all kinds of ſpeeches.

The Figures following ſerve for Amplification. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 is a compoſition of contraries, and by both words intimates the meaning of neither preciſely, but a moderation and mediocrity, As, bravery and raggery are contrary, yet ſomwhat better then both is meant by brave raggedneſs. So, wanton modeſty; inticing ſoberneſs. And with that ſhe prettily ſmiled, which mingled with tears, a man could not tell, whether it were a mourning pleaſure, or delightfull ſorrow. With what a witty ignorance ſhe would underſtand? &c. Abſented preſence; well-willing ſpight. The one contrary is aff rmed to be in the other directly, by making the one the Subſtantive, the other the Adjective, as above in thoſe examples; or indirectly, as in theſe words following. Seeking Honor by diſhonor; And building ſafety upon ruine; O fooliſh woman, and moſt miſerable fooliſh woman, becauſe wit makes thee fooliſh. Captivity might ſeem to have authority over tyranny. This is a gentile way to move admiration in the hearers, and make them think it a ſtrange harmony, which muſt be expreſt in ſuch diſcord. Therefore this example ſhall conclude. There was a perfect agreement in ſo perfect a diſagreement: like muſick made of cunning diſcords. This is an eaſie Figure, and uſeful.

CONTENTIO is contrary to the former; That was a compoſition of Sturmius diſagreement; This is an oppoſition of them. As, there was ſtrength againſt nimbleneſs, rage againſt reſolution, pride againſt nobleneſs. He is a ſwaggerer amongst quiet men? but is quiet among swaggerers? Earneſt in idle things, idle in matters of earneſtneſs. Where there is both Antimetabole for the turning of the ſentence back, and Contentio reſpecting the contra iety of things meant thereby. Could not look on, nor would not look off. Neither the one hurt her, nor the other help her. Juſt without partiality, humble without contradiction, Liberall without profuſion, Wiſe without curioſity. This Figure is fit to embeliſh a copious ſtile, and ſerves much for Amplification by Compariſon.

COMPAR is an even gait of ſentences anſwering each other in meaſures interchangeably. Such as are in St. Auguſtine often, but oftner in Gregory the Divine; And in Biſhop Andrews works in Engliſh. But many do intermingle this Figure with Agnominatio, and Similiter cadens; It is very uſefull in elocution; But in penning it muſt be uſed with modes y and mediocrity. A touch of Agnomination of the Letter is tollerable with a Compar; As, If ever I could wiſh my Faith untryed and my Councel untruſted. And (where there is a ſimiliter cadens, but a more evident falling alike) in this. My years are not ſo many, but that one death may conclude them; nor my faults ſo many, but that one death may ſatisfie them. Without conſonancy of fall or harping upon a letter or ſyllable, yet a Compar; becauſe the words match each other in rank. Save his gray hairs from rebuke, and his aged mind from deſpair; where gray hairs, aged mind, rebuke and deſpair anſwer each other. Again, Rather ſeek to obtain that conſtantly by courteſie, which you cannot aſſuredly enjoy by violence. Verb to Verb, Adverb, to Adverb, and Subſtantive to Subſtantive. Lovelines can neither warrant you from ſuſpitions in others, nor defend you from melancholy in your ſelf. In ſome places there is a ſhorter Compar: where word to word, or ſubſtantive to ſubſtantive, are joyned, and yet without conjunction, which is ASYNDETON. Her face with beauty, her head with wiſdom, her eyes with Majeſty, her countenance with gracefulneſs, her lips with louelineſs; Where many (Ands) are ſpared. In ſome places only the Conjunction is put in the laſt in a Compar of three; As, her wit endeared by youth, her afction by birth, and her ſadneſs by her beauty. A fair woman ſhal not onely command without intreaty, but perſwade without ſpeaking. This is an excellent Figure, in no place untimely, if not too often uſed; It fits well the even pauſes and interruptions of an eloquent tongue, ſeems to be rich and copious, and to contain many parts (whereof each with a tedious man would be a ſentence) and make an impreſſion upon the hearers ſenſes; It has long bin in requeſt, ever ſince the dayes of Iſocrates, whoſe Orations are full of it. This Figure belongs more properly to that part of Amplification, called Diviſion, then to Accumulation.

Sententia, if it be well uſed, is a Figure; if ill and too much, a Style, of which none that wri e humorouſly and factiouſly, can be clear in theſe days, when there are ſo many Schiſmes of Eloquence, We ſtudy now-a-days according to the predominancy of Criticall fancies. Whil t Moral Philoſophy was in requeſt, it was rudeneſs, not to be ſententious; whilſt Mathematicks were of late in vogue, all ſimilitudes came from Lines, Circles and Angles; But now that Mars is predominant, we muſt recruit our wits, and give our words a new Quarter. It is very true, that a Sentence is a pearl in a Diſcourſe; but it is a good Diſcourſe that conſiſts all of pearls. It is like an Eye in the body, nor is it monſtrous to be all Eys. I take Cyclops to be as handſome a man, as Argos. And if a Sentence were as like a hand in the Text, as it is commonly noted with a hand in the Margent, yet I ſhould rather like that work that had no more hands then Hercules, then that which had as many as Briarius.

Theſe are Sentences, The rich mans bounty is the poor mans Exchequer. The ſickneſs of age is avarice; The errors of youth profaneneſs. There is ſmall difference between a Propoſition and a Queſtion, if I forget not Ariſtotle. (1. Top.) Since length of acquaintance, mutual ſecreſies, nor height of benefits could oblige a ſavage mind. There is a Sentence, and in it ZEUGMA, ASYNDETON, and METAPHORA. Guiltleſneſs is not always with eaſe oppreſſed, Where there is Merioſis, not always with eaſe, for, ever and hardly. Who ſtands onely upon defence, ſtands upon no defence; A ſentence with EPANADOS. Ʋnlawfull deſires are puniſhed after the effect of enjoying; But impoſſible deſires are puniſhed in the deſire it ſelf. A Sentence with DISTINCTIO and CONTENTIO. Love to a yeilding heart is a King, but to a reſiſting, a Tyrant. COMPAR & CONTENTIO; It is a fooliſh wittineſs to ſpeak of more then one thinks. Neither is this ſentence without a Compar: it is a double ſentence, as they call it; To a heart fully reſolved, counſel is tedious, and reprehenſion loathſome. And, There is nothing more terrible to a guilty heart, then the eye of a reſpected friend. There may be alſo Sentences particular to ſome men as well as generall; As, — Amphialus, in whom abuſed kindneſs became ſpitefull rage. Fearfulneſs, contrary to all other vices, making Clinias think the better of another, the worſe he found himſelf. Evarchus making his life the example of his lawes. All which may be taken for Rules and Common-places, by putting the generall name for the ſpeciall, as they ſay, drawing it à THESI ad HYPOTHESIN. Theſe Examples may make you believe, that a Sentence may be cours'd through the whole Figure-book, and that many Figures may eaſily aſſemble in one Clauſe, and any one Figure conſort with another. Yet it were abſurd to ground the form and faſhion of your whole ſtile upon any one Figure.

ILLUSTRATION conſiſts either in things or words, in the deſcription of things living or dead. And of living things, either reaſonable, as men and their perſonages, and qualities; or un e ſona le, as of Horſes, Ships, Iſlands, Caſtles, and ſuch like. Men are deſcribed moſt excellently in the Arcadia, As Baſilius, Plexe tus, Pirocles, Muſidorus, Anaxius, &c. But he that will truly characterize a an, in a feigned Story, muſt firſt learn handſomly to deſcribe a humour, a paſſion, a vertue, a vice, and therein, keeping decent proportion, add but names, and knit together the accidents and encounters. This perfect expreſſing of all qualities, is learn'd out of Ariſtotles tenth Book of Morall Philoſophy. But becauſe (as Mac iavel obſerves) perfect vertue, or perfect vice is not ſeen in our time, which altogether is humorous and ſpirting: Therefore the underſtanding of Ariſtotles Rhetorique is held to be the beſt means to attain to true Eloquence; Excellent on this ſubject alſo are Theophraſti imagines; Heliodorus and Longinus in Greek (the laſt lately well tranſlated into Engliſh) Zanaxarus his Arcadia in Italian, Diana de monte majori in Spaniſh, &c. But to our purpoſe, of perſonages and affections deſcribed in Arcadia. For men; pleaſant, idle retiredneſs in a King Baſilius, and a dangerous end of it. Unfortunate valor in Plangus; Courteous valor in Amphialus; Proud valor in Anaxius; Hoſpitality in Kalandar; The mirror of true courage and friendſhip in Pirocles, and Muſidorus; Miſerableneſs and ingratitude in Chremes; Fear and falſe ſubtilty in Clynias; Fear and rudeneſs, with ill affected civility in Dametas; And through this Story Mutuall love in marriage in Argalus and Parthenia; O t of marriage in Pirocles and Philoclea, Muſidorus and Pamela, True conſtant love unreſpected in Plangus, in Helena, in the true Zelmane; Inconſtancy, envy, ſuſpition and tyranny in a King and his Councellors; Generall falſe love in Phamphilus; and ſlight carriage and credulity in Chremes daughter; baſe doting on a wife in Plangus father. But in women a miſchievous and ſeditious ſtomack in Cecropia; Prudent courage in Pamela; Mild diſcretion in Philoclea ; Pamela's prayer, her diſcourſe, ſqueamiſh cunning; Unworthineſs in Arteſia; Reſpective & reſtleſs dotage in Gynetia's love. Proud ill-favoured, ſluttiſh ſimplicity in Mopſa. Now in theſe perſons is there ever a ſtedfaſt decency, and uniform difference of manners obſerved whereſoever you find them? However each interrupt the others ſtory and actions.

And as for actions of perſons, there are many rarely and perfectly deſcribed. As the mutiny and fire in a ſhip; cauſes of an uproar; The Garboyl; an armed skirmiſh; policy and preparation. Sometimes managing a Horſe is deſcribed; tilting and ſhews. Many other lively and notable portracts there are, which I will not ſet down to ſave you ſo ſweet a labour, as the reading of that which alone will make you eloquent and wiſe. Sir Philip Sidneys courſe (beſides reading Ariſtotle and Theophraſtus) was to imagine the thing preſent, that his pen might the better deſcribe it.

Under this notion of Illuſtration may come lively deſcriptions, and the apt fitting a perſon repreſented with ſpeech and action, both which grow into very pleaſing acquaintance with the underſtanding and memory of the Reader.

For ſpeciall light in every Sentence, there are other ſparks of Figures. Firſt, if there be any doubt or ambiguity in the words, it is better left out then diſtinguiſhed. But if you are to anſwer former ſpeeches, that imply any doubtfulneſs, you may diſperſe all clouds, and remove all ſcruples with Diſtinction. As being charged you have brought very light reaſons, you may anſwer, If by light you mean clear, I am glad you ſee them; If by light, you mean of no weight, I am ſorry you do not feel them. So you may expreſs a man of hidden learning, Hidden as well for the obſcure and mean eſtate of his perſon, as hidden for the unuſuall and not vulgar conceit of the matter. But as ambiguity is not onely in words but in matter; ſo both wayes it is taken away by Diſtinction. Sometimes it is in ſingle words, as in theſe former, light and hidden. Somtimes in coherence of Sentences, by reaſon of the relation of each word to other, or by reaſon of the change of the pointing, which is cleared by delivery. You have many examples of this in the ſecond Book of Tully de Oratore, and Quintilian, where there is mention of Jocus ab ambiguo. As alſo in Eraſmus his Apothegmes.

Diſtinction of ambiguity in matters of determination of the truth of generall propoſitions, is to tell wherein they are certain, wherein they are not. As, Travell in foreign Countreys, ſettles a young mans humor. If it be taken in this ſort, that it will inforce him to warineſs and ſecreſie, and reſtrain him from pouring forth his counſails, it is very profitable: For he ſhall have few friends in whom to put confidence, and few companions with whom he might beſtow his idle time, or communicate his youthfull thoughts. But if you intend that, by travell, all vanities ſhould be caſt off, it ſeems not ſo likely and admirable, becauſe he ſhall walk through many ill examples, and great liberty. Another propoſition diſtinguiſhed. They are but frail merits that you ſhall beſtow upon young mens friendſhip. 'Tis true, if you ſatisfie thoſe deſires which are like to depart with their youth; As, gaming, feaſting, idle ſporting, you are like to be caſt off with theſe toys, and forgotten. But if your deſerts be in noble Exerciſes, learned Conferences, and civill frien •• y Offices, the remembrance thereof will increaſe as faſt as their diſcretion.

So much for Diſtinction; Next follows Definition, which is the ſhorteſt and trueſt expoſition of the nature of any thing; hereof you have examples of all vertues in Ariſtotles Morals, of paſſions in his Rhetorique, both in Thomas Aquinas ſecunda and ſecundae, of many affections and perturbations in Tuſculan's Queſtions, and Cicero de Finibus, as the generall definition of vertue is this, VIRTUS EST HABITUS RATIONI CONSENTANEUS. Vertue is a quality ſeated in Reaſon. Fear is an apprehenſton of future harm. Thrift is a moderate and lawfull increaſe of wealth by carefull governmemt of your own eſtate. Complement is a performance of affected Ceremonies in words, looks, and geſtures. Where Definition runs into diviſion of ſeven or eight ways. Of Definition you may read Valerius his Logick. But (to be moſt perfectly inſtructed) read the ſixth book of Ariſtotles Top. Your definitions need be no more tied to the Rules of Logicians, then your diviſions. The matter is ſometimes illuſtrated by Periphraſis; As, spur'd his horſe apace; Made his ſpurre claim haſt of his horſe. A man not to be contemned; Nor a man over whom contempt might make any juſt chalenge. Snorting lowd; Snorting ſo lowd, that no man might lay the ſtealing of a nap to his charge. But of Pariphraſis and Periphraſis more ſeverally.

Sometimes a Parentheſis makes your diſcourſe more gracefull and intelligible: As, Tell me ingenuouſly (if there be any ingenuity in you) whether, &c. That what his wit could conceive (and his wit can conceive as far as the limits of reaſon ſtretch) was all directed to the ſetting forth of his friend. Till the next morning (better known to be ſo by the Hour-glaſs, then the days clearneſs) having run fortune, &c. And indeed all Parentheſes are in extreams, either graces or foyles to a Speech. If they be long, they ſeem interruptions, and therefore at the end of them muſt be a retreat to the matter, called ANTANACLASIS. As, Aſſure thy ſelfe moſt wicked woman (that haſt ſo plaguily a corrupted mind, as that thou canſt not keep thy ſickneſs to thy ſelf, but muſt moſt wickedly infect others) Aſſure thy ſelf, I ſay, &c. Shall that heart (which does not only feel them, but hath all motion of his life placed in them,) Shall that heart, I ſay, &c.

Diviſion is a ſevering the whole into parts, as of time into that paſt, preſent, and to come, (which is rather a breathing then a Diviſion) into ſupream or ſubordinate. From their order; beaſts or unreaſonable creatures, into thoſe of the Air, Water, Earth; Love is either of Beauty, or of Vertue. From the object. Study is of Liberal or Mathematick Science. And ſo you may divide as many ways as things may differ, as by their beginnings, endi gs, properties, marks, effects, times, tunes, place , forms, perſons, in whom they are, and howſoever, which properly belongs to Logick; yet ſomething is ſpoken thereof, in our ſecond way of Amplification. Out of Diviſions ariſe three ſeverall inforcements and manifeſtations of your purpoſe, which (though by Rhetoritians diverſly handled and tearmed) yet are they in effect grounded upon the Art of Diſtribution.

The firſt is Expedition, which (touching upon divers parts) deſtroys all, but that, on which you mean to reſt; As, One of theſe courſes muſt be taken, either you muſt diſtinctly obſerve and practiſe theſe Rules, or deny that ever you received Instructions, or alledge want of capacity in your ſelf, or want of uſe of them in your life. That they are not neceſſary, you cannot ſay, for what more neceſſary in your life, then to write well? That you are uncapable, is a ſlander, and a contradiction to your own conſcience and my experience, that hath ſeen ſuch fair Eſſayes of your endeavours. And to ſay you had never any directions, were to give your two eyes the lie, and to make me believe, that I did never but dream your good. Therefore muſt your labour conſpire with my inventions, and ſo muſt you unavoidably become skilfull. This is Enumeration and Inference, whereupon is that which the Logicians call Induction, as in reckoning up. It is neither that nor this, therefore this. And as one merrily ſaith, It is the Dogs Syllogiſme in a croſs way, or that, or that, but I ſmell him not this way, nor this way, therefore he runs on his concluſion the third way, without ſmelling.

The ſecond of this ſort is PROSOPODOSIS, that overthrows no part of the Diviſion, but returns ſome part to each member. In Arcadia thus, Heretofore I accuſed the Sea, condemned the Pyrats, and hated my evil fortune, that deprived me of thee: But now thy ſelf art the Sea, thy ſelf the Pyrat, and thy will the evil fortune. Time at one inſtant ſeeming ſhort and long to them; ſhort in the pleaſingneſs of ſuch preſence, and long in ſtay of their deſires. Your ſilence muſt carry with it a conſtruction of contempt, unkindeneſs or diſpleaſure. If you take me not for your friend, you offer unkindeneſs; if you deem me unworthy of an anſwer, it proceeds of contempt; if your Paſſion defers a reply, it argues diſpleaſure. The firſt of theſe denyed all parts, ſave one: This affirms and keeps all ſides up. The laſt is Dilemma, which propoſes two ſides, and overthrows both ability and will to write well: for to ſay I cannot, is Childiſh; and I will not, is Womaniſh.

PERIPHRASIS & PARAPHRASIS.

There is in the beſt Writers oftentimes a vain of ſtile, wherein vulgar fancies are exceedingly pleaſed, and know not wherewith. For they admire this moſt, that there is ſome excellency in it, and yet they themſelves ſuſpect that it exceeds their admiration. In ſome examples I would gladly diſcover the reaſon hereof: It cannot be, that if either the meaning of the words be obſcure, and unfamiliar to a mans underſtanding, that the ſpeech ſo compoſed, ſhould be ſo accepted: And yet it is poſſible that there may be ſome extraordinary fancy in ordinary words, and plain meanings, how then ſhall we determine? It is as in many uſual diſhes at a table, both eyes and taſte give them commendation, not for the ſubſtance, but for the dreſſing and ſervice. What plainer meaning then, ſleep among thieves? And verily ſleep, life truſt and thieves, are common Engliſh words, yet is it no common way of ſpeaking, to ſay, To truſt a ſleeping life among thieves. In the ſame ſenſe, when they had ſlept a while, is ordinary. But when they had a while hearkened to the perſwaſion of ſleep, is extraordinary. Though all the words of it by themſelves are moſt known and f miliar; yet the ordering and fetch of it is ſtrange and admirable to the ignorant; We therefore call it Periphraſis or Circumlocution, and it is much helped by Metaphors, as before: inclined to ſleep is expreſt by a Metaphor taken from one who moves and inclines by perſwaſions. But let us have one combate more with our adverſary ſleep; for, having riſen early, having ſtriven with the ſuns earlineſs; Inſtead of Mopſa wept ill-favouredly, Mopſa diſgraced weeping with her countenance. Inſtead of ſaying they that guarded Amphialus, were killed themſelves; its ſaid, ſeeking to ſave him, they loſt the fortreſſes, which nature had planted them in. Inſtead of Plangus ſpeech began to be ſuſpected; it is ſaid, Plangus ſpeech began to be tranſlated into the language of ſuſpicion. Thus purpoſely did Sir Philip write, to keep his ſtile from flatneſs. As being to name a Threſher, he calls him one of Ceres ſervants, Inſtead of his name was known to high and low; he ſaith, That no Prince could pretend highneſs, nor beggar lowneſs, to bar him from the ſound thereof. And this is by going a CONCRETO AD ABSTRACTUM, and divers other ways.

If a ſhort ordinary ſenſe be oddely expreſt by more words, it is Pariphraſis; but if by as many other, it is Paraphraſis: as, manifeſt Oathes, plentiful perjury. To make a great ſhew of himſelf. To make a muſter of himſelf in the Iſland: for kill any marryed man; make his ſword curſed by any widow, which is by conſequence, ſeeking by curteſie, to undo him. Making curteſie the outſide of miſchief, by Similitude or Metaphor: ſo then the courſe is, inſtead of any ordinary words importing a trivial matter, to take the abſtracts, or ſome conſequence, ſimilitude, note, property or effect, and thereby expreſs it. Theſe two figures ſerve for Illuſtration.

It is ſometimes requiſite for gaining life and luſtre in your diſcourſe, to repreſent ſome unexpected ſtrangeneſs, beſides the tenor of your Theame or Story: and, as it were, to act your meaning; which is done either by faigning the preſence or the diſcourſe of ſome ſuch perſons, as either are not at all: or if they be, yet ſpeak not but by your imagination. The firſt is by Apoſtrophe or Proſopopeia.

APOSTROPHE, is a turning of your ſpeech to ſome new perſon, as to the people or witneſſes, when it was before to the udges or Defendant: as, Herein you witneſſes are to conſult with your own conſciences, and to enter into a true examination of your own memory. Did you mark is looks? Did you note his ſpeeches? Did you truly conceive the particular proceedings of the Action? To the people thus, Now let me intreat any man here preſent, that thinks himſelf not exempted from misfortunes, and priviledged from all mischiefs, to imagine himſelf in my caſe, and to undertake for my ſake ſome few thoughts of my Diſtreſs. Sometimes the occaſion is taken from ſome quality or other thing, whereto your ſelf gives ſhew of life; as, Hope tell me, what haſt thou to hope for? Love, be aſhamed to be called Love. But to animate, and make dead men ſpeak is PROSOPOPAEIA; as, If your Anceſtors were now alive, and ſaw you defacing ſo goodly a Monument by them erected, would they not ſay thus, &c. And as Sir Philip Sidney gives ſenſe and ſpeech to the Needle and Silk in Pamela's hands, as learning, as a Lily: as death it ſelf is faigned to live, and make a ſpeech.

Another way of clearing and reviving your diſcourſe, is by deliberating, by entring into communication, by preventing and anſwering Objections. In deliberating ſometimes you are amazed; as, Whom ſhall I blame? what ſhall I pretend? ſhall I make learning hateful to you by my reprehenſions? ſhall I make my ſilence acceſſary to your idleneſs? It is not in my power, It is not in my diſcretion to reform it. Under this figure are Philoclea's wiſhes of Zelmaine.

There is another kinde of Deliberation, which propoſes many things with intricating or intangling a mans ſelf: as Nothing can aſſure me of the countenance of your love towards me, if you diſcontinue the ſtudy of ſpeaking well. For ſuppoſe you marry into ſome worthy Family; ſuppoſe they inrich you with ſome new friends; may not a vain of thriving rob me of your acquaintance? may not I loſe you? nay, may not you loſe your ſelf in a labyrinth of worldly cares? Sometimes we enter into Communication; as, Were it your caſe, what would you anſwer? Tell me, I appeal to your ſecret thoughts. Your friend hath eſteemed better of his own stomack, then of the eternal love vowed betwixt you, and prefers the tryal of his valour, before the regard of both your credits, which muſt dye, however either or both of you ſurvive the combat. Would you not judge him unworthy to be your friend, that began his fidelity with an inviolable Covenant never to be an Enemy.

Prevention of an Objection hath two figures; the one is Occupatio, the other Subjectio.

Occupatio is thus, You will ſay to me, that in a factious Countrey, it is the only policy to ſtand neutral. I ſay, not unleſs many circumſtances help you; viz. Theſe, if none of your friends be entred into the quarrel, If you be aſſured that your wealth and diſcretion is equal to the beſt. If there be a likelihood to ſcatter the reliance on both ſides, and make a new park, then it is wiſdom to ſtand aloof a while, that if you pleaſe, you may adde the victory to which ſide you will. But having declared your ſelf, you intend to be upright? you will grow contemptible, you offer Reconciliation? your ſtrength will forſake you, you diſpraiſe your adverſaries? you will be deemed envious. You commend his wiſdom? you betray your own weakneſs: praiſe then his wealth, his Anceſtors, his Beauty, his pleaſures; but praiſe not his foreſight nor his valour. Are you Judge amongſt your neighbors and inferiors? be preciſely juſt and rightful. Are you Aſſiſtant to your friend? be adviſedly and throughly partial. You would be counted liberal? teſtifie it ſeldom; but if publiquely, worthyly. You would thrive in bargaining? let your tranſactions be private: for many ſmall breaches of conſcience are more infamous, then one great one. But ffend not your conſcience willingly to be Treaſurer of all the Indian Mynes. Thu you ſee how Counſels, Precepts and Sentences may be tra ſlated into the form of Occupatio and Subjectio. Sometimes Occupatio is left out, and an Argument brought to the contrary; as Cecropia perſwading her ſon Amphialus to offer violence to Philoclea, preſuppoſed that he would ſay, He muſt be modeſt: ſhe replyes, Each vertue hath his time, the ſouldier that ſhould march formoſt, muſt not give way for modeſty. There is Occupatio and Subjectio in Arcadia, if ſhe contemned, then thus— if otherwiſe, then &c. Did I walk abroad to ſee my delight? my walking was the delight it ſelf. He ſaw her alive; he was glad to ſee her alive. He ſaw her weep: he was ſorry to ſee her wee . He heard her comfortable ſpeeches: nothing more joyful.

This figure cannot be out of ſeaſon, unleſs purpoſely, as it was in the fuſtian ſpeech: You liſten to my ſpeeches, I muſt needs confeſs it; you hearken to my words? I cannot deny it; you look for ſome ſenſe? I partly believe it: But you finde none? I do not much regard it.

There is another figure, which hath been called by the name of Conceſſio. But I mean to miſtake Occupatio and Conceſſio, one for the other, till I can diſtinguiſh them better. The form of Conceſſio is this, I admit you are reſolute: I grant your determination is immoveable, but it is in things againſt your friends judgements. And in things againſt your own praiſe and profit.

OF EPITHETES.

EPithetes do much embeliſh Stile or Diſcourſe, yet they muſt be uſed (according to the compariſon of Demoſthenes) as ſauce or ſeaſoning, which whe s the appetite, ſince they cannot paſs for ſolid viands: otherwiſe in his opinion, there can be nothing more flat, and of leſs grace. Quintilian reſembles a diſcourſe, which is ſtuffed too full of Epithetes to an Army, wherein there are not more ſouldiers for ſervice, then boys for attendance; and which is, by that means, rendred very great in number, but weak in force and courage. Conform to this is that of Longinus, who adviſes that we moderately uſe ſuch Epithetes, as are not too high ſwoln, nor far fetched, but ſuch as are appoſite to the ſubject. In theſe late refined days, we have a kinde of compound Epithetes, annexed to a noun with a Proche or Diviſion (as the Printers call it) which are much uſed in Poetry, and ſometimes in Proſe: of which let me give you ſome examples, and ſo leave them.

The Quiver-bearing Meads. The Tempeſt-toſſed ſeas. The Wool-ore-burthened ſheep. The Meadow-loving ſorrel. A horror-ſtrucken minde. The Earth-encircling Ocean. An Heaven inſpired art. Sence-diſtracting grief. Fancy-pleaſing faces. The Pine-plow'd ſea. The Green-mantled earth. Soul-ſubduing graces. A Heaven-faln ſtar. A Self-condemning minde. An un-Sun-ſeen cave. Love-diſtilling tears. This Heaven-diſpleaſing war. Liver-ſcalding luſt. Marble-hearted cruelty. Time-beguiling pleaſure. This Blood-be-dabled Kingdom. People-pleaſing Lectures. Corner-haunting luſt. A Life-Conferring form. &c.
Formulae Majores. OR, COMMON PLACES.
Abſence.

AS thou art the food of my thoughts, the relief of my wiſhes, and the onely life and repaſt of all my deſires: So is thy love to me a continual hunger, and thine abſence an extream famine.

In abſence my grief grows, in finding my preſent eſtate ſo weak in fortune, and my deſ rts ſo ſlender in nature; that not knowing w th Anthony how to requite his Cleopatra, I onely reſt with Anthony to dye for my Cleopatra.

Tell him my love doth burn like veſta fire, which (with his memory, richer then all pices) diſperſeth odours round about my foul, and did re reſs it, when 'twas dull and ſad with thinking of his abſence.

He more breath d A.B. then the ayr it ſelf; and all her abſences were to him ſo many deaths.

I want no part of welfare, but your wiſhed preſence.

The love which he bare to her at her return was as a torrent, (which a te it hath a long time been reſtrained) breaks the forced damm , and with vigorous impetuouſneſs drowns the fields. Holy Court.

Hoping, forgetfulneſs (which commonly waits upon abſence) might poſſeſs him, he departed.

Since your abſence, melancholy hath been my Concom tant, and you , remembrance my greateſt comfort.

I departed from you, like a hungry infant, pull'd from his nurſes breaſt, or a thirſty Hart chaſed from a ſweet fountain.

Live I pray you in repoſe, as much as you may, during this abſence; and if my being away cauſes ſorrow in you, let the aſſurance of my affection diminiſh it.

—forced a tedious ſeparation of thoſe ſacred bodies, whoſe ſouls are entirely link'd in divine affection.

Acknowledgement.

MY acknowledgement of your favours ſhall appear in my willingneſs to do you ſerv ce

And my ſelf ſhall not onely acknowledge this favour with humb eſt thankfulneſs, but &c.

The acknowledgement of your favours ſhall be my meaneſt thanks; and to thank you for thoſe favours muſt be my beſt acknowledgement: I can do no more, I will do no leſs.

They acknowledge (with more or leſs degrees of homage) ſome kinde of fealty.

—It ſh ll not be without a juſt confeſſion of the bond your benefits have, and ever ſhall hold upon me.

Affection.

THe conſtruction of his Speech might beſt be made by the Grammer-Rules of affection.

It is the flaming Agony of affection that works the chilling acceſs of your fever.

The coals of his affection were ſo kindled with wonder, and blown with delight, that—

Suffering neither his unworthyneſs nor his wrongs to cover with forgetfulneſs, or diminiſh with conſideration, the affection ſhe had born him.

—to whom with words (which affection endited but amazement uttered) he delivered—

(Looking down upon her from the high-top of affections Tower.)

If you retain as yet any ſpark of affection (which you have often given me witneſs of) kiſs this paper in remembrance of him, who, &c.

My affections no leſs love the light and witneſs, then they have conſcience of your vertue.

The high tide of overflowing affection reſtraining his tongue with aſtoniſhment, as unable to expreſs an unexpreſſable paſſion.

The blood of her face ebbing and flowing according to the tyde of affection.

He grafted his affection in the ſtock of her constan y.

(Teſtimo ies of a never-ſilent hearty affection.)

But perceiving his affection ſo grounded, that ſtriving againſt it, did more anger then heal the wound, and rather call his friendſhip in queſtion, then give place to any friendly Counſel.—

The large teſtimony of your affection makes me willin to ſuppreſſe a great number of errours.

She in an inſtant was made an unfortunate winter of affection.

To intrinſecate my ſelf in your affection.

My affection ſhall finde no parallel in its well-wiſhes to you.

The tender tinder of his affection began to ſparkle.

Striving to match her matchleſs beauty, with a ma chleſs affection.

He (wh ſe affection clymed by another ſtair)—

In rue affection, two ſo become one, as they both become two. Rel. Med.

—You, in whom my affection holds a ſteady manſion.

Nor life, nor death ſhall divorce my affection from you.

Upon what bryars the roſes of his affection grow.

I conjure you to this by my aff ction, that never had equal. Ar.

The ſight of this place doth call my thoughts to appear at the Court of affection, held by that 〈◊〉 Steward Remembrance.

Th ſe lines epreſent in the poverty of fancy, the riches of my aff ction.

—Good offices are the marks and ciment of true affection. H.C.

—The heart is the Continent of affection.

Affection flows uncompelled.

Anger.

ANger is the feaver of the Soul, which makes the tongue talk idle: it puts a man into a tumult, that he cannot hear what counſel ſpeaks: tis a raging ſea, a troubled wa er, that cannot be wholſom for the uſe of a y. Feltham,

—They are things below the merit of my indignation; objects of ſcorn, which a little ſlighted, and not inflamed by oppoſition, or countenanced to a reply by confutation, will, within a whil of themſelves extinguiſh and vaniſh: like ſ me diſperſed roving winds, which without enc unter are diſpirited and dye. Doctor Wats upon Bacon.

Beauty.

THen was plainly to be ſeen the Empire, which humane beauty and an eloquent tongue have over earthly powers.

Beauty conſiſts in complexion, in lineaments, and in harmony.

You are the moſt excellent ſtar that ſhines in the bright element of Beauty.

Some became Petitioners and Priſoners to her Beauty, others did homage to her vertues.

Beauty is to be reckoned, but as an outward fading benefit, that nature hath beſtowed.

The Idol of beauty ought not to be honored with ſuch oblations.

My eyes drank much more eagerly of her beauty, then my mouth did of any other liquor.

Her face is ſuch a ſpark of beauty, as is able to en •• ame a world of love.

—She, who in a definite compaſs, can ſet forth infinite beauty.

The excellency of her returned beauty, was a credible embaſſador of her health.

Where beauty is, there needs no other plea.

S ll not your ſoul for ſuch a vanity as eye-pleaſi g beauty

Vertue is nothing elſe but inward beauty; and beauty nothing elſe but an outward vertue. Bacon.

Making her beautiful beams to thaw away the former icyneſs of his—

—Two ſiſters, about whom, as about two Poles, the sky of Beauty was turned.

Rather then thoſe eyes ſhould over-flow their own beauties, or the sky of your beauty ſhould be over clouded with ſorrow,—

Beauty in the heaven of her face (two Suns eclipſed) was wrapped up in paleneſs.

Beauty which hath no grace, is a bait floating on the water without a hook, to be taken, and to catch nothing. Euſtatius.

Beauty is like the herb Larix, cool in the water, but hot in the ſtomack.

I cannot but applaud the wonder of your beauty.

Such is the divine power of loves deity, ſuch the vertuous force of your heavenly beauty, and ſuch the happy iſſue of our decreed deſtiny.

Beauty without chaſtity, is like a Mandrake apple, comely in ſh w, but poyſonful in taſte

I muſt accuſe my ſelf of preſumption, for daring to conſider any moles in that face, which you had marked for a beauty. Sir K.D.

—A beauty, which always with too eloquent a tongue did dictate tacite perſwaſions to his heart

What a fair veſtment is to a deformed body, the ſame is a comely body to a deformed minde. Bacon.

A fair ſoul in a fair body, is a river that windingly creepeth with many wavy-turnings within the ennamel of a beautiful meadow, and raviſheth the whole world with the admiration of its exc llency.

B auty in it ſelf is ſuch a ſilent Orator, as ever i pl •• ding for reſpect and liking: and by the eye of others is ever ſending to their hearts for love. Feltham.

The modeſt ſweetneſs of a lilied ace—

Beauty is the wit of nature put into the frontiſpiece.

I have ſeen (and yet not with a partial eye) ſuch features, and ſuch mixtures, as I have thought impoſſible for either nature to frame, or art to counterfeit: yet in the ſame face, I have ſe n that which hath our gone them both, the countenance. Oh! if ſuch glory can dwell with corruption, what Celeſtial excellencies are in the Saints above? who would not gaze himſelf into admiration, when he ſhall ſee ſo rich a treaſure in ſo pure a Cabinet, unmatched vertue in matchleſs beauty? Feltham.

Zeno ſaid, grace of body was a voyce of flower, and a fl wer of voyce: Voyce of flower, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . becauſe it drawes amity to it, as the flower of a garden, not crying out nor tormen ing it ſelf;HC. Max. 296. a flower of voyce, becauſe it is one of the moſt flowry elo encies among the attractives of nature.

What is temporal beauty, but a tranſitory charm, an illuſion of ſenſes, a voluntary impoſture, a ſlave of pleaſure, a flower which hath but a moment of life, a Diall on which we never look, but whilſt the Sun ſhines on it? What is human beauty but a dunghill covered with ſnow, a glaſs painted with falſ col urs, a prey pu ſued by many Dogs, a dange ous h ſteſs in a rail houſe, a ſugred fruit in a feaſt, which ſome dare not touch for reſpect & ther gormandize through ſenſuality? Go ruſt ſo a ing a good Go, b take you to ſo nhappy a ſ are: G , tie your contentments to o ſl ppery a knot. What elſe will happen unto you, bu to court a phantaſie which looſ ing your hold, will leave you nothing but the ſorrow of your illuſions? H. Court.

Bluſh.

AS ſhe ſ ake that word, her cheekes in ed Letters writ more then her tongue did ſpeak.

As the wonder ſtrove to make her pale, warm love did fortifie her cheeks wi h guilty bluſhes.

—At whoſe preſence a fr ſh vermilion dye beſtowed a new complexion on her.

Company.

HIs pleaſing company did beguile the times haſte, and ſhortned the waies length.

Why will you give me with ſo ſparing a hand, the riches of your preſence?

Conſtancy.

She — whoſe conſtancy neither time nor abſence, (the mothes of affection) nor, what is more, this my change in fortune, could alter.

—He, who ſigned his faith with the ſeal of his conſtancy.

Be but thou as conſtant a friend to my mind, as thou ſhalt be a true poſſeſſor of my heart, and I ſhall have as juſt a cauſe of joy, as thou no cauſe of doubt.

Though the ſurging ſea hath moved the humors of my body, yet it hath not power to change the inclinations of my mind; for I love you no leſs at Antwerpe (where I am arrived) then I did at London, &c.

He continued always conſtant, like the Needle of a Sea-compaſs in a ſtorm.

Conſtancy is the foundation of vertue. Bac.

Fortune is lik Proteus; if you perſiſt, ſhe returns to her true ſhape. Bacon.

Compariſons.

THis comfort in danger was but like the honey that Sampſon found in the Lions jaws, or like lightning in a foggy night.

R ſolved he was not to touch the forbidden fruit, nor to drink on Circes cup; he would not with the Spider ſuck poyſon out of a fair flower

In the greeneſt graſſe is the greateſt Serpent: n the cleareſt water the uglieſt Toad; In the moſt curious Sepulcher are incloſed rotten bones: The O ••• ich carrieth fair feathers, but rank fleſh.

As there hath been an unchaſt Helen in Greece; ſo there hath been alſo a chaſt Penelope; As there hath been a prodigious Paſiphae: ſo has there been a godly Theocrita.

Hipp manes ceaſed to run when ſhe had gotten the Goal: Hercules to labour when he had obtained the victory: Mercury to pipe when he had caſt Argus in a ſlumber: Every action hath his end.

Each book ſent into the world, is like a Bark put to ſea, and as liable to cenſures, as the Bark is to oul weather. Herbert.

Like the Citie Mindus, whoſe Gates were ſo big, that the City might go out of them.

—Which like the flaming two edged waving ſword of the Cherub cuts aſunder on all ſides, whatſoever does oppoſe it. Creſſy.

Li e the ſtone that groweth in the River of Curia, which the more it is cut, the more it increaſeth.

There is no iron but will be ſoftned with the fire; So no, &c.—

As a fair flower nipt with the morning froſt' hanging down his head, as much ſorry for his declining glory. —

When the Halcions hatch, the Sea is calm; and the Phoenix never ſpreads her wings, but when the Sun ſhines on her neſt: So —

Like the Spaniel which gnaws upon the chain that ties him; but ſooner marres his teeth, then procures liberty. —

Conſider that the heavenly Sun diſdains not to give light and ſhine upon the ſmalleſt worm.

—In this 'tis ſo evident that I will not light the Sun with a ruſh candle.

He commends unto us a golden chain of Chriſtian perfections, conſiſting of theſe links, Faith, Vertue, Patience, &c.

We can expect but Polyphemus courteſie, to be laſt devoured.

Romes Capitoll was not built in one day; nor was Zeuxis Helena ſuddenly limn'd forth with one penſill.

They have long ſported in the bloud and treaſure of the land, as the Leviathan doth in the Waters.

His mind was all this while ſo fixed upon another devotion, that he no more marked his friends diſcourſe, then the child that hath leave to play, marks the laſt part of his leſſon, or the diligent Pilot in a tempeſt attends the unskilful words of a Paſſenger.

She trembled like the unlickt lamb newly yean'd upon a ſheet of ſ ow.

My expreſſion is but like a picture drawn with a cole, wanting thoſe lively colours which a more skilfull pen might give it.

It is the Decree of Heaven, That every Compoſition here beneath, as well fram'd by the hand of Art, as faſhioned by the help of Nature, ſhould ſuſtain ſome imperfection; for glaſſe hath its lead, gold its droſſe, corn its chaff. Helen her mole, the moon her ſpots, and the Sun its ſhade. Spa. Bawd.

(Like the Sun that illuminates the whole aire, (if no cloud or ſolid opacous body intervene) S. K.D.

— Did make no more impreſſions on him, then. an Arrow on a rock of Adamant.

— More impure then the ſtable of Augaeus. H.C As penſive as the night.

—You, as cruell as the Duke of Muſcovia, named Baſilides, who commanded from his ſubjects a tribute of Sweat and of Nightingals in the midſt of Winter. H Court.

If thou be as hot as the mount Aetna, feign thy ſelf as cold as the hill Caucaſus: carry two faces in one hood.

As ingenious Cicero could pick gold out of Ennius's dung; ſo may—

His Fetters (like King Agrippa's golden chain) more became him then his Imperiall D adem. Ka meka thee

As liberall as the Sun which ſhines on all.

like Aeſops Crow prankt up in borrowed feathers.

Deſcriptions.

—HE was even raviſhed with contentment, in beholding th ſe goodly P •• aces, where was ſeen an admirable Conſort of Art and Nature, ſo many H lls, ſo well furniſhed within; ſuch rich hangings, ſuch moſt exquiſite pict •• es, ſuch marbles, ſuch guildings, and without mountains, which make a naturall Theater, tapiſtred without Art to ſurpaſſe all workmanſhip, forreſts, which ſeem born with the world, hedges and knots curiouſly cut, Alleys and Mazes, where both eys and feet are loſt, Rivers which creep along with ſilver purlings about gardens enameld with moſt fragrant flowers, caverns repleniſhed with a ſacred horror, grotts and fountains, which gently gliding, contend with the warble of birds, and ſo many other ſpectacles, which at firſt ſight aſtoniſht ſpirits and never ſatiate. H.C.

— There were Hills which garniſhed their proud heights with tree s, humble valleys, whoſe low eſtate ſeemed comforted with refreſhing of ſilver rivers, meadows e ameld with all ſorts of eye-pleaſing flowers, thickets, which being lined with moſt pleaſant ſhade, were witneſſed ſo too, by the cheerfull diſpoſition of many well-tuned birds, each paſture ſtored w th ſheep, feeding with ſober ſecurity, while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the dams comfort; Here a Shepheards Boy piping, as though he ſhould never be old, there a young She •••• rdeſſe knitting, and withall ſinging, and her hands kept time to her voyces muſick, a ſhew as it were of an accompaniable ſolitarineſs, and of a civill wildeneſs.

—Neither are the gardens to be omitted, which for their largeneſs have the face of a forreſt, for their variety, of a Paradiſe; Here Cypres Groves, there walks with Statues; Here a Sea of fountains, there Swans, Oſtri hes, and other recreative creatures. Mer. Ital.

—It is a place which now humbling it ſelf in fallowed plains, ow prou in wel-husbanded hils, marries barren woods to cultivated valleys, and joyns neat gardens to delicious fountains, &c.

Death.

DEath is that inconſiderable atome of time that divides the body from the ſoul, &c.

Scaliger defines Death to be the Ceſſation of the ſouls functions.

When Hadrian asked Secundus what Death was, he anſwered in theſe ſeverall truths; It is a ſleep eternall, the bodies diſſolution, the rich mans fear, the poor mans wiſh, an event inevitable, an uncertain journey, a thief that ſteals away man, ſleeps father, lifes flight, the departure of the living, and the reſolution of all. Feltham.

Death had no ſooner abſented him from her eyes but forgetfulneſs drew him out of her heart.

When we once come in ſight of the port of Death, to which all winds drive us; and when by letting fall that fatall Anchor, which can never be weighed again, the Navigation of this life takes end: Then it is, I ſay, that our own cogitations (thoſe ſad and ſevere cogitations formerly beaten from us by our health and felicity) return again and pay us to the uttermoſt for all the pleaſing paſſages of our lives paſt. Sir Wa. Rawl.

Death deprived me of my paradized bliſs, and not onely made my broken heart the ſad habitation of woe, but alſo turned my mind (which before was a kingdom to me) into a hell of tormenting thoughts.

Torches made of Aromatique wood, caſt out their odoriferous exhalations when they are almoſt waſted: So the vertuous A. made all the good odors of her life evaporate in the laſt inſtant of her death

Tha he is dead, — As if ſhe now ſcorn'd life, Death lends her cheeks his paleneſs, and her eyes tell down their drops of ſilver to the earth, wiſhing her tears might rain upon his grave, to make the gentle earth produce ſome flower ſhould bear his name and memory.

— She (proſtrated on the body of her Lover) ſought in his eclipſed eyes and dead lips, the remnant of her life.

I ſhall not be unwilling to ſuffer a goal-delivery of my ſoul from the priſon of my body, when I am called to it.

—Delivered up to the immortality of another world. This deadly ſha t paſſing through him, ſo wounded me, that I my ſelf was arrived within few paces of the land of darkneſs. In his ſilent marble, the beſt part of that ſmall portion of joy I had in the world but all my hopes are entombed. Wats in Baa. Preface.

(Drawing neere to the confines of Deaths kingdom)

Death rees a man from miſery, and wafts him to the haven of his happineſs. Her.

As ſoon as Death hath played the Midwife to our ſecond birth, our ſoul ſhall then ſee all truths more freely then our corporall eys at our firſt birth ſee all bodies and colours. Sir K.D.

Deſire.

IF you deſire that I make you a picture of the nature and perquiſites of Deſire, I wil tell you, It is a ſtrange Countrey, whereunto the prodigall Child ſailed, when he forſook his Fathers houſe to undertake a baniſhment: a Countrey where Corn is ſtill in Graſs; Vines in the Bud; Trees perpetually in Bloſſome, and Birds always in the Shell; You neither ſee Corn, Fruit, nor any thing fully ſhaped, all is there onely in expectation: It is a Countrey full of Figures, Phantoſmes, Illuſions and hopes, which are dreams without ſleep. A Countrey where the Inhabitants are never without Fevers, one is no ſooner gone, but another comes into its place. There dwells Covetouſneſs, a great woman, meager, lean, ſtarven, having round about her, a huge ſwarm of winged boys, of which ſome are altogether languiſhing, others caſt her a thouſand ſmiles, as ſhe paſſeth along; upon herſelf ſhe hath an infinite number of Horſe-leeches, which ſuck upon her to the marrow. Time looks on her a far off, and never comes neer her, ſhewing her an inchanted Looking-glaſs, wherein ſhe ſees a thouſand and a thouſand falſe colours, which amuſe her, and when ſhe hath ſported enough, ſhe hath nothing to dinner but ſmoke. Holy Court.

Albeit you can no ways quench the coals of Deſire with forgetfulneſs, yet rake them up in the aſhes of modeſty.

As Pharaoh longed to know his dream: ſo deſired he to —

Deſire (the nurſe of perſeverance) gave him wings to make the more ſpeed.

Thus wiſhing my deſerts ſtill ſuitable to my deſires, and my deſires ever pleaſing to your deſerts.

—More ready in deſire, then able in power to ſerve you.

—Then which nothing could ſhoot righter at the mark of my deſires.

—And wiſh you, as full of good Fortune, as I am of deſire.

She •• a d not 〈…〉 deſires.

Deſire is a wind, that againſt the tide can carry us m rrily; with it, make us flie. Feltham.

Deſire ſo blew the fire of his new conceived rage, that —

Deſert.

HOw much my ſm ll deſerts are overballanced by your unſpeakable goodn ſs?

—You, whoſe deſert paſſ th my beſt endeavours of requi all.

—I flies to the ſacred Al ar of your immutable goodneſs, ſet off with all the additions of greatneſs which nature or affection can throw upon unmatched deſert.

—Thi is the hard fate my juſt merit hath encountred.

—It is a matter ſo far above my merits, that I 〈◊〉 not think upon i without preſumption.

Deſpair

THe fire of mine affection was blown by the bellows of deſpair.

Deſpair of ſucceſs was the hearſe of his ſuppoſed idle thoughts.

Love wanting deſire, makes the mind deſperate, and fixed fancy er ft of love, turnes into fury.

My Lords! I ſpeak to minds too Noble to be stifled in the narrow con in s of fear: follow your Prince, whoſe vertue the ſpight of Fortune, ſhall not wrack into deſpair.

Whilſt I wear a hand, commanded by a heart, that knows no fear, I ſhall not deſpair of —

Diſpleaſure.

Y u diſpleaſure is ſo contrary to my deſ •• t, and your w rds ſo ar beyond all expectations, that I have leaſt abili y, now I have m ſt need, to ſpeak in the cauſe upon which my life depends.

What hath your poor ſervant deſerved to have his own misfortune loade with your diſpleaſure?

Eloquence.

ELoquence is a way of ſpeech prevailing over th ſe whom we deſign it prevail; That is, if we will take it in the ſhort or Laconick way, a diſtilling our notions into a quinteſſence, or forming all our thoughts in a Cone and ſmiting with the point, &c. Mr. Hall in his Epiſtle before Longinus.

—A man, who (filling the ſails of Eloquence) as eaſily moved his auditors, as winds do the ſands of Lybia, which ſtir at their pleaſure.

His Speech appeared in coſtly robes, adorned with lofty and glorious language, ſweetned by many a pleaſant and clear Simile, quickned by divers acute and learned Criticiſmes; My Cabinet enſhrineth no ſuch treaſure.

Though I have not eloquence enough to win, yet I hope to find language enough to perſwade.

He was dazled with he brightneſs of her aſpect; bu when ſhe b gan to unlooſe her tongue, never was Syren ſo attractive with ſongs, as ſhe with words.

—'Tis a ſpeech wherein the abundance of ſupereminent conceits choakes not the grace, nor doth curioſity take any thing from the propriety there f.

—Your maner of ſpeech is indeed Prin •• -like, flowing a fr m a fountain, and yet ſtreaming and branching it ſel into Natures order, full of facility and felicity, imitating none, and inimitable of any Bacon.

Your conceptions are inimitable, your language ſweet and polite, your Sentences are ful of weight, your Arguments of force, and your Words glide along like a River, and ever bear in them ſome ſlaſhes of lightning —

How greedily my ears did feed upon the ſweet words ſhe uttered.

Were not your affection ſtronger tied to the Orator then the Oratory, I ſhould not hope to perſwade you that—Her.

— He, with a fearleſs faſhion, thus beſpake the audience. —

Every accent falls like a freſh jewell to increaſe her value.

—His maſculine eloquence was thought worthieſt to enjoy the maidenhead of the Cities attention.—

— Forcibly won by the ſmooth artifice of ſpeech —

It is no ſmall dominion the imagination hath in perſwaſions, inſinuated by the power of Eloquence. Bac.

You have truly found out the Philoſophers ſt ne; for every groſs matter you can convert into the gold of fine language

Eloqu nce does commonly ſtorm the mind of the Auditor, and at length take him in.

Entertainment.

I want expreſſion to give you the circumſtance it what a owing l ve, or rather with what 〈◊〉 de o ion, I entertain you. G at. Ser.

— Y u much hon r me; for ill this white 〈◊〉 th ſe walls were never proud to encloſe a ••• ſt, he G nius of my houſe is, by ſ gr at a pre •••• e wak d and glories to entertain you.

Could this roof e capable of ill, your only pre •• nce (Lady) would convert it There is a vertuous magick in y ur eye, for whereſoe're it caſts a beam, it does crea es a g odneſs.

I am much confound d for this honor you do me, Madam, but yet I am more aſhamed o ſee you in a place, where vertue never entred but in your attndance. Ariana.

Y' re each of you a various banquet, where a breathing ſweetneſs feaſts the ſp ctators, and diverts all thought of ea ing to beholding, and from beholding to enjoying. Am. War.

Your preſence is reſtorative.

Friendſhip.

AS Paſſion hath been well ſaid to be Friendſhip run mad; So Friendſhip may be properly ſtiled Sober paſſion, as having all the ſpirit and cordiality of the wine of Love, without the offenſive fumes and vapours of it. Mr. Montagu in his Miſce lenea

The love of men to women is a thing common, and of cou ſe; but the friendſhip of man to man is infinite and immortall. Plato.

The words of a friend joyned with true affection, give life to the heart, and comfort to a care-oppreſſed mind. Chylo.

The mutual habitude of no intermiting-friendſhip between us, hath ſtrongly confirmed —

(Receiving ſo dear witneſſes of your friendſhip)

The reſemblance of their beauties and of their wits, joyned their ſouls together, and ſoon after, that of their fortunes made this friendſhip perfect. Ar.

(which your friendſhip rather finds, then I acknowledg )

Hence gr ws the height of friendſhip, when two ſimiliary ſouls ſhal blend in their commixions. Feltham.

As nothing unites more then a reciprocall exchange of affection: So there is nothing hinders the knot of friendſhip more then then apparent neglect of courteſies. Feltham.

Friendſhip a diligen Officer, takes care to ſee the bonds thereof fully executed.

Frindſhip i the ſoul of humane ſociety.

F iendſhip is a pleaſant ſauce to any temporall happineſs. Bacon.

The worſt ſolitude is be deſtitute of ſincere friendſhip.

Gift.

TRuly (Sir) I doubt whether is greater the poverty of the Gift, or the boldneſs of the giver, who e true reſpects have encouraged him to this ſmall expreſſion of ſervice.

I beſeech you to excuſe me, that this Preſent is not corr ſpondent to your merit.

Pleaſe to reſpect the enlarged heart of the giver, more then the quality of the gift; Since the meanneſs of this, can onely ſerve to expreſs the well-meaning of the other.

Hypocriſie.

DO not we know that Hypocriſie is the ſame the ſame thing to vertue, which painting is to Faces, and that it is the very moath which devours ſanctity.

What doth not a plaiſtered ſanctity for the ſubverſion of the ſimple? What doth not a bad ſervant when once he poſſeſſeth the eaſie nature of his Maſter?

Inconſtancy.

INconſtancy is properly a levity and an irreſolution of mind, which ſhewes it ſelf in his manners, actions and words, who is touched with it. To ſay truth, this paſſion is a Divell that inhabits in a land of Quickſilver, where Earthquakes are al oſt perpetuall, windes blow on each ſide, and blowing, make many weather-cocks turn to & fro and every moment change poſture. In this place a admirable creature is to be ſeen, who is not what ſhe is, and is that ſhe is not, ſo many faces and figures ſhe hath: She likewiſe is ſtill upon transformations, and ſeems to do nothing at all, but to make and unmake herſelf. One while ſhe is great, another while little; one while groſs, another while ſl nder; one while affable, anoth r while harſh; one while ſerious, another while gameſome, but ever ſlippery; and if you lay hold of her, you catch nothing. She goes forth of her lodging to appear in publique, as if ſhe came into a Theater, cloathed one while in changeable Taffata, another while with different pieces, ſet together out of a ſingular fantaſtick addleneſs of wit. She alone repreſents all perſonages, talkes with all kind of voices, and in all manner of languages, &c. H. Court.

Haſt.

(BEing born away with the haſty Tide of ſmalleſt leaſure)

—Going with a pace not ſo much too faſt for her body, as ſlow for her mind.

With ſuch haſt (as if her ears hunted for words) deſired to know.—

Hope.

HOpe is the gate of a great Palace repleniſhed with riches. It is in my opinion the place which Tertullian termes, The Portereſs of Nature. It hath two arms, with which it endeavours to purſue and embrac objects, whereof the one is called Deſire, and he the other Belief to be able to obtain what one deſireth, &c. H. Court.

The Babylon of worldly hopes ſhews it ſelf in the beginning, as a miracle; but if we proceed further, we find thoſe deſires, that were as pleaſing as the dawning of the day (which at its firſt ſpringing appeares all over ſtudded with Emeralds and Rubies) turn at laſt, and are changed into the horrors of a ſad tempeſt.

Humane life hath not a ſurer friend, nor many times a greater enemy, then Hope. 'Tis the miſerable mans God, which in the had ſt gripe of calamity, never fails to yeeld him beams of c mf •• t. It is the preſumpt •• us mans Divell, which leads him a while in a ſmo th way, & then makes him break his neck o the ſudden. Hope is to man as a bladder to a learning ſwimmer, &c. Feltham

—The ſight wherof made Hope (the Harbinger of happineſs) to breath in her this pleaſing c mfort.

Sweet, I ſee is the hope that ſprings in the bud, but moſt ſ rrowfull I find is the hap that decays in the bloſſome.

Our teeming hopes will ever be delivered of a gracious birth.

—She whoſe weaker Bow ls were ſtreight full with the leaſt liquor of hope.

Hope is but the dream of a man awake. You have blaſted the harveſt of my hopes.
Jealouſie.

IEalouſie is a diſeaſe of the mind, proceeding from a fear which a man hath, that that thing is communicated to another, which he would not have common, but privat to himſelf: it is alſo bred of that love which will not ſuffer a partner in the thing beloved.

Thereupon a furious jealouſie, as if it had been breath'd from hell, began to lay hold on this gentle ſpirit, all the objects of what was paſt returned to thicken this black-vapour, to frame a cloud thereof, and reſolve it into a ſtorm. H.C.

What is it that you ſhould thus conceal from me? Be my ears unworthy, or my tongue ſuſpected?

Love, as it is Divine with loyalty: ſo is it Hell, with jealouſie.

There can be no greater Tyranny then jealouſie whereby a man continually murthers himſelfe living.

All his actions began to be tranſlated into the language of ſuſpition.

Jealouſie is a Gin that we ſet to catch Serpents, which, as ſoon as we have caught them, ſting us. Feltham.

Jealouſie is the Canker of Wedlock.

Jealouſie continually ſtudies the Anatomy of hearts, and ſhews great ſeverity to the leaſt defective part. Montagu.

He is as jealous as a Turky.

Ingratitude.

INgratitude chalenges revenge by Cuſtome, and is a vice moſt hatefull before God and Man.

Ingratitude deſerves, that all the elements with their beſt forces, ſhould conſpire in its avengement.

An unthankfull man is compared to a veſſell ul of holes.

Joy.

JOy triumpht in his eys and comfort lodg'd in his heart, and in this haven of happineſs he would have ſwimmed ſtill, but that—

Joyes had their freſh ſupplies, as if ſome golden dream had imparadiſed their thoughts with ſome glorious viſion.

—Lifted up from a Hell of grief to a Heaven of joy.

Through how many reſtleſs nights, and leſs reſtleſs thoughts do we ncounter theſe ſweet-bitter joys: And as the more we graſp the water into our hands, the loſs we hold: So is content the farther from us, the more we ſeek it in theſe fading glories of the world; which, like an Ignis Fatuus, firſt light us through wilde untrodden pathes unto th •• ſelves, then through vaſt aeiry thoughts they lead u up to that precipice, from whence we fall, and th •• e they leave us. Her.

—This Charm reduc'd his paſſion to that contentment, brought his hopes to that height, and plac'd his ſoul in a heaven of ſuch divine pleaſures, that he was even ready to expire in this pleaſing Extaſie.

O what a ſource of joy did then overflow her breaſt, that treaſury of chaſt delights!

The Sun ne're met the Summer with more joy.

Letters.

LEtters are the very thoughts of the heart, but once removed, where all the ſcapes of nature or breeding are moſt like to harbor. Rey. of Cab.

Theſe Paper preſents are but weak reflections of ſtronger affections, yet being the beſt ſacrifice of a friend, they deſerve the higher place in your eſteem.

Letters are the ſweet communication of fancy, which have been always eſteemed the beſt fuel of affection, and the very marrow of friendſhip.

Abſence entertained by Letters full of confidence, is not always without its profit; for the foul by the memory taſteth what it hath taken in by the underſtanding, and gives it ſelf more leaſure to recogitate its pleaſure, which is not ſo well perceived, when preſence drencheth the minde in a deluge of contentments, and gives it not leaſure to bethink it ſelf. H.C.

If I write a Letter, I imagine Love gives me the pen, that I dip it in my tears, that the paper is all over filled with flowers of affection, and that I ſend my thoughts and ſighes, as courtiers, to ſeek out the well beloved of my heart. H.C.

You have proſtituted my chaſt and holy Letters, to the baſe adulteries of all common eyes.

Words are the images of cogitations: Letters are the images of words.

I will not load your ears with thoſe frivolous impertinencies, which would ſwell this Letter beyond your patience.

An amorous Letter to a youthful heart, is a learned inchantment. The hooks of ſuch Characters are artificial pick-lock-tools, to open the ſecret b lt of a heart. To ſee a leaf written, is like ſeeing an Army in the field; every line is a file of men Words give battel to the minde, and overcome it: For there is no force more powerfull, then that of words, to batter a minde. Stratonica.

Loquacity.

LOquacity is the Fiſtula of the minde, ever running, and almoſt incurable.

A talkative fellow is the unbrac'd drum, which beats a wiſe man out of his wits.

Love.

LOve (in the interpretation of the envious) is ſof neſs; in the wicked, good men ſuſpect it for luſt; and in the good, ſome ſpiritual men have given it the name o Charity: And theſe are but terms to this, which ſeems a more conſiderate def nition, That indefinite Love is Luſt: and Luſt when it is determin d to one, is Love. This definition oo, does but intrude it ſelf on what I was about to ſay, which is (and ſpoken with ſoberneſs, though like a Lay-man) that Love is the moſt acceptable impoſition of nature, the cauſe and preſervation of life, and the very healthfulneſs of the minde, as well as of the body: But Luſt (our raging feaver) is more dangerous in Cities, then the Calenture in ſhips. Sir William Davenant in his Preface to Gondibert,

Love (in the moſt obnoxious interpretation) is natures preparative to her greateſt works, which is the making of life. ibid.

Love in humane nature is both the ſource and center of all paſſion ; for not only hope, f ar and joy, but even anger and hatred riſe firſt out of the ſpring of love. Mr. Montagu.

To be in love, is the moſt intenſive appropria ion of all the powers of our minde to one deſign. ibid.

Senſual love is the moſt fatal plague among all paſſions. It is not a ſimple malady, but one compoſed of all the evils in the world; it hath the ſhiverings and heats of Feavers, the ach and prickings of the Meagrum, the rage of Teeth, the ſtupe action of the Vir •• go, the furies of Frenzie, the black vapors of the Hypocondry, the diſturbances of the Waking, the ſtupidities of the Lethargy, the fits of the Falling-ſickneſs, the faintneſs of the Tyſick, the heavings of the paſſions of the heart, the pangs of the Colick, the infections of the Leproſie, the venom of Ʋlcers, the malignity of the Plague, the putrifaction of the Gangrene, and all, which is ho rible in nature. Holy Court.

Love! Care is thy Court, Tyranny thy Raign, Slaves thy Subjects, Folly thy Attendance, Luſt thy Law, Sin thy Service, and Repentance thy Wages.

Fear breedeth Wit, Anger is the cradle of courage, Joy opens and enables the Heart, Sorrow weakneth it; but love is engendred betwixt luſt and idleneſs, his companions are unquietneſs, longings, fond comforts, faint diſcomforts, hopes, j alouſies, ungrounded rages, cauſeleſs yieldings; the higheſt end it aſpires to, is a little pleaſure, with much pain before, and great repentance after.

At that time the flames of his chaſt love, began to burn more forcible then ever.

He loved her with a love, mingled with reſpect of merit and compaſſion of her perſecuted innocency.

To love is natural: not to love is monſtrous. H.C.

Such was the unreſiſtable force of his unlimitable affection, that in ſpite of reaſon, he was enforced to do homage unto paſſion.

Her love was a rich rock of defence againſt all Syrene ſongs.

—It received ſuch an impreſſion of that wonderful paſſion, which to be defined is impoſſible, becauſe no words reach to expreſs the ſtrange effects of it, they only know it, who inwardly feel it, it is called Love.

He beſought him not to make account of his ſpeech, which if it had been over paſſionate, yet was it to be born withal, becauſe it proceeded out of an affection much more vehement.

Humanity enjoyns you to love me, ſeeing I hold my life an eaſie ſacrifice to enjoy you,

It is no pilgrimage to travel to your lips.

Worldly loves are the true Gardens of Adonis, where w can gather nothing but trivial flowers, ſurrounded with many bryars. Chriſtian Diary.

A ſilent expreſſion gives the pregnant'ſt teſtimony of a deep grounded affection, where every look darts forth love.

Nothing ſhall have power to alien my love from you.

Let me draw from your look one bluſh of love, or line of fancy.

Let me become an abject in the eyes of fame, an object o contempt to the world, if my faithful devotion and obſervance ſupply not all my defects.

I am he, who either you have great cauſe to love or no cauſe to hate.

She loved him as the pledge-bearer of her heart.

You— towards whom I know not whether my love or admiration be greater.

Your affection hath got a Lordſhip in my thoughts.

Love to a yielding heart is a King, but to a reſiſting, is a Tyrant.

(Sealing up all thoughts of love, under the image of her memory.)

The extream bent of my affection compells me to—

Love in the heart is an exhalation in a cloud, it cannot continue idle there; it daily forms a thouſand imaginations, and brings forth a thouſand cares, it findes out an infinity of inventions to advance the good of the beloved, &c. H.C.

Death may end my life, but not my love, which (as it is infinite) muſt be immortal.

— Him, whoſe love went beyond the bounds of conceit, much more of utterance, that in her hands the ballance of his life or death did ſtand.

Such a love as mine, wedded to vertue, can never be ſo adulterated by any accident, no nor yet raviſh'd by paſſion, as to bring forth a baſtard diſobedience, whereof (my very conſcience not being able to accuſe my thoughts) I come to clear my ſelf.

The proportion of my love is infinite.

So perfect a thing my love is to you, as it ſuffers no queſtion, ſo it ſeems to receive injury by addition of any words unto it.

The more notable demonſtrations you make of the love (ſo far beyond my deſert) with which it pleaſeth you to make me happy, the more am I, even in courſe of hu anity, b und to ſeek requitals witneſs.

—(Having embarked my careful love in the ſhip of my deſire)—

Good God! what ſublimate is made in the lymbeck of Love.

His eyes were ſo eager in b ••• lding her, that they were like thoſe of the Bird, that atches her eggs with her looks. Stratonica.

He expected her at A. with ſo great impatience of love, that he would have willingly haſtned the courſe of the Sun, to meaſure it by his affections.

He, beholding her ſo accompliſhed, eaſily felt the glances ſhot from her eyes, were rays from her but arrows for his heart, from whence he could receive nought but honorable wounds.

If you have as much confidence in me, as I have love towards you; —

Love is in effect, a force (pardon the exorbitancy of the word) that is unreſiſtable, ſo ſtrong a war is that, which the appetite wageth againſt reaſon.

Then, then in the pride of your perfections you paradized me in the heaven of your love.

The rare Idea that thus (through the applauſe of mine eye) hath bewitched my heart, is the beautious image of your ſweet ſelf (pardon me if I preſume, when the extremity of love pricks me forward.) Faults that grow by affection ought to be forgiven, becauſe they come of conſtraint: Then (Madam!) read with favor, and cenſure with mercy; —

Why ſhould not that, which is one, reſt in unity? Bacon.

His boſom was the Cell, wherein I hid my ſecrets; his mouth was the Oracle, whereby I directed my actions; As I could not be without his preſence, ſo I never would do any thing without his counſel.

When I am from you, I am dead till I be with you; when I am with you, I am not ſatisfied, but would ſtill be nearer you: vnited ſouls are not ſatisfied with imbraces. Rel. Med.

In the intercourſe of affection, my love ſurmounts yours.

Fire comes out of the hardeſt Flint with a ſteel; oyl out of the drieſt jet by fire; love out of the ſtonieſt heart by faith, by truſt, by time. Eupheus.

I cannot but admire thy love, knowing from what height of vertue it proceeds: as I will not envy thee thy death, ſo I wiſh a glory may await thy end, great as the conſtancy that advanc'd thee to it. Her.

Two neighbouring Lillies, whom rude winds diſperſe 'mongſt reſtleſs duſt, may ſooner meet upon their ſtacles again, and kiſs each other in a ſecond growth, then we our loves renew.

Love is the good, which, by being diffuſed, is corrupted; ſhe that loves one, another and a thrid; takes in men at the coyle, and loves onely for her pleaſure. The object of true love is but one: From the Infancy of Time to her decrepitude, the love between two hath been held moſt honorable Heroinae.

Our mutuall mindes thus combined, was like the Garden of Eden, wherein grew more delights, then either Nature now affords, or Art can exp eſs.

Gra ious is the face that promiſeth nothing but love, and moſt celeſtiall the reſolution that lives upon chaſtity.

She had a pure flame ſhot from heaven into her breaſt: from no other place could ſo generous a mind be fired.

My love ſhall never end, but with my life.

There is nothing that belongs to us both, that can be divided: our wills united make but one mind, which ruling all our actions, it ſeems we are in like manner but one body. Ariana.

— He was ſo rapt with theſe dear engagements, that the commotions of his heart diſturbed his mind, and ſtop'd the freedom of his thoughts.

I muſt confeſs my ſelf in priſon, but 'tis a priſon of love, where my deſires, my thoughts, my hopes, my joys, are chains. H.C.

Chast love.] She changes the fire of Babylon into that of Jeruſalem. Her h irs, which were the nets wherein ſo many captive ſouls did ſigh under the yoke of wan •• n love, are now (as the Enſignes and Standards of wicked Cupid) tra pled under the feet of the Conqueror. Thoſe kiſſes, which carried the poyſon of a luxurious paſſion in her heart, do now breath f om her nothing but th delicacies of chaſ i y. Her leaſing od urs, which before were vowed to ſenſuality, are now become the ſweeteſt exhalations from that Amber Iſle, which brings forth an odoriferous perfume. Entertainments for Lent.

My paſſion hath for its object a thing too perfect to permit me a thought that may be unworthy of the cauſe of it.

I like that love, which by a ſoft aſcenſion, does degree it ſelf in the ſoul. Feltham.

Your preſence is like Homers Nepenthe, that can baniſh the ſadneſs of the mind.

The heart of a lover is a Citie, in which upon one and the ſame day are ſeen ſports and bankets, battels and funerals. Plutarch.

Who does not know, that love took away the ſenſes of wiſe Solomon, and made him violate the ſacred law. Love moved Biblis to be enamoured on her own brother Caunus, and Paſiphae to accompany vvith a Bull?

Love is like a pan of Charcoal, vvhich meeting vvith the vvind, its contrary, makes it turn more ardent, or like a rapid torrent, vvhich juſting againſt adam, ſwells higher: ſo love meeting with oppoſition, grows hotter and ſtronger. Dodona's Grove.

—Theſe two hearts; being diſſolved into love, ſpake in thoughts, not having language enough to expreſs their affection. H.C.

Since then I cannot retaliate your love, or retribute your favours, yet vvill I receive them vvith a deſire o pay.

The vvorthy St. Dionyſius, in the book of Divine Attributes, diſtinguiſheth three ſorts of love, one is called circular, the other love in a right line, and the third oblique.

Love (ſa th an ancient Lover) hath made a But of my heart, vvhere, ſo ſoon as it had ſhot all its arrows, it threw it ſelf as an inflamed dart into the bottom of my heart, to ſet me all on fire.

There is nothing comparable to the Martyrdom of love: It is an exhalation in a cloud: It is a fire in a Mine, a torrent ſhut up in ditches; a night of ſ paration laſteth ages, and all waxeth old for it, but its deſires.

The life of this young Hero, (vvhich vvas ever hanging about the heart of his Miſtreſs, ever in the contemplation of her goodneſs, perpetually in the furnace of love) vvholly tranformed it ſelf into his vvel-beloved, as one vvax melted into another, as a drop of vvater poured into a great veſſell of Wine, as incenſe waſted in flames. H. Court.

He ſaid what a warm lover (when deſire makes eloquent) could ſpeak, he ſaid ſhe was both Star and Pilot.

No birth or eſtate can chalenge a prerogative in love.

The deep wound of his love, being rubbed afreſh with— began to bleed again.

Love is to the ſoul, that which vvings are to Birds, to carry us to its fruition.

For vvant of vvell loving, vve apply the moſt precious thing, which is love, to gain wretched creatures, as if one uſed a golden hook to fiſh for frogs, and a ſcepter to ſhake hay.

I'le always dwell with you like your ſhade.

I'le keep a Jubile to your memory.

My eyes pay tribute where my heart pays love.

I vvill repay your love vvith uſury.

(Love making in the field of his memory a muſter of the vertues of that Lady.)

The man that applies not himſelf to ſome love, is like a body vvithout life.

Love is the Wine of the ſoul.

Love is the greateſt Philoſopher in the vvorld; He can tranſmute ſubſtances vvithout altering the accidents.

Man commended.

MAn is the pride of Heavens creation 〈◊〉 —A man, vvhoſe life needs no Advocate, vvhom detraction it ſelf cannot mention vvithout addition of ſome Epithetes of reſpect, to conclude him in a vvord no object for any evill paſſion but envy; and a ſubject for no diſcourſe, but vvhat ends vvith admiration.

It ſeems Nature from above had been diſpatch'd as a brave Harbinger, to ſcore out a lodging for this great Soul, and give him a Body ſuitable to the vigor of his Spirit (ſo vvel vvas it compoſed,) &c. H. Court.

—What he is according to nature, a Maſterpiece, vvhere many prerogatives meet together, a Body compoſed of a marvellous Architecture, a Soule endowed vvith—

He is the Orpheus, vvho vvith his looks onely, vvithout ſetting his hand to the Lyre, enchants and raviſhes the moſt ſavage of our Wilderneſs.

Ariſtotle (that Linceus of Nature)—

Nature vvas ſent by God (as a gallant Harbinger) to compoſe a Body for him ſuitable to his great Spirit.

He did vvith great nobleneſs and bounty (which vertues at that time had their turns in his Nature) reſtore—Lo. Bacon.

I find not any man, over vvhom he has not ſome advantage, nor any one life, vvhich (take it altogether) is ſo admirable as his. The Prince.

He is an Anthony in clemency, a Trajan in bounty and another Auguſtus in wiſdom.

Though he exceeds not in thoſe vertues which g t admiration, as depth of wiſdom, height of courage, and the like, yet he is notable for thoſe qualities which ſtir affection, as truth of word, meekneſs, courteſie, mercifulneſs and liberality.

He was Lord of great Revenues, to which his vertue not his fortune was his Title; his mind was richly embroydered with all the ſtudied ornaments of learning, &c. —Heroinae.

Braveſt A! ſooner ſhall the fathers bowels be ſilent at the ſight of his long unſeen ſon, then poſterity forget thy name.

—Nor ſhall I reſt content, till I bring one grain of incenſe more to that great oblation, which I hope the Muſes will offer ere long in publick to his memory, thereby to induce Hiſtorians, (thoſe Goldſmiths of time) in their elaborate rings, the Chronicles and Relations of theſe days, curiouſly to enchaſe this choycer Diamond to the delight and benefit of ſucceeding ages. Of Sir I.S.

The worth of worthineſs hath his whole Globe compriſed in his breaſt.

The gallantry of his mind was plainly legible to every eye that was acquainted with the characters of vertue.

—In this man there were ſuch great abilities of wit and underſtanding, that into what Climate ſ ever his nativity had caſt him, he ſeem'd to be able to command of f rtune. Bacon.

—Men, wh •• e Sentiments are Maximes and Oracles to govern the worlds beliefs and actions. Sir K.D.

—So wel was he ſtudied in the Art of Dying, that by continuall watchings, faſtings, prayers, and ſuch like acts of Chriſtian humiliation, his fleſh was rarified into ſpirit, and the whole man ſo fitted for eternall glories, that he was more then halfe in heaven, before Death brought his bloody (but triumphant) Chariot to convey him thither,

His head did bear the Calender of age.

Every man is a vaſt and ſpacious Sea: His paſſions are the winds that ſwell him in diſturbant waves, &c. Feltham.

A good man is like the day, enlightning & warming all he ſhines on, and is always raiſing upwards to a Region of more conſtant purity, then that wherein it finds the object. The bad man is like the night, dark, obtruding fears, and dimitting unwholſome vapouts upon all that reſt beneath.

Envy her ſelf could not detract from his worth; he was learned even to an example, pious up to a proverb.

— A perſon that in the Hurricans of great tranſactions is ſerenely pleas'd to throw off the publick perſon, and adopt into his tenderneſs and protection, all that, unto which worth and letters may make a claim. Mr. Halls Epiſtle before Longinus.

Of the K: and his letters intercepted. 1645.

AS a Man, ſee, but with what ſagacity he writes, and with what judgement; ſee, but what a clean ſenſe he hath of things, which does ſo overlook all his moſt perplexed affairs, that they ſeem to bluſh they have no better difficulties. See, but how farre his wiſdom looks into mens perſons, which doth ſo weigh them and their actions with the grains and allowance of their unworthy ſervile ends, that he ſeems not more to obſerve then propheſie. See, but what an even ſpirit of Elegancy runs through every line, vvhich beats and leaps as much in the deſcription of his ſaddeſt condition, as of his ſereneſt fortune; Inſomuch that poſterity will a little love his miſery for her very clothing.

Then, as a Husband, do but obſerve how kind he is, and withall how chaſt? how full of warm expreſſions of love, and yet how far from wanton? Do but obſerve how he vveighs his own health by his vvives Standard, every line bears a Venus in it, and yet no Doves; and he drives the trade of thoughts between the Q. and him, with ſo much eagerneſs, and yet with ſo much innocence in all his letters, as if he meant they ſhould be intercepted.

As a Chriſtian, ſee, but what a conſcience he makes of oaths, eſteeming them (not according to the popular account) as if their ceremony made them the leſs ſacred, or (as too many uſe them in the vvorld) as bracelets to their ſpeech, not (as they are indeed) as chains unto their ſouls; look but how he ſtartles at the name of Sacriledge, though never ſo commodious a ſin, &c.

Laſt of all, as a King, ſee, but vvhat a conſtant and true ſoul he bears to Juſtice, vvhich none of his ſad infelicities can alter. A ſoul that vvould come off true, vvere it put to Plato's triall, vvho ſaid, That for a man to approve himſelfe a true juſt man indeed, His vertue muſt be ſpoyld of all her ornaments. Key K. Cabinet.

So many excellent pens have vvritten upon his brave acts, and made them ſo well known to all the vvorld, that it vvere to bring light into day, to go about to mention them. H. Court.

He is the Pelops of wiſdom, and Minos of all good government.

Who hath not known or read of that prodigy of vvit and fortune, Sir Wa. Ra. a man infortunate in nothing, but in the greatneſs of his vvit and advancement, vvhoſe eminent vvorth vvas ſuch, both in domeſtick policie, forreign expeditions and diſcoveries, in arts and literature, both practick and contemplative, that it might ſeem at once to conquer both example and imitation. Mr. Nath. Carpenter.

—Man, vvho contracts in himſelfe all the draughts and vvorks of the Divine hand, and epitomizeth the vvhole world in his perfections, and bears the moſt animated Character of the living God. H.C.

He is a noble, generous, and vvell-manur'd youth, bears beauties enſignes in his gracious looks, has that ſupream Divinity in his eyes, as ſparkleth flames able to fire all hearts, and the ſuperlative vertue of his mind tranſcends his outvvard figure; he is vviſe, as moſt mature age, valiant in reſolve, as fames beloved child, reputaon, conjoyns the maſculine graces of his ſoul vvith lovely carriage and diſcreet dicourſe, &c. Argalus and Parth.

—I could ſay much more of his vvorth, vvithout flattery, did I not fear the imputation of preſumption, and vvithall ſuſpect, that it might befall theſe papers of mine, (though the loſſe vvere little) as it did the pictures of Q. Eliz. made by unskilfull and common Painters, which by her own commandement vvere knockt to pieces, and caſt into the fire. For ill Artiſts, in ſetting out the beauty of the externall; and weak Writers, in deſcribing the vertues of the internal, do often leave to poſterity of well-formed faces, a deformed memory; and of the moſt perfect and Princely minds, a moſt defective repreſentation. Sir. Wa. Rawl. in Preface.

He was a man whoſe brave undaunted Spirit dignified his Family many ſtories high in the eſtimate of Fame.

The excellent endowments of his ſoul, acknowledged even by Envy, and admired by Truth, together with his known propenſion to goodneſs, invited me to—

I have been poſſeſſed with extream wonder, when I conſider the excellency of thoſe vertues and faculties in him, which the Philoſophers call intellectuall, the capacity of his mind comprehending ſo many, and ſo great notions, the faithfulſneſs of his memory, the ſwiftneſs of his apprehenſion, the penetrati n of hi judgement, the order and facility of his Eloc tion. &c. Bacon.

—He derived many ſtreams from Sidney's great River into hi own Chanels.

His Countenance (which by nature had no vulgar Air in it) grown lean by affliction, expreſſed (in a pale diſagreement of colours) that the harmony of his individuum began its diſſolution from the head.

Nature.

NAture is that Spirit or Divine Reaſon, which is the efficient cauſe of natural works, &c.

—You whom nature hath made to be the Load-ſtar of comfort, be not the rock of ſhipwrack.

The errors in his nature were excuſed, by reaſon of the greenneſs of his youth.

Nature having done ſo much for him of nothing, as that it made him Lord of ſomething.

Nature is the mirror of Art.

—They wraſtled with the diſadvantage of ſingle nature, and at laſt threw it into rule.

—Then does Art appear perfect, when ſhe can ſcarce be diſtinguiſhed from Nature it ſelf, and again, nature is ever happy, becauſe ſhe always carries a hidden Art in her own boſom. Longinus.

Silence and Secreſie.

SIlence is the fermentation of our thoughts. Bacon.

—Aſſuring you in the faith of a friend, that you ſhall depoſite it in the deepeſt and darkeſt de of ſilence, never to come to light.

It is hard to be ſilent, &c. ſince nature hath not made us like Crocodiles, who are ſaid to have eyes to weep, and not a tongue to complain.

I hope I ſhall finde your ears faithful Treaſurers.

I will cover it under the vail of ſilence.

Silence, in baſhful ſigns, bluſh'd out a dumb reply.

—till when I lock theſe projects in the cloſet of your ſecrecy.

There followed ſo deep and unbroken a ſilence, that midnight ſeem'd thunder, it compa'rd to it.

Similitudes, ſee Compariſons, page 58.
Sorrow.

SOrrow is a grief or heavineſs for things which are done and paſt, it is t e •• ly friend to ſolitarineſs, enemy to company, and heir to deſperation.

Though his attached tongue could pay no tribute to his dumb ſorrow, yet did his ſilent woes ſhew his ſpeaking grief.

O happy Portia! they dead ſad woes are all buried in my long liv'd griefs; and Hecuba's tears are all drowned in the ſea of my ſorrow.

Lymbecks were her eyes of tears, a furnace was her breaſt of ſcalding ſighes, a conſtant feaver ſurpriz'd her joynts, yet with this did her ſweet condition enforce a ſmile, (and with this (mixed with a pearly tear) did ſhe beg this boon of, &c.— Holy Court.

—Whereat the yce of his heart diſſolved, and began already to evaporate through his eyes.

He endeavored to ſpeak, but the more he ſtrove, the more the ſobs choaked up his words.

— Aſſaulted with a furious ſquadron of remedileſs dolours.

(Drenched in a Sea of Sorrow.—

Love, jealouſie, anger and ſorrow divided his heart, and drew ſtrange ſighes from him.

He bare the image of his ſorrow in his dejected countenance.

He knew not how to anſwer her, but with the moiſt dew of his eyes, which began to do the office of his lips.

Sh made the apple of her weeping eyes ſpeak to him in continual prayers.

— (after the Flood of her tears was grown to an ebb.)

— After ſhe had bathed the beauty of her eyes in the ſorrow of her tears. —

My grief was at the higheſt before, and now like ſwelling Nilus it diſdaineth bounds.

That (waſhing anew her face in the balmy drops of her love-diſtilling tears) ſhe began. —

He baniſhed both ſleep and food, as enemies to his mourning, which paſſion perſwaded him was reaſonable.

He opened his mouth, as a Floodgate for ſorrow.

I had in the furnace of my agonies, this refreſhing. —

The breath, almoſt formed into words, was again ſtopt by her, and turned into ſighes.

Let the tribute-offer of my tears procure—

—It deſerves of me a further degree of ſorrow, then tears.

— Finding by the pittiful oration of a languiſhing behaviour, and the eaſily deciphered-Character of a ſorrowful face, that—

—With a demeanor, where, in the book of beauty, there was nothing to be read but ſorrow, for kindeneſs was blotted out, and anger was never there.

Suffer not the weakneſs of ſorrow, to conquer the ſtrength of your vertues.

—His ſoul drinking up woe with great draughts.

—Her tears were like, when a few April drops are ſcattered by a gentle Zephirus among fine coloured flowers.

She painted out the lightſome colours of affection, ſhaded vvith the deepeſt ſhadows of ſorrow.

—Suffering her ſorrow to melt it ſelf into an abundance of tears, and giving grief a free dominion.

At length letting her tongue go (as dolourous thoughts guided it) ſhe thus (with lamentable demeanor) ſpake,—

Wilt thou give my ſorrows no truce?

Tears and ſighes interrupt my ſpeech, and force me to give my ſelf over to private ſorrow.

Though y memory be a continued Record of much ſorrow, yet among the many ſtories grief hate engraven in me, there is none to be compared with t e diſaſter of —

— This ſaid, ſhe wept the reſt. But he not daunted at that majeſty of ſorrow that ſate inthron'd in Cryſtal; nor at her vvords, that would •• arm •• e moſt inhumane: but rather vvhet, then efin'd in paſſion, unloads his luſt.—Her.

—She, in whom ſorrow had ſwell'd it ſelf ſo high, that rather then break out, it threatned to break her heart.

—Appearing in his countenance a doleful Copy of what he would relate.

—(Able to make an Adamant turn Niobe.

When I am b reft of thee, in whom all my joys are ſo wealthily ſumm'd up, that thy loſs will make my life my greateſt curſe, then will I dye in honor, and think it fitter for my fame, then linger out my life in ſorrow. Her.

She was Empreſs of a minde, unconquered of ſin or ſorrovv.

It is not the tears of our eyes only, but of our friends alſo, that do exhauſt the current of our ſorrows, which falling into many ſtreams run more peaceably, and are contented with a narrower channel.

She melts her heart in a ſacred Limbeck of love, and diſtills it out by her eyes.

They reſented his loſs with as many griefs, as his deſert and their good nature could produce in them. Arc.

To give over ſorrovv I muſt of neceſſity give over remembring you, and that can I not, but vvith my life.

—To ſee her countenance (through which there ſhin'd a lovely majeſty, even to the captivating of admiring ſouls) novv altered to a frightful paleneſs, and the terrors of a gaſtly look. Feltham.

— Theſe are calamities, vvhich challenge the tribute of a bleeding eye.

—Tell him I do invvardly diſſolve into a devv of bleeding paſſion for his loſs, and vvould, to re-inveſt bleſt quiet i his heart, act o're the ſcene of dangers I have paſs'd ſince I knevv earlieſt manhood. Arg. and Parth.

— I am paſt the thought of grief for this ſad fact, and am griefs individual ſubſtance.

—She poured her ſelf into tears without comfort, as her miſery ſeemed devoid of remedy.

—Thy looks upon a ſudden are becom diſmall, thy brow dull as Saturns iſſue, thy lips are hung vvith black, as if thy tongue vvere to pronounce ſome funerall.

Sorrow having clos'd up all the entries of thy mind.

He made a ſhady tree his pavillion, vvith intention to make forgetting ſleep comfort a ſorrowfull memory.

He gave ſuch tokens of true felt ſorrow, as no imagination could conceive greater.

Compaſſion procured his eyes vvith tears to give teſtimony.

— He departed, as if he had been the Coffin that carried himſelf away.

The river of your tears (if not ſtopped) vvill ſoon looſe their fountain.

— Pitie my ſorrows, which are onely mine, becauſe I am extreamly yours.

—Loſt in my thoughts, I ſee my ſelf wandring in various objects, and, for a height in myſery, I walk in the night of a heart darkned vvith ſadneſſe.

The melancholy complexion of my mind encilnes to hold a ſympathy with all ſorrow, that my ſenſes communicate to me.

The remembrance of her former ingratitudes delivered over ſuch feeling arguments of her ſad remorſe, as were able to ſtrike the water of tears out of the ſtonieſt hearts of her beholders: Like the Rod of Moſes, which drove vvater out of the Rock, &c. Sir To. Math.

— A ſubject I confeſſe ſo full of lamentation and horror, as would require ſome Homer to expreſs it, or rather the mind and pen of Heraclitus, to weep and write together.

Suffer mine eyes to diſcourſe my griefs.

You temporize with ſorrow, mine is ſincere.

—Untill mine eyes became the ſad oblation of a fainting voyce.

It is hard to deſcribe with what affection her eyes, big with grief, brought forth fears. The fair Lady in that Art reſembled Aurora in travell of the day. Her tears much exceeded the morning dew in beauty. Stratonica.

Speech.

SPeech is nothing elſe but an expreſſion to another man of the images one hath within himſelf. Sir K. Digby.

Reaſon is as it were the ſoul of ſpeech. Ba on.

Lecture is the aliment of ſpeech.

As houſes without Dores are unprofitable: ſo are men that have no rule of their ſpeech.

—The very Order of his ſpeech ſeem'd to be Diſorderly: and his diſorders were rang'd into a certain kind of order.

— Though courted with all the blandiſhments and graces of ſpeech, yet he could not be perſwaded.

Thoughts.

THought, generally is all the imaginations of ur brain, vvhich being a propoſed object of the heart, makes it continually revolve, and work upon thoſe conceits.

Thoughts are but over-flowings of the minde and the to gue is but a ſervant of the h ught .

Speech and Thought are two ſiſters, the youngeſt whereof is created, that the eldeſt may be known. Philo.

The more I exerciſe my thoughts, the more they inc ea e the appetite of my deſires.

What a paradiſe of unſpotted goodneſs his filthy though s ſought to defile?

— (Thinking to ſet my muti ous thoughts at peace.)

He made his thoughts more obligatory to her favours; and he faſhioned his favours more complementory to her fortunes.

My thoughts were winged vvith deſire.

You (the Secretary of all my thoughts)—

Diſtill ng my active thoughts in a continued ſtudy to ſerve you.

— My hopes of honour, then which noth ng but your fair ſelfe is ſo neer unto my thoughts.

She, conjur'd with this tyranny of complement, with as undiſtracted words as could be pumpt from the deepeſt confuſion of thoughts, makes her reply— Her.

— His word led by his thought, and followed by his deed.

I could wiſh you were ſecretary of my thoughts, or that there were a Cryſtall caſement in my breaſt, through which you might eſpy the inward motions and palpitations of my heart, then would you be certified of the ſincerity of this proteſtation.

Pleaſing, but too ambitious thoughts! whither do you lead me?

—Give my long impriſoned thoughts leave to appear in words.

Let truth make up a part in the harmony of your noble thoughts.

Thus when my thoughts are at a ſtand, and can raiſe my preſent happineſs no higher, let me call to mind how —

—Since you have tied your thoughts in ſo wilful a knot.

A tumultuous Army of thoughts ſhall ſtrike up an Alarm to your repoſe. H.C.

Continually floating in a tempeſtuous Sea of thoughts, vvithout either finding bottome or ſhore.

And after I had run over all the pedigree of my thoughts, new thoughts poſſeſſed me.

Weighing her reſolutions by the counterpoiſe of his own youthfull thoughts.

Uſing his own Bias to bowle neer the Miſtreſs of his own thoughts.

Words may be ſaid to be a kind of body to thoughts. Montagu.

My thoughts ſupplied the place of ſacrifices.

My very thoughts, I hope, are wing'd with innocence.

Vanity.

VAnity at this day opens all her gates to manif ſt divers men to the vvorld, vvho ſhould otherwiſe be buried in obſcurity. It makes ſome app ar y the luxurious exceſs of th ir apparel, as ſo many •• le creatures, whoſe heads (being high & coſtly dreſſed up) go to the market of idle love. Others by the riches and pomps of the world, others by honors and dignities, others by the ſpirit of induſtry, and others by deeds of arms and policy. Every one ſets out himſelf to be ſeen and eſteemed in the world. It ſeems that life is made for nothing, but to be ſhewed, and that we ſhould always live, for that which makes us dye. Holy Court.

Vertue.

VErtue (like the clear heaven) is without C ouds.

He •••• me er ſervant by the bonds, which vertue laid pon him.

Vertue (if his face be not a falſe witneſs) do apparel his minde.

— Formed by nature and framed by education to the true exerciſe of vertue.

—Mindes, vvhich neither abſolutely climb the ••• k of vertue, nor fre ly ſink into the ſea of vanity.

— She, (in whoſe minde ve tue governed with the ſcept •• of knovvledge.)—

—She, to whoſe unſtained vertue, it hath been my unſpeakable miſery, that my name ſhould be become a blot.—

(Far engaged to the memory of your vertues.)—

Vertue is the tenure, by which we hold of heaven: without this we are but Outlaws, that cannot claim protection. Feltham.

Vertue ha h nothing to do with the vail of untruths to cover it.

Vertue is as the Geometrical Cube, on what ſide ſoever it is caſt, it always finds his Baſis.

Vertue and grace un parallel with heaven.

Women Commended.

WOmen, being of one and the ſelf ſame ſubſtance with man, are what man i , only ſo much more imperfect, as they are created the weaker veſſel .

— She, whoſe vertue deſerves to be conſecrated with a pen of adamant in the Temple of Eternity, ſince ſhe is able to dazle the eyes of the moſt hardy, to fill the mouthes of the moſt eloquent, and raviſh the mindes of thoſe, who admire no vulgar things. H.C.

A k Senſe what ſhe is: Senſe will tell us, Her face is the unclouded welkin in the infancy of day; her eyes the Sun and Moon that ſleep by turns, leſt they ſhould leave the world in darkneſs: her tongue the harmony of Spheres and Nature: her breaſts heavens milkly way, ſpangled with azure ſtars: her arms Caſtor and Pollux: her other parts becauſe of ower function, are but the Symmetry of all the beauties of her ſex: ſhe is too much firſt to have any ſecond, from the third, fourth and fifth form of women, from a million or all of them, you may take ſome peece of her, not all, for ſhe her ſelf is the All.

Ask Reaſon what ſhe is: Reaſon will tell you, ſhe is her Directreſs, that ſhe keeps the elements at peace within us: our fire ſhe confines to religious zeal, and ſuffers it not to enflame either to luſt or ſuperſti ion: our watry element ſhe hath deſigned to quench unlawful flames, &c.—

Ask faith what ſhe is: Faith will tell you, ſhe hath yours and mine, and an hundred other ſouls in one ſoul, &c.— Were there, or were there no night: yet were ſhe an everlaſting day. Were there none bad: yet were ſhe unparalleledly good. Were there any or none to be compar'd to her: yet vvere ſhe ſuperlative. All of her is an eaven proportion of extreams. Heroinae.

—Thoſe eyes more eloquent then all Rhetorick, that would raiſe an Anchoret from his grave, and turn the Feind Fury, into the Cherubin Pitty—

Thoſe vvhite and red Roſes (vvhich no rain, but vvhat fell from thoſe heavenly eyes) could colour or ſweeten. Thoſe lips that ſtain the rubies, and make the roſes bluſh, thoſe lips that command the ſcarlet coloured morn into a cloud to hide his ſhame: That breath, vvhich makes us all Chamaelions, ſhould be vvaſted into unregarded ſighes: Thoſe breaſts eternally chaſte and vvhite as the Aples: thoſe legs, columns of the faireſt Parian ma ble, columns that ſupport this monument of all pens,— her skin, ſmooth as the face of youth, ſoft as a bed of violets, white as the Queen of innocence, ſweet as bean bloſſoms after rain, &c.

—She, ſhaking off thoſe glorious loads of ſtate, retired from the crowding tumults of the Court, into a ſolitary and truly happy Country-condition, there to ſpin out her thred of life •• her homely diſtaff, where we will leave her a verier wonder, then the Phoenix in the deſart, the alone paragon of all peerleſs perfections. Her actions (ſo above the Criticiſm of my purblinde judgment) I am not able to comprehend, much leſs contradict or controvert.—

You are the beauty of the world, the pride of all joys, the ſweeteſt fruit of beſt content, and the higheſt mark of true loves ambition.

To her alone, it appeared, that heaven with a hand rather prodigal then liberal, would give what it had of moſt value in the rich treaſury of nature Stratonica.

Women are Angels, clad in fleſh.

The Roman Story (big with variety of wonder) writes Lucretia the female glory.

She was natures faireſt paper, not compounded of the rags of common mortality, but ſo ſearſed and refined, that it could receive no impreſſion, but that of ſpotleſs innocence. —Her.

Where'ere ſhe comes, her preſence makes perpetual day.

—They diſcovered A. (the rich triumph of nature) and in her as much as the world could boaſt of.

Her eyes inviting all eyes, her lips all lips, her face loves banquet, where ſhe riots in the moſt luxuriant feaſt of ſenſe:—She was the model of divine perfection.

—A flock of unſpeakable vertues, laid up delightfully in that beſt builded fold.

In this, a very good Orator might have a fair field to uſe eloquence.

Her eyes ſeemed a Temple, wherein love and beauty were married.

—So many things united in perfection.

She hath an eaſie melting lip, a ſpeaking eye.

Venus compar'd to her was but a blowz.

As you are to me a Venus, and ſtrike a warm flame in me, ſo you are Diana too, and do infuſe a chaſte, religious coldneſs. Amorous war.

I ſtand before you like ſtubble before a burning glaſs, your eyes at every glance convert me into flame.

Her voyce was no leſs beautiful to his ears, then her goodlineſs was full of harmony to his eyes.

Thy heavenly face is my Aſtronomy, thy ſweet vertue, my ſweet Philoſophy.

You are the Diamond of the world, the chief work of natures workmanſhip. The patern of perfection, and the quinteſſence of worth.

Your fair forehead is a field where all my fancies fight, and every hair of your head ſeems a ſtrong chain that ties me.

You are the ornament of the earth, the veſſel of all vertue.

—With ſo gracious a countenance, as the goodneſs of her minde had long exerciſed her unto.

—She, whoſe many excellencies won as many hearts, as ſhe had beholders, nature making her beauty and ſhape, but the moſt fair Cabinet of a far fai er minde.

There's muſick in her ſmiles.

A mart of beauties in her viſage meet.

— A woman in whom vertue was incorporated, goodneſs (which comes to others by ſtudy) ſeemed hers by nature.

— You (the type of my felicity) to whom all hearts, reſpects, hopes, fears and homages are ſacrificed.

—Her countenance was too ſweet, her ſpeech too proper, her deportments too candid, to cover ſo b ack a miſchief.

—She took hearts captive, and made them do vaſſalage and homage to er will.

—Where they found A. accompanied vvith other Ladies, amongſt vvhom her tranſcendent beauty and incomparable vertues, made her ſhine with as much ſuperiority, as a ſtar of a g eater magnitude exceeds in ſplendor the leſſ •• •• minaries of its own Spheare.

Her haire ſeemed to ſtand in competition with the beams of the Sun.

—She, whoſe rare qualities, whoſe courteous behaviour without curioſity; whoſe comely f ature, without fault; whoſe filed ſpeech, without fraud, hath wrapped me in this misfortune. Eupheus.

Nature framed her to be the object of thoughts, The love of hearts, the admiration of ſouls.

This is ſhe, who is ſingularly priviledged fr m heaven with beauties of body, but incomparably heightned vvith gifts of the mind. Such is her learning, that ſhe tranſcends men in their beſt faculties.

She, —this bright morning Star, alwayes bears in the rays thereof, joy, comfort, &c.

She was able to enthrall a l hearts with ſo many ſupereminent excellencies, as heaven had conferred upon her.

She had a ſtrong and pleaſing ſpirit, a ſ lid piety, an a akened wiſdome, an incomparable grace to gain earts to her devotion. H.C.

Nature in her promiſeth nothing but goodneſs.

He could not ſufficiently admire the vivacity of her ſpirit, the ſolidity of her judgement, the equity f h r counſels, and the happineſs which ordinarily accompanied her reſolutions, H.C.

She gained hearts by ſweetneſs, therein imitating the Sun, which neither breakes Dores nor Windows to enter into houſes; but penetrates very peaceably with the benignity of his favourable b ams.

The eye and tongue of this creature mutually divided his heart, at one and the ſame inſtant love ſurprized him by the eyes and ears.

Endowed vvith an admirable grace and ſingular beauty, to ſerve even as an Adamant to captivate hearts.

Fair as the Firmament, vvhich vve ſee enamelled with ſo many ſtarres, that reſplendently ſhine, as Torches lightned before the Altars of the Omnipotent.

he vvho vvas the Adamant of all loves.

— A Lady, vvhoſe eyes vvil make a Souldier melt, if e were compos'd of marble, vvhoſe very ſmile hath a magnetick force to draw up ſouls, vvhoſe voy e vvill charm a Satyr, and turn a mans prayer into ambition, make a Hermite run to Hell, &c. Gr. Serv.

— Whoſe exquiſite beauty was ſo beautified vvith rareſt vertues, that men honored Nature as a God in her perfections, and held her more then a Woman in her veru s. Par. & Vienna.

—She vvhoſe beauty vvas far fairer then the evening Star, and vvhoſe vertue vvas more powerful 〈…〉 greateſt C nſtellati n.

The renown of her att active vertues, and the vertue of h r moving per ections ha h ſo captivated my freeſt thoughts, that, vvondring at her ſame, I am wounded with fancy, and my deſire is —

I would vvillingly here draw to the life the Portraiture of this Lady, if my black Ink vvere not too unfit a colour to ſet forth a celeſtiall beauty.

You have far more perfections then years, and more inward excellence then extern beauty, yet ſo beautifull, as few ſo fair, though none more vertuous.

She had a mind of excellent compoſition, a piercing wit voyd of oſtentation, high erected thoughts, ſeated in a heart of courteſie, an eloquence as ſweet in the uttering, as ſlow to co e to the uttering, a behaviour ſo noble, as gave a Majeſty to adverſity. Arcadia.

—Shee's a Virgin happy in all endowments vvhich a Poet could fancy in his Miſtreſs, being her ſelfe a School of goodneſs, vvhere chaſte maids may learn (without the aids of foraign principles) by the example of her life and pureneſs, to be (as ſhe is) excellent. I but give you a bri f Epitome of her vertues, vvhich dilated on at large, and to their merit, vvould make an ample ſtory.

Were all her other graces worn in clouds, That eye, that very eye would charm a Lucrece.

Her name (like ſome celeſtiall fire) quickens my ſpirits.

I never knew vertue and beauty meet in a ſweeter nature.

Thou art a virgin ſweet, ſo pretious in thy frame, that with the cordage of thy hair, thou mightſt have fettered Kings. Thy voyce has mar'd the beauties of the night; when thou did t ſing, the quiet ſtars would wink and fall aſſee.

I could gaze on her, till my wonder did convert me into marble, and yet my ſ ul would in her ſelf retain a fire, lively, as that which bold Prometheus ſtole.

Madam! you are ſo large a Theam to treat of, and every grace about you off rs to me ſuch Copie of language, that I ſtand doubtfull which firſt to touch at; if I erre (as in my choyce I may) let me intreat you, before I offend, to ſign my pa d n.

Wh ther we conſider her face or beauty, pleaſi gneſs (that charms hearts) and ſweet majeſty have ſpent all their riches upon her. Ariana.

She breathes forth nothing but the ſweets of love

The eyes are the wonders of the face, and dark figures f Divinity; we may call them too the Dials f love, which faſtned on the wall of a countenance, ſhew with the ſtile of their looks, the minutes of hours, either happy or unhappy to Lovers.

Fame, which is accuſtomed to increaſe the deſert of every thing it would commend, hath been conſtrained to diminiſh yours, being impoſſible to be publiſhed according to the greatneſs of it.

It is a mark of great vertue not to be able to endure to be commended.

She was crown'd with a garland of odoriferous flowers, and her delicate hair in treſſes, falling upon a neck of ſnow, did ſet forth the beauties of this divine face, whoſe ſplendor dazled mens eyes ſo, that there was not any one that could ſupport unwound d the ſight of ſo many wonders.

Leſſer lights borrow beams of radiance from your great r Orb, which doth illumine and heat our N rt ern cly e with celeſtiall ardors. Ho. Court.

Madam, if the duty (which commands me to ſerve all Ladies) did not ordain me this obedience, your birth and ſo many air qualities I ſee in you, oblige me to it. Ariana.

—My eye of contemplation was fixed on this bright Sun, as long as it was able to endure the radiant beams of it, wh ſe redundant light ve les the looker on with a dark miſt. Sir K.D.

I eſteem, reverence and adore you in the moſt ſecret and recluſe withdrawings of my heart.

— Her face did ſhine with ſo great evidence, as it defied the noon-tide Sun in its greateſt brightneſſe.

Albeit Medea were wicked, yet Penelope was peerleſs; If Clytemneſtra were naught, yet Alceſtes was paſſing good: If Phaedra were damnable, yet there was another laudable. Camd. Rem.

—She had the ſpirit of a man in a feminine body.

She's a burning mirror, in which all the beams of beauty are united.

She is the Star, by whom my Fate is led.

—Modeſt ſhe was, and ſo lovely, that whoſoever look'd but ſtedfaſtly upon her, could not but-ſoul himſelf in her. Feltham.

Her eyes, ſwift, as the ſhoots of lightning, nimbler then thought, and bright as the poliſht Diamond.

—She is of ſo ſpecious a glory, that though ſhe need not the applauſe of any, to add to her happineſs, yet ſhe attracts the hearts of all that know her, to love, ſervice, admiration.

To apparell any more in theſe paper veſtments, I ſhould multiply impertinents, and perhaps diſpleaſe. For I have ever found face commendation to dye wiſdoms cheeks of a bluſh-colour.

—All lips are opened with ſingular prerogatives in honour of this Lady, and are all dried up in the abundance of her praiſes.

In her perſon alone, a plenitude of all perfections does inhabit. H.C.

In her, all the moſt delicious attractives of beauty, and the moſt conſpicuous characters of power, are aſſembled together.

This Aglae was a Roman Dame of prime quality, having a delicate wit in a beautifull body, and powerfull paſſions in a great fortune. She had been married, but becoming a widow in an age, as yet furniſhed with verdant freſhneſs, grace and beauty, ſhe had not buried all her affections in the Tomb of her husband.

After ſhe had a little wiped away the firſt tears, which nature exacts as tribute in ſuch like accidents, ſhe quickly plaid ſo much the Courtier in her ſlight ſorrow, that ſhe ſeemed greatly to deſire, as ſoon as might be, to finiſh what ſhe had never well begun. Holy Court.

But by ſucceſſe of time ſhe felt her paſſion ſo much enkindled towards him, that ſhe neither thought, ſpake, nor liv'd, but for him.

The fair Aretaphila inflames all hearts with the muſick of her voyce; myriads of joys are in her looks, her eyes are natures richeſt Diamonds, ſet in foils of poliſht Ebony, her breath expires Odors more ſweet then iſſued from the trees of Balm in Paradiſe, Argal. & Parth.

—She— upon whoſe meaneſt thought the Art of memory's grounded, and inſpires each Organ of our meditating ſenſe with their perfections merit. Ibid.

She, in whom the ſum and abridge of all ſorts of excellencies are met, like paralels in their proper center. Herb. Travails.

— Whoſe liſtning ears were well pleaſed with the ſweet harmony of her well-tun'd words, and whoſe liking eyes were raviſh'd with the ſight of her perfections.

—She—the ornament of the earth, the modell of heaven, the triumph of Nature, the life of beauty, the Queen of love.

Her action was beautified by nature, and apparell'd with skill; her geſture gave ſuch a way unto her ſpeech, through the rugged wilderneſs of his imaginations, that—

Her voice repreſented the heavenly ſeven-ſphear'd harmony.

Such an extraordinary Majeſty ſhines in all her actions, as ſurely either Fortune by parentage, or Nature in creation hath made her —

Pilgrimes, who come from the remoteſt confines of the world, cannot ſee any thing in all the affluent wealth thereof, comparable to her. Inſomuch that I wiſh all the members of my body were changed into tongue, and that I were nought but voyce, to be throughout the whole Univerſe, the trumpet of her praiſes. H.C.

Her gracious ſoul hath more Antidote in it, then all the world hath poyſon, which will therfore in her affliction make her like the Sun, which ſhewes his greateſt countenance in his loweſt declenſion, and bring her out of it, lik gold out of the fire, refined, not conſumed. Loſt. Sh.

My prayer ſhall be, That your Fortune may ſurmount your greatneſs, and your vertue your fortune; that your greatneſſe may be above envy, your goodneſſe above detraction: that your illuſtrious example may darken the ages paſt, and lighten them to come; that you may live beloved, and die lamented, lamented by earth, but joy'd by heaven, &c.

She ſuffer'd no mutiny of paſſions againſt reaſon, nor of reaſon againſt God.

She reſolved to work with perſpective Glaſſes, of d fferent, yea and even c ntrary kindes; for when ſhe deſcribed her own v rtues, ſhe ſerved he ſelf of a Diminiſhing Glaſſe, which made them ſeem ſo little, as to be no more th n a kind of nothing, But on the other ſide, when ſhe gave account of her imperfections, ſhe would by no means know them, by any other name then of Vices and Sins, becauſe ſhe took a Multiplying glaſſe to her ſelf, leſt elſe thoſe Mole-hils ſhould not ſeem mountains. Sir Tob. Mat. in his preface to S. Tereſa's life.

You muſt give me leave to adjourn you (for more ample ſatisfaction of this expectation) to thoſe drops, which I may perhaps both be able and willing to derive and draw out of the Sea of her perfections, &c. Ib.

I ſhall onely ſay in very few words (by way (as it were) of antepaſt, till the Feaſt come in) that ſhe had a heart as open as day, in the exerciſe of bounty; But above all things, ſhe was ſo perfect a lover of Truth, that ſhe would no more have even ſo much as but diſguiſed it, and much leſſe varied from it in the leaſt kind, then ſhe would have ſold her ſelf for a ſlave, &c. Ib.

Ile aſſure you this Elogium has no more in it, of the Panegyrick, then of the juſt praiſe; I am rather her debtor then her creditor herein.

She puts that in execution, which turns nature into admiration.

— She, whoſe two eyes were the Suns that rul'd my day, and to whom onely her abſence did make night; ſhe whoſe mild vertue and beauteous looks, were a ſoft, viſible muſick, which entranc'd the lookers n, and ſtruck harmonious raptures into every chaft ſoul, and inſtilled pure fires into every unchaſt, &c. Amor. War.

A pretty ſmile made a kind of day-break in her face.

She is wholly made of charm.

—She is the ſtar that rules my faculties.

Women diſcommended.

LOoſe Women are whoups, proud birds, which have nothing but creſt, and naturally delight in ordure; they are Bats which cannot endure one little ray of light, but ſeek to hide themſelves under the mantle of night; they are Horſeleeches, which draw blood from the veins of a Houſe and State, where they exerciſe their power. They are Syrens of the earth, which cauſe ſhipwracks without water. They are Lamiae, who have Hoſteries of cut-throats, that kill men under pretext of good uſage. They are Harpies, who ſurprize even from Altars, and in the end become envenomed Dipſades, which enforce an enraged thirſt upon thoſe, whom they have once bitten. Ho. Court.

A woman without devotion is like a Bee without a ſting, which will make neither honey nor wax; is a caſe covered with pretious ſtones, to preſerve a dunghill.

The tongues of women are like the bells of the Forreſt Dodona, which make a prodigious jangling

O God! What a dangerous beaſt is the ſpirit of a woman! It is able to create as many monſters in eſſence, as fantaſie can form in painting.

No Owle will live in Creet: In Rhodes no Eagle will build her neſt no wit ſpring in the will of women.

It is an infinite ſimplicity to commit ſecrets to a woman, whoſe heart is as fit to keep what it out to conceal, as a Sieve to hold water.

—As well may I collect the ſcattered wind into a bag, or from the watery ſurface ſcrape the guilt reflections of the Sun, as bring her heart within the quiet liſt of wives that will obey and love.

Inceſtuous ſtrumpet! more wanton then Lamia, more laſcivious then Lais, and more ſhameleſs th n Paſophane; whoſe life as it hath been ſhadowed with painted holineſs, ſo hath it been full of peſtilent villanies.

Her Carcaſſe (a better name I can hardly afford her outſide) was the inſide of a Sepulcher, her head was unth cht as an old Parſonage, her eyes (like lights at the laſt ſnuff, when the extinguiſher is ready to make their Epitaphs) ſunk low into their Candleſticks; her ears, now deaf, now happy, (ſuch was her tongue) they have loſt their ſenſe, her noſe worm'd like a piece of Homer of the firſt bind, offended with her breath, bowed to her chin to dam it up; her cheeks hol'd, as the earth in Dogdays drowth; her lips fit to be kiſt by none but themſelves; her teeth rotten as her ſoul, hollow as her heart, looſe as the ſhingles of an old ſilenc'd ſteeple, ſcragged as a diſparked pale, ſtood at that diſtance one could not bite another; her tongue, ſo weakly guarded, ſcolds like the Alarm of a clock; her chin was down'd with a China beard of twenty hairs, her breaſt lank as a quickſand, waſted as an hourglaſſe at the eleventh uſe; one arm, one leg, one foot ſhe doff'd with day, and, as a reſurrection, don'd with the morrow; her bones (pithleſs as a ſtallion for ſeven poſterities) the ſlighteſt fears might now make rattle in her skin; her body (waſted to no waiſt, blaſted with luſt, as an Oke with lightning) was as familiar with diſeaſes as a Phyſitian: To conclude, ſhe is odious beyond all compariſon: one ſight of her would make the heat of youth recoyl into an infant continence. Heroinae.

The look of a laſcivious woman is like that of a Baſili k, which kils Chaſtity by beholding it.

Diogenes ſnarled bitterly, when (walking with another) he ſpyed two women talking, and ſaid, See, the Viper and the Aſp are changing poyſon. Feltham.

No Weather-cock under heaven is ſo variable as an inconſtant woman: Every breath of wind forces her to a various ſhape: As if her mind were ſo neer a kin to air, as it muſt with every motion, be in a perpetuall change. Idem.

Women are feathers blown in the bluſter of their own looſe paſſions, and are meerly the dalliance of the flying winds.

There are that account women onely as Seedplots for poſterity: others worſe, as only quench for their fires.

Our daily experience teacheth us, that there are women very crafty, and ſuch as under a pure and delicate skin, with a tongue diſtilling hony, often hide the heart of a Panther, all ſpotted over with ſubtilty, as the skin of this beaſt with diverſity of colours. H. Court.

—Women are more inconſtant then light Whirlwinds; truſt the Sea with feathers, or March winds with duſt rather, and let their words, oaths, tears, vows paſſe as words in water writ or ſlippery glaſſe. Arg. & Parth.

No Hell ſo low which luſt and women cannot lead unto.

Her tongue is like the ſting of a Scorpion.

A Woman is the unneceſſary Parentheſis of Nature.

VVorld.

THis word (World) called in Greek 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 ſignifi s as much as ornament, or a well diſpoſ d order of things.

The exterior luſter of the world, is but a cloud in painting, a petty vapour of water, a Fable of Time, a Diall, &c.

He that wil now-a-days live in the world, muſt have a veil over his eyes, a key on his eare, a compaſs on his lips.

This world is a chain, which ſetters men to the ivel ; but rep ntance is the hand which lifts 〈◊〉 up to God.

He that is enamored of the world, is like one hat enters into the ſea; for if he eſcape perils, men wi l ſay he is fortunate, but if he periſh, they will ſay he is wilfully deceived.

If it be needfull to ſhew your ſelf to the world, 〈◊〉 then known by your vertues, which are Characters of the Divinity. Let men know you by your good examples, which are the ſeeds of eternity, and of all fair actions. Sir B B.

I have ever thought the proſperity of the world was a current of reſh water, which looks not back on any thing, but haſtens to pour it ſelf into the ſalt ſea. H.C.

The world's a Theater of theft, great rivers rob the ſmaller brooks, and them the Ocean.

Youth.

I Have throughly ſifted the diſpoſition of youth, wherein I have found more bran then meale, more dough then leven, more rage then reaſon. Eup.

Wine, Love, Play, Raſhneſs were the Chariot which drew his youth to downfall.

—Conſtrained to obey the tranſport of youthfull fancies.

Let me call to mind all the violent pleaſures of my heady youth: let me ſum up their extent, according to thoſe deceitfull meaſures I then rated happineſs by: let me in my fancy chew over again the exceſſive good I then fondly imagined in them: And to all this let me add as much more joy and felicity, as, in my weak thoughts I am able to fadom, or but aim at; and then let me ſay, (and with rigorous truth I ſhall ſay it) all this exceſs of bliſs will be reſumed, will be enjoyed to the full in one indiviſible moment, of that bliſs, which a well paſſed life in this world, ſhall bring me to in the next. Sir K.D. in his Treatiſe of Bodies.

— So as vvhoſoever he be, to vvhom Fortune hath been a ſervant, and the time a friend, let him but take the account of his memory (for wee have no other keeper of our pleaſures paſt) and truly examine vvhat it hath reſerved either of beauty or youth, or fore gone delights; vvhat it hath ſaved, that it might laſt, of his deareſt affection, or of vvhat-ever elſe the amorous ſpring-time gave his thoughts of contentment, then unvaluable; and he ſhall find that all the Art, which his elder years have, can draw no other vapours out of theſe diſſolutions, then heavy, ſecret, and ſad ſighs.

He ſhal find nothing remaining but thoſe ſorrows vvhich grow up after our faſt-ſpringing youth, overtake it, vvhen it is at a ſtand, and overtop it utterly, vvhen it begins to wither, &c. S. Walt. Rawl. in Preface.

The harveſt of his ſins yeelded him now more increaſe of vvoes, then the luſts of his youth afforded him pleaſures.

Formulae Minores, OR, LITTLE FORMS For Style or Speech.

—HE, having waded thus far into the depth of his awaked intentions, thought good to ſound the Foord at full, by—

He took opportunity by the fore-part, and (impriſoning his worthy reſolution within the Cloſet of his ſecret thought ) did—

He ſummon'd his wits together, and ſet them all on the Rack of Invention.

Violent ſtreams being once run out, the mud will appear in the bottom

— Doubt (the Herſe of my deſires)—

To Seal the Deed of my purchaſed favour, is the Gordian knot I moſt wiſh to unlooſe.

—Who (during theſe tempeſtuous ſtorms) lay at anchor in his own priv t harbour.

To weave the web of his own wo, and ſpin the thread of his own thraldom.

I vviſh he vvould repaire hither, that the ſight of him might mitigate ſome part of my martyrdom.

Aſſure your ſelf I'le be your finger next your thumb.

He erected Trophies of his own diſhonor, and covered his ulcer with a golden veil.

— Like Elia's Chariot, all flaming with glory.

O that the Odors of my Sacrifices might aſcend even to thy Altars!

Your mind's a ſhop, where all good reſolutions are forg'd.

Our underſtanding is the ſteel and our will the flint-ſtone: as ſoon as they touch one another, we ſee the ſparks of holy affection flye out.

— It bloometh in the eyes, that it may at leaſure bloſſom in the heart

That I may ſee ſome ſparkles of hope glimmer in my affairs.

To gnaw the bridle of your impatience.

He felt fiery arrow flye from her eyes, ſo ſharp, that they transfixed his heart with compaſſion.

Love, anger, jealouſie, ſuſpition, drew him with four horſes.

—As innocently ſpoken, as treacherouſly interpreted.

They murmured as do the waves of a mutinous Sea.

Exerciſe the vivacity of your wit.

In a vaſt Ocean of affairs, he hath liv'd as fiſhes, who keep ſilence within the loud noyſe of waves, and preſerve their plump ſubſtance freſh in the brackiſh waters.

He ſheltred himſelf with ſubtilties, as a Hedge hog with his quils.

To behold, (as in the glaſſe of a bright mirror) on the one ſide — on the other —

As ſoon as break of day drew the Curtain of Heaven —

Virginity is as redolent Balm, which aſcends to Heaven in a perpetuall ſacrifice.

Religion is the hive where the hony of good Doctrine is made.

He put them in the furnace of tribulation to purifie them.

O what may not depraved love do, ſince ſincere amity cannot avoid ſuſpition?

— Comforted with the ſweet rays of this bright day-break.

— Which hath been ſufficiently declared by the ſequell of his deportments.

She had not ſo much hony, but withall a ſting.

—He ſo breath'd the air of ambition, that —

To as little purpoſe as to caſt chains into the Sea, to tie the Ocean in fetters.

It was but duſt he bare in his hands, blown away by the wind of preſumpti n.

She ſent it as an earneſt of her comma d.

—He returned amply laden with victorious palms.

— He went daily hunting after change, in the infinity of forbidden loves.

I ſhal offer my homage at your Altar.

Ponds that are ſeldom ſcoured, will eaſily gather mud; So —

Your heart is the Altar of love, and ſeat of friendſhip.

Upon my Virgin heart I'le build a flaming Altar to offer up a thankfull ſacrifice for his return.

My heart ſhall know no other love but his.

Let Venus ſpeed his plow.

He received it at her hands with more content then Paphos Queen did the golden fruit.

Let patience conduct thee out of this ſtormy ſea into a more quiet Port.

How canſt thou be a ſtranger to my purpoſes, that art the Treaſurer of my ſecrets?

That I may diſperſe thoſe terrifying clouds, that threa en ſhipwrack to my deſires.

To eaſt his eyes, and to paradiſe his heart with the beloved ſight of his all-admired and affected miſtreſs.

His muddy-clouded affection eclipſed the Sunſhine of her far more glorious worth.

Caſting his eye (the Meſſenger of his heart) upon —

Seeſt not thou theſe Trophies erected in his honor, and his honour ſhining in theſe Trophies?

In vain it is to water the plant, the root being periſhed: or to —

I here vow repay to the debt of my error, with the intereſt of all my endeavours.

—I will not adventure my fortune upon the rock of this hazard.

My buſineſs (Lady) is your vvill; my ſuit, your ſervice; your ſervice, my chief deſire; and my deſire, your favourable contenance.

Your ſuit ſhall n t be nonſuit.

They knit two hearts in one, and parted one will in two, and ſo departed.

During theſe Halcion dayes, —

e ailed in a ſhip with ut a ſtern.

Happy in my ſelf, becauſe happy in you.

— Sailing with as many contrary thoughts, as E lus ſent out winds upon the Trojan Fl et.

He ſaw the cloud a farre off, before the ſtorm fell.

She (great with child with the expectation of her friends welfare) longed to be delivered with the notice of his health.

I cannot uſe many words, where every vvord wounds me with a new carefull conceit, and every conceit kils me with a fearfull doubt.

He ſet up the main ſail of his obſcured glory, in the wind of her mill.

Who (ſmoothing the angry furrows of his diſcontment) ſeemed —

She gave fire to his fancy.

What ominous cloud ſhadows the brightneſſe of this ſecond Sun, that ſhe appears not in her all-admired glory.

— His waſted words died in their own ſound, and all his hopes were utterly ſhipwrack'd.

— She gave fuell to his enraged will, and blew the coals of his diſpleaſure.

Her reſtraint is (I fear) like fire raked up in embers, that covertly will kindle, and openly burſt forth into a flame.

— He (whoſe ſenſes held now a Synod) vvas driven to ſuch an exigent, that (not knowing how to avoid the Check without a Mate) vvas perforce forced to —

My Fortunes admit of no ſuch Soveraignty.

Who, ſwelling vvith irefull diſdain (like the diſturbed Ocean) breathed out dire ull rerenge.

— He craved pardon till the infancy of his weak merit were grown ſtronger in better deſerts.

That I vvrite to thee, may be thy glory, and that I love thee, let it be thy happineſs.

If thou wilt live like the King of Bees, ſeek h ny at my hive.

— Drowning the late flowing ſtreams of his gotten glory in the full Sea of his preterhand haps.

His unwiſhed preſence gave my tale a concluſion, before it had a beginning.

I vvould her injury could blot out mine affection, or mine affection could forget her injury.

Reverence and deſire did ſo divide him, that he did at one inſtant both bluſh and quake.

— Unſealing his long ſilent lips —

Happy in wanting little, becauſe not deſirous of much.

His countenance vvith ſilent eloquence, deſired it modeſtly.

Beyond the degree of ridiculous.

— But I fear I have given your ears too great a ſur et vvith the groſſe diſcourſe of that —

Reſtraint of liberty cauſeth more increaſe of that evill, for vvhich they are ſo kept under, then otherwiſe: See vvhether a Dog grow not fiercer with tying.

There is nothing ſo certain as our continuall incertainty.

While there is hope left, let not the weakneſs of ſorrow, make the ſtrength of it languiſh.

More determinate to doe, then ſkilfull how-todoe.

Under the leave of your better judgement, I muſt ſay thus much—

About the time that Candles begin to inherit the Suns office.—

So times he thought one thing, ſometimes another; but the more he thought the more he knew not vvhat to think, armies of objections riſing againſt any accepted opinion.

— Actions worthy to be regiſtred in the Rolls of Fame.

Occaſions try'd him, and all occaſions were but ſteps for him to climb fame by.

—To looſe the reins to his own motions.

—My ſelfe am vvitneſſe againſt my ſelfe of my own imperfections, and therefore will not defend them in me.

To a heart fully reſolute, counſell is tedious, but reprehenſion is loathſom.

— And thus have you heard my Comedy, acted by my ſelf.

To you will I repair, becauſe as my fortune either ebbs or flows, amends or impairs, I may declare it unto you.

—Time at one inſtant ſeeming both ſhort and long, ſhort in the pleaſingneſs in calling to mind, long in the ſtay of his deſires.

He talked with ſuch vehemency of paſſion, as though his heart would climb up into his mouth to take his tongues office.

Upon what Briers the Fruits he laboured for, grew.

Idleneſs is an Ant-heap of ſins.

But alas, how can ſpeech produce belief in him, whom ſight cannot perſwade?

I refuſe not to make my life a ſacrifice to your wrath.

Exerciſe your indignation upon me.

If your occaſions can make uſe of my beſt endeavours, the employment ſhall be a favour.

The haſt of the bearer, admits no further liberty to proceed.

Your deſire is with me an abſolute command.

Thus far re hath your command and my duty led me.

There is no man can better witneſs it then my ſelf, whoſe experience is grounded upon triall.

I have left nothing unſaid, which enquiry could make me know, or your command required of my duty.

Give me leave to digreſs a little.

I offer my weak and imperfect lines at the Altar of your favour.

— Rapt with the wonder of your vertues.

— Under the ſhadow of your favour.

Silent admiration was the ſole Orator of my affection.

How much thoſe lines (ſweetned with your Character) have tranſported me, my endeareſt thoughts cannot impart unto you.

Be it your goodneſs to beleeve me, I will ſooner ceaſe to live, then —

—Him, who will hold himſelfe unworthy of that life, vvhich ſhall not be employed to ſerve you.

Your zeal to goodneſs aſſures me.

No line can limit my love; no diſtance divide my heart.

—ſhe appeared an Adamant to my fancy.

As thoſe eaſie errors (which too deſervingly bred your diſtaſte) may be redeemed by a fuller ſurpluſage of content.

Be it your piety to have mercy.

Thou bringeſt hearbs to Jarak. i. Coals to Newcaſtle.

Lines cannot bluſh; ſo as modeſty admits a freedom to my pen, which would be taxed immodeſty being delivered by the tongue.

She made me (though moſt unworthy) the maſter of her deſires, that vvas, and ſtill am, a ſervant to her will.

—He (vvhoſe ſmalleſt ſails of hope, the leaſt winds did blow.) —

After he had ſtretcht and tentred his wit, and ſet all poſſibilities on the rack of his invention.

And longer may not I enjoy what I now poſſeſs, then you ſhal find my promiſes full laden with rich performances.

And as I only breath by your favour, and live through your love; ſo will I ever owe you ſealty for the one, and ſtill do you homage for the other.

He read her diſcontentment in the deep Characters of her face.

The angry Ocean ſwelled not, as he ſeemed to ſtorm.

The Imperious Miſtres of my enthralled heart.

To impriſon in ſilence.

How great ſoever my buſineſſe be, it ſhall wilingly yeeld to ſo noble a cauſe.

At that time (when he thought the ſhip of his good fortune ſailed vvith a proſperous wind towards the deſired Port) a contrary chance raiſed up in this calm Sea, ſuch a tempeſtuous ſtorm, that he feared a thouſand times to ſee it ſunk.

— She vvho till then ſeemed to be a miracle of beauty, did now appear to be a monſter of uglineſſe.

If you will raiſe me to that height of happineſſe.

They gave him the Parabien of his ſafe arrivall.

Vouchſafe me your pardon for preſuming, and your patience in accepting at my hands this — —This partly (if the great arrerage of duty and thankfulneſs which I ow you, do not challenge priority) hath moved me to preſent —

I dare not give ſail into the Ocean of your vaſt ſoul, vvhich is capable of all things from the higheſt to the loweſt in perfection.

Like a man whoſe heart diſdained all deſires but one

Which authority (too great a ſail for ſo ſmall a Boat) did—

He made his eyes quick Meſſengers to his mind.

Betwixt her breaſts (vvhich ſweetly roſe up like two fair mountainers in the pleaſant vale of Tempe) ere hung—

At vvhich the Clouds of my thoughts quite vaniſhed.

Bluſhing like a fair morning in May.

Do you not ſee that this is a ſallet of wormwood, vvhile mine eyes feed upon the Ambroſia of your beauty?

Here I make a full point of a hearty ſigh.

This promiſe bound him Prentice.

He thought ſo much of, — that all other matters were but digreſſions unto him.

(Not ſpoken by Ceremony, but by truth)—

I am too unfit a veſſel, in whom ſo high thoughts ſhould be engraven.

Thus was the riches of the time ſpent.

Deſpair is the bellows of my affection.

— As if his motions vvere chain'd to her look.

— Whoſe name vvas ſweetned by your breath.

Moſt bleſſed paper, vvhich ſhall kiſſe that hand, vvhereto all bleſſedneſſe is in nature a ſervant, do not—

(Beautifying her face vvith a ſweet smile.)

—Humbly beſought her to keep her ſpeech for a vvhile vvithin the paradice of her mind.

If in my deſire I wiſh, or in my hopes aſpire, or in my imagination feign to my ſelf any thing—

—With all the conjuring vvords vvhi h deſire could endite, and authority utter.

(A new ſwarm of thoughts ſtinging her mind)—

Vouchſafe (onely height of my hope) to —

I deſire that my deſire may be weighed in the ballances of Honor, and let Vertue hold them.

—More or leſſe according as the Ague of her paſſion, vvas either in the fit or intermiſſion.

His ſports vvere ſuch as carried riches of knowledge upon the ſtream of delight.

Then ſhe began to diſplay the ſtorehouſe of her deſires.

— Perceiving the flood of her fury began to ebb, he thought it policy to take the firſt of the tide,—

—(Making vehement countenances the Uſhers of his ſpeech) began —

Hide my fault in your mercy.

I'le centinell your ſafety.

Your words to me are Acts, your promiſes are Deeds.

You wrap me up with wonder.

Can your belief lay hold on ſuch a miracle?

Her mind (being an apt matter to receive what form his amplifying ſpeeches would lay upon it) danced ſo pretty a meaſure to his falſe muſick, that—

—Clouded with paſſion—

Never did pen more quakingly perform his Office, never was paper more doubly moiſtned with ink and tears, never words m re ſlowly married together —

Fearing how to end, before he had re ol ed how to begin. —

— Having the cold aſhes of care caſt upon the coals of his deſire.

—Houſe. The ſeat Nature beſtowed, but Art gave the building.

It was hard to ſay, whether pitie of the one, or r venge againſt the other, held as then the ſoveraignty in his paſſions.

—'Twas a Magnes ſtone to his courage.

His arm no oftner gave blows, then the blows gave wounds, then the wounds gave death.

—Her hand (one of the chiefeſt of Cupids firebrands)—

By the fooliſh Idolatry of affection. —

(When the morning had won the field of darkneſs)

I'le ſooner truſt a Sinon.

'Tis now about the noon of night.

(Too mean a Shrine for ſuch a Relique.) —

— Carried by the tide of his imaginations —

But when her breath broke the priſon of her fair lips, and brought memory (with his ſervant ſenſes) to his naturall office, then—

I pray God make my memory able to contain the treaſure of this wiſe ſpeech —

Her arms and her tongue (Rivals in kindneſs) embracing —

Whilſt the Roſes of his lips made a Flower of affection with the Lilies of her hands.

Your will (directreſs of my deſtiny) is to me a Law, yea an Oracle.

She incorporated her hand with his.

Then (as after a great tempeſt) the sky of her countenance cleared.

As in a clear mirror of ſincere good will, he ſaw a liv ly picture of his own gladneſs.

— In my mind; as yet a Prentice in the painfull myſtery of paſſions, brought me into a n w traverſe of my thoughts.

I have not language enough to fadom the d pth of your vertues

I'le reare a Pyramis to your memory.

My want of power to ſatisfie ſo great a debt, makes me accuſe my fortunes.

Such endearments wil too much impoveriſh my gratitude.

How can I commit a ſacriledge againſt the ſweet Saint that lives in my inmoſt Temple?

I am too weake a band to tye ſo heavenly a knot.

The greatneſſe of the benefit goes beyond all meaſure of thanks.

While ſhe ſpake, the quinteſcence of each word diſtilled down into his affected ſoul.

Departing, he bequeathed by a will of words, ſealed with many kiſſes, a full gift of all his love and life to—

Having with a pretty paleneſſe (which left milky lines upon her Roſie cheeks) paid a little duty to humane fear.—

—You, whom I have cauſe to hate, before I have means to know.

I will not die in debt to mine own duty.

—She, in whom nature hath accompliſh'd ſo much, that—

Imagine, vouchſafe to imagine—

His fault found an eaſie pardon at the Tribunall he appealed to.—

O my Dear, —! ſaid ſhe, and then kiſt him, as loath to leave ſo perfect a ſentence without a Comma.

— Dearly purchaſing the little eaſe of my body with the afflictions of my mind.

I am not Oedipus enough to underſtand you.

All things lye levell to your wiſhes.

They began to imp the wings of time, with the Feathers of ſeverall recreations.

— When my wiſhes be at anchor in ſo ſecure a haven.

You are the Life and Being of what I onely eſteem happy.

(For the Heavens had made this the Rendezvouz where his misfortunes ſhould meet)

—It is a fit ſoyl for praiſe to dwel upon.

Thus great with child to ſpeak—

You (the ſecretary of all my thoughts)

— Which (as the Pole-ſtar) is ever in motion, but never ſetteth.

— This is no Benefice, but a Malefice, a golden ſnare, a Carcanet of Medaea, a Trojan Horſe, which will produce Arms —

He went like a Torrent, whither paſſion tranſported him, and where the blaſt, of Ambition breathed.

—More fruitfull in ſtrong imaginations, then Religious in choyce of words, and poliſhed in periods.

Your words are full of cunning, your cunning of promiſes, your promiſes of wind.

He is a Phaeton of pride.

I'le boſome what I think.

She was the object of his thoughts, the entertainment of his diſcourſe, the contentment of his heart.

My happineſs being in the wane, or my misfortune growing towards the full.

From a Window he ſent his ſoule unto me by his eyes—

I remain impoſſibilited to do otherwiſe then —

That ſo I may be raiſed from the ground of my miſery to the heaven of my deſire.

— Eſteeming more this inſtant of glory which I enjoy in ſeeing you, then any other happineſſe ſaving that which is eternall.

To deny me this favour, and give me my death, is one and the ſame thing,

To wander in the America and untravelled parts of truth.

He led our expectation into thoughts of great relief.

Whetting his tender wit upon the ſandy ſtone of her edging importunity —

Let purpoſe be made ſervant to more apt opportunity.

— Him, with whom compar'd, I am leſs then a ſhadow.

— If I ſhould expatiate upon this ſubject, I could not be held a flatterer, but rather a Suffragan to Truth,

The onely Quint-eſſence, that hitherto the Alchymie of wit could draw out of —

— But then, as though he had been ſuddenly raviſh'd with divine afflation, and ſtruck into a tranſport, he ſwears —

We utterly conde n and renounce (as Atalanta's Apple, which retards the Race) that unſeaſonable and childiſh humor of accelerating early pledges of new works. Bacon.

—Rendred in an equal felicity of expreſſion, to—

It comes in, but Ex obliquo

— He died (Sicca morte) his own naturall death.

— Forcibly carried away (I know not by what Fate, againſt the bent of my own Genius) to—

Fortune hath ſomewhat of the nature of a woman, that if ſhe be too much wooed, ſhe is the further off.

You out-ſhot me in my own Bow.

Many ſtrange and abſurd imaginations cam into his mind, and peopled his brain.

Pardon my rude expreſſions, extorted from me by the nature of the matter.

— This is indeed a ſervice, whereunto I acknowledge my ſelf able to b ing more zeal and good affection, then any other abilities.

(Till theſe late years of frenzy) —

So we may both redime the fault paſſed, and with the ſame diligence provide againſt future inconveniencies.

That every one may underſtand, I ſeek not to balk any thing by ſilence, or to cloud any thing by words. Bacon.

Your bounty (like a new Spring) has reviv'd the Autumn of my years.

— It took me up little more time, then Nature uſes to beſtow in the production of a Muſhrome, a day and a night —

— When this ſucceeded not, I travelled in my mind over.

Thus like Noahs Dove, vvearying my ſelf with flying up and down, and finding no reſt for the ſole of my foot, I was at laſt forced to — Creſſy.

What a world of inavoidable inconveniencies did preſently throng into my underſtanding!

To bury a Fly in a Sepulcher of Amber.

My deſire to ſee, took away my ſight, as it fares with thoſe who are ſuddenly taken with a killing beauty, or gaze upon the Sun, Herb. Travels.

— I plead guilty to unworthineſs, and all the imperfections you can throw upon youth or haſt.

None can think ſo ill of me, as I do of my ſelf, the rather that your pardon may flow freely, and work a kind of miracle upon me, in raiſing my dead thoughts to life.

— Diſcovering my ſelf nakedly, to my very thoughts.

Be pleaſed therefore with your naturall benignity, to admit into your peaceful ſolitude this—; a bleſſing which the Author (alas!) dares not promiſe to himſelf, ſince by himſelf he is judged unworthy, and by others incapable of it. Creſſy.

I'le rather doubt an Oracle, then queſtion what you deliver.

I will lead you through no more extravagancies, leſt your intreated patience turn into exotick paſſion. Herb. Trav.

You have endeavoured to make A. the Foyle, that ſhould ſet off your brightneſs, and yet you prove but the cloud that darkens his light.

To ſail in the Aegean Sea. i. to be incumbred with difficulties.

He (being a man of an early, as well as an implacable malice) did —

A. was an Actor in that Tragedy, yet laid the blame on B. as the Cuckow lays her brood in other neſts.

I will at length put an end to this tedious (but that it is ſo neceſſary) a diſcourſe —

This (if paſſion and intereſt doe not interpoſe) will ſatisfie —

In the ſtrength of this wel-meaning, and holy kind of Error, which he incur'd (if any error may well deſerve ſo indulgent a name) he did —

— Driven too too haſtily on by the impulſe of a kind of inordinate humility. Sir. Tob. Mat. Preface.

This which I promiſe ſhall be performed (upon the price of being otherwiſe accounted an Infidell) —

Let me thrive as my intents are honeſt.

When I compared that kind of deſcant with my plain ſong, I found —

Such who have been caſt over-board from Grace, into the ſtorm and tempeſt of a ſinfull life, may yet, &c.

Intellectuals and morals, I count but as the ſimples of the ſoul.

—To ſuch (if any be) I heartily wiſh a procul it .

In theſe times (wherein the Tongue and Preſſe aſſume ſo luxurious a latitude)—

He came (as the Italian ſays) a buóna luna, in a good hour, or happy time.

A Cavallo a Cavallo. In poſt haſt.

Give me leave to fear (and I heartily wiſh, that it may be a cauſleſſe and miſtaken fear) that ſuch —

For diviſions (I ſpeak it with depth of ſadneſs) he need not —

—Taking this reſult of —as an opiate to allay the fumes of all our diſtempers. Montagu.

—Carried away with the Whirlwind of Ambition—

It did (after the manner of the Tartars bow) ſhoot back from whence it came. Bacon.

The amazed Sun hid his face behind a mask of clouds.

Be not too indulgent to your folly.

I cannot cloath my thoughts in better language.

The nights black mantle overſpreads the sky.

Your language is more dubious then an Oracle.

—Then, when the Morns fair cheek had not yet loſt her tears.

Words are airy ſhades, they are deeds that pleaſe.

Your heart is not confederate with your tongue.

Night clad in black, mourns for the loſs of day.

The face is the Index of the mind.

I am but coffin to my cares.

As not by my aſſent, ſo neither by my ſilence, muſt I have any hand in the Midwifery of ſo monſtrous productions.

I will out-toyl the day for your content.

I liftned for that ſtring, and you have touch'd it — (Affairs being drawn to the very dregs of malice) —

They are divided to ſo high a rivalry, as—

By exquiſite methods of cunning and cruelty, I muſt be compelled firſt to follow the Funerals of my honor, and then be deſtroyed. Icon. Baſil.

I am content ſo much of my heart ſhould be diſcovered to the world, without any of thoſe dreſſes or popular captations, which ſome men uſe in their Speeches and Expreſſes.

The higheſt tide of ſucceſſe ſet me not above a treaty, nor the loweſt ebb below a fight.

A little leven of new diſtaſt, doth commonly ſowre the whole lump of former merits. Bacon Hen. 7.

Theſe lines (the weak and feminine iſſue of my ſick and diſtempered age)—Bp. Londons Legacy.

But above all remember (and let this be ſtill rivited in your thoughts) the time—

A Chriſtian mans care ought to begin and end in the circle of himſelf. Tu tibi primus & ultimus.

Give me leave to unbreaſt the ſecrets of my thoughts to you.

He undertakes to correct Magnificat.

—The Fates of whoſe Houſe they ſeem with great affection to eſpouſe, and think with their bladders to buoy up his ſinking ſhip. Nahaſh redivivus.

With unbluſhing importunity.

Sooner ſhall the Seas ebbing and flowing forſake the Moons courſe, then —

But (the better to enliven our diſcourſe with examples)

My underſtanding's not ſo fraught with prejudice, nor acquainted with uncoth evaſions, as to —

—The trees are widowed of their leaves.

—That Ember-week-fa e of thine.

Paſſed over, like great King Xerxes in a Sculler Thou bringeſt ſtraw to Aphraim.

To doubt of—is an effeminacy of belief.

Ex abundanti amoris, out of the ſurpluſage of love.

— Sucking her ſweet breath, determined in himſ lf there had been no life to a Camelions, if he might be ſuffered to enjoy that food.

A little wealth ſhall ſuffice to put me in — ſafeguard againſt the accidents f a neceſſitous life. (Surfeting in the pride of his 〈◊〉 content)

If I ſatisfie you I ſatisfie my ſelfe, deſiring the one, becauſe I wiſh for the other.

The promiſe is great, but the performance ſhall be no leſſe.

His rudeneſs was interpreted plainneſſe, though there be great difference between them.

I will not leave a mark in my ſelfe of an unredeemable treſpaſs.

I with as much confidence as neceſſity, flye to you, who have always had your determinations bounded with equity.

The abortive iſſue of my wit. —

—That moves not within the Zodiack of my expectation.

It hath turn'd my cordials into corraſives.

—Seeing the glory of this ſun to obſcure the leſſer lamp of his reputation.

—Which alone was the center of her felicity.

—Sealed by your ſolemn proteſtation, which is the non ultra of aſſurance.

This is a ſyllogiſme of the fourth figure, abſurd and ridiculous.

Get thee to bed, the caſements of thine eyes are ſhut, impriſoning their dear light.

Heaven has made your memory too humble thus to record your creatures ſervice.

—Proteſting that the period of his obedience ſhould be the end of his life.

—Which the unſeaſonable ſins of theſe ſeaſons, make ſo ſeaſonable.

—Men, who leave the fountains of the living waters, and take themſelves to ciſterns of their own digging.

I have by diligent ſearch found ou Ariadne's thread, to winde you out of the perplexed mazes of a ſubtile Daedalus.

—Your eyes (though now perhaps dimmed with ignorance, or bloud-ſhorten with paſſion) ſhall plainly diſcern —

—He left the rude lump of his begun projects to be licked over with the induſtry of—

I have ſacred this offertory of my thoughts to you.

— Perſons, whom the conſcience of their guilt hurries on to deſpair.

If the happy Daemon of Ʋlyſſes direct not the wandring Planet of my wit within the decent orb of wiſdom (my ſtammering pen ſeeming farre overgone with ſuperfluity of phraſe) yet —

—As delightfull as the delays of parting Lovers. Gond.

Many months are now paſt, ſince my heart hath increaſed the number of your vaſſals. Strat.

I ſpeak this, but en paſſant.

To finiſh the Sacrifice of your intemperate cruelty.

—My pen hath been redundant, as to due meaſure, but very ſcanty as to the matter.

When corruption of manners had raviſh'd away the worlds virginity, and turn'd men from fervently devour in to a churliſh and penurious tepidity; then was it. —

Though your goodneſs rejects no emanation of a grea affection, yet —

— Which are the Paſſe-temps of your ſevereſt hours.

—I had rather your vertue ſhould bluſh, then my unthankfulneſs make me aſhamed. D. Taylor.

I ſtructions for writing and addreſsing LETTERS,

IN writing of Letters there may be four things regarded, the Invention; the Faſhion, or inditing (as we call it); the Hand-writing, and the Orthography; though the two firſt are moſt conſiderable.

Invention ariſeth from your buſineſs, whereof there can be no Rules of more c rtainty, or precepts of better direction given, then conjecture may lay down of the ſeverall occaſions of all mens particular lives and vocations. But ſometimes men make buſineſs of kindneſs; As, I could not ſatisfie my ſelf, till I had diſcharged my remembrance, and charged my Letters with commendations to you. My buſineſs is no other but to teſtifie my love to you, and to put you in mind of my willingneſs to do you any ſervice: Or, have you leaſure to deſcend to the remembrance of that aſſurance you have long had in me; and upon your next opportunity to make me happy with any imployment, you ſhall aſſign me, &c. or ſuch like words, which go a begging for ſome meaning, and labour to be delivered of the great Burden, Nothing.

When you have invented, if your buſineſs be matter, and not bare form, not meer ceremony, but of ſome concern, Then you are to proceed to the ordering it, and digeſting the parts, which is ſought out of two circumſtances: One is the underſtanding of the reaſons to whom you write; the other is the coherence of the matter; for mens capacity and delight, you are to weigh what will be apprehended firſt with greateſt attention and pleaſure, what next regarded & longed for eſpecially, and what laſt will leave moſt ſatisfaction, & as it were the ſweeteſt reliſh & memorial of all that is paſt in his underſtanding to whom you write.

For the conſequence of ſentences, you muſt ſee that every clauſe do as it were give the cue to the other and ſeem to be beſpoken ere it come, order & coherence in writing being that fire of Prom theus, without which all our works would appear inanimate.

Now for Faſhion, it conſiſts in four qualities of your Style. The firſt is Brevity; For Letters muſt not be Treatiſes or d ſcourſes, except it be amongſt learned men, and even amongſt them there is a kind of thrift and ſaving of words. You are therefore to examine the cleareſt paſſages of your underſtanding, and through them to convey the ſweeteſt and moſt ſignificant Engliſh words you can deviſe, that you may the eaſier teach them the readieſt way to another mans fancy, and to pen it fully, ſmoothly, and diſtinctly; ſo as the Reader may not think a ſecond view caſt away upon your Letters. In eff ct, th goodneſs of words is, as the foundation of all Eloquence; and he ſaid well, who compared them to garments, that were invented for neceſſity, yet did alſo ſerve for ornament.

But though reſpect be a part after this, yet muſt I here remember it. If you write to a perſon, with whoſe condition and humor you are well acquainted, you may be the bolder to ſet a ask to his brain. If to your ſuperior, you are bound to meaſure in him three further points; Firſt, your Interest in him; ſecondly, his capacity of your Letters; thirdly, his leaſure to peruſe them. For your intereſt, or favour with him, you are to be the ſhorter or longer, more familiar or ſubmiſs, as he will afford you time. For his Capacity, you are to be quainter, or fuller of thoſe reaches or glances of wit or learning, according to his comprehenſion; For his leaſure, you are commanded to the greater brevity, as his place is of greater diſcharges and cares. With your betters, you are not to put Riddles of wit, by being too niggardly of your words, nor to cauſe the trouble of making Breviats, by writing too copiouſly, or waſtingly.

Brevity is attain'd upon the matter, by avoiding idle complements, prefaces, proteſtations, long Parentheſes, ſupplications, wanton circuits of Figures, and digreſſions, by compoſition, omitting conjunctions, Not onely but alſo, the one and the other, whereby it comes to paſſe, &c. and ſuch like particles, that have no great buſineſs in a ſerious Letter; By breaking off ſentences; as oftentimes a ſhort journey is made long by many baits. But as Quintilian ſaith, There is a briefneſs of the parts ſometimes, that makes the whole long; As, I came to the stairs, I took a pair of Oares, they lanched out, rowed apace, I landed at Weſtminſter, I paid my Fare, went to the Parliament Houſe, asked for a Member, I was admitted. All this is, but I went to Weſtminſter, and ſpake with my friend.

Under this Notion ſomewhat may be ſaid of Periods, which ought not to bee too long, nor yet too ſhort, QƲO MAGIS VIRTƲS, EO MAGIS MEDIETAS. All vertue conſiſts in a certain Geometricall mediocrity, equally diſtant from exceſs and default. Some Writers have preſcribed a Period not to exceed that length which a man may well pronounce in a breath. There ought likewiſe to be a ſpeciall regard had to the cadence of the words, that the whole contexture of the Period may yeeld a certain kind of harmony to the ear; for Longinus ſays, The true ſounds and tones of Periods may be compared to a great Feaſt made up of many diſhes,

The next property of Epiſtolary Style, is, Perſpicuity, which is not ſeldom endangered by the former quality. Brevity oftentimes by affectation of ſome wit, or oſtentation of ſome hidden termes of Art, is ill angled for; few words darken ſpeech, and ſo do too many; as well too much light hurts the eyes, as too little; and a long Bill of Chancery confounds the underſtanding as much as the ſhorteſt note. Therefore let not your letter be pen'd like an Engliſh Statute, and be ſure to avoid fungous words, and empty inflations; which may beſt be done by conſidering your buſineſs, and diſtinctly underſtanding your ſelf; and this will be much furthered by examining your thoughts, and expoſing them as well to the light and judgment of your own outward ſenſes, as to the cenſure of other mens ears. 'Tis for want of this conſideration that many good Scholers ſpeak but faltringly, like a rich man that for want of particular note and difference, can bring you no ware readily out of his ſhop. By this means talkative ſhallow men ſometimes content the hearers more then the wiſe. But this may find a ſpeedier redreſs in writing, where all comes under the laſt examination of the Eyes. Firſt, mind it well, then pen it, then examine it, then amend it, and you may be in the better hope of writing accurately.

Under this vertue may come Plainneſs, which is, not to be too curious in the order; as to anſwer a Letter, as if you were to anſwer Interrogatories, To the firſt, firſt, to the ſecond, ſecondly; But in the method, to uſe as Ladies do in their attire, a diligent kind of negligence; NON ENIM ELOQƲENTIAM EX ARTIFICIO, SED ARTIFICIƲM EX ELOQƲENTIA NATƲM, ſays Cicero. And Longinus hath this excellent obſervation, That Art does then appear perfect, when ſhe can ſcarce be diſtinguiſhed from Nature her ſelf. And though with ſome men you are not to jeſt, or practiſe capricio's of wit; yet the delivery of the moſt weighty and important matter, may be carried with ſuch an eaſie grace, as it may tickle the fancy of the Reader, and yeeld a recreation to the Writer, as Plato obſerves, lib. 6. de Legib.

There muſt be variety, but not exceſs of terms, as if you are to name ſtore, ſometimes you may call it choyce, ſometimes plenty, ſometimes copie, or variety, But ever ſo, as the word that comes in. lieu, have no ſuch difference of meaning, as to put the ſenſe in hazard to be miſtaken.

You are not to caſt a ring for the perfumed moding terms of the time; as to acquieſce, to eſpouſe an intereſt, to cajole, to incommode, to have a pique againſt one, &c. but uſe them properly in their places, as others; matter & ſubſtance being preferra le before words or form: For as a modern French Author ſays, the moſt excellent words without ſolidity of matter, are no more conſiderable, then the burſt of a Cannon without Ball, which makes a great noyſe, but does no execution. Beſides, a vain curioſity of words hath ſo much ſcandalized ſome Philoſophers, that Seneca (in one of his Epiſtles) ſays, Had it been poſſible to make himſelf underſtood by ſignes, he would rather ſerve himſelf of them, then of diſcourſe, to the end he might the etter avoid all manner of affectation. Whereunto may pertinently be ſubjoyned thoſe excellent lines of Mr. Hobbs (in his anſwer to Sir Will. Davenants Preface) in theſe words: As the ſenſe we have of bodies, conſiſts in-change and varity of impreſſion; ſo alſo does the ſenſe of language in variety and changeable uſe of words: I mean not in the affectation of words newly brought home from travell, but in the new (and withall ſignificant) tranſlation to our purpoſes, of thoſe that be already received, and in far-fetch'd (but withall apt, inſtructive and comely) ſimilitudes.

There follows Life, which is the ſtrength and ſinews (as it were) of your ſtyle, by pretty ſayings, ſimilitudes and conceits, alluſions, ſome known hiſtory or other Common-place, ſuch as are in the ſecond book of Tully, de Oratore. And (if we may credit Hermogenes) a moderate interlacing of verſe among proſe, is not without its gentileſſe.

But too great a mixture of other languages in your ſtyle, ſome (and thoſe of the more learned) have compared to a party coloured coat, made up of ſeverall pieces of ſtuff; others to Anacr ons Swan, which had neither blood, fleſh, nor bone.

The fourth is Respect, to diſcern what befits your ſelf, him to whom you write, and the matter you treat of, which is a quality fit to conclude the reſt, becauſe it does include the reſt; and that muſt proceed from ripeneſs of judgment, which (as an Author truly ſays) is gotten by four ways, by the gift of God, by Nature, diligence, and converſation; ſerve the firſt well, and the reſt will ſerve you.

In the cloſe of your letter you muſt by all means endeavour to come off handſomly, by avoyding thoſe trite and over-worn concluſions, Thus I reſt, So I remain, Thus I take my leave, & the like; and by taking riſe from the next precedent matter of your letter, make your ſubſcription appendent thereto.

For the Hand-writing, if you attain not to perfection, it ought at leaſt to be legible, and the matter fairly written, and truly pointed, with Comma (,) Colon (:) Semicolon (;) Period (.) Parentheſes (Interrogation (?) and Admiration (!) points, as the matter requires.

The laſt is the Orthography, or true writing of words, which (though not much valued by ſome, yet) I hold a quality ſo incident to a good Penman, that he cannot be ſaid to be perfect in that faculty, without it; nor do I beleeve that one of ten, even among Scholars, are well skild therein. And of this Orthography, as it were too long to be here treated of, ſo may I haply give you hereafter ſome obſervations thereupon.

LETTERS.
I. A Letter to revive Freindſhip in the Son, by remembrance of the Fathers love. SIR,

AS worth is not confin'd to place; ſo not the affection of friends to preſence: your excellent deſerts command my reſpects where ever, your abſence drawes theſe following ſalutes, as the teſtimonies of my eſteems and well-wiſhes. In your noble Father I loſt a worthy friend, in you I find him again: you no leſs inherit his goodneſs, then eſtate; this entitles me your neighbour, that makes his loves lineall and ſure; and as neither with decreaſe, ſo both to the augmentation of my acknowledgements; The power of my friend is a ſhelter and joy, his faithfulneſs my ſecurity, yet I love for worth, not-profit. This name of Friendſhip I grant is ſpreadly appellative, but the thing it ſelf as rare in experience, as lowd in vogue. Your fathers love I enjoy'd in calm times; I prove yours in the tempeſts of Fortune: My confidence aſſures me he would not have faild the Teſt, my triall proves you do not; a certainty that precludes doubt, and no leſs obliges my proportion'd gratitude. It were eaſie now (Sir) to ſay, were you under my Stars, I would be the ſame I find you; I would ſo, nay ſhould hate my ſelf, did I feel but an inclination to the contrary. Yet all this evinces no more, then what you pleaſe to believe; Profeſſions and Performances are not the ſame; what I would be, will not ſurmount conjecture; your nobleneſs ſhews it ſelf in effects irrefragable. I know nothing can make me truly miſerable, but my ſelf; and as well I know and feel in lowring times, how conſolatory is the countenance of a reall friend; ſuch your beſt ſelf, to whom I ſhall always ſubſign my ſelf

Sir, A moſt humble ſervant, D.W.
LETTER II. SIR,

A Great Philoſopher complain'd, that the Fabrick of mans body was defective; For (ſaid he) Nature ſhould have made a window in the Breaſt, by which we might look into the bottom of his heart, to ſee, when he ſpeaks, whether his words be conform to the dictates of his heart, and whether that which we ſee without, have an uniform relation to that within. Truſt me (Sir) though I quarrel not with Nature in this kind, yet I wiſh my Breaſt tranſparent, that you might ſee in what deep characters your affection is ingraven in my heart, and how really I am (what you ave made me)

Sir, Your moſt faithfull ſervant, T. B.
III. A Letter of Acknowledgement. SIR,

I Have long ſtudied an acknowledgment in ſome ſort anſwerable to your many favours, but Fortune hath deal ſo ſparingly with me, that (who have moſt deſire) a leaſt able to ſhew my remerciaments otherwi •• , 〈…〉 a courſe paper preſent; yet I wiſh I 〈…〉 ſome a ing monument, that migh 〈…〉 my engagements, w ereby 〈…〉 might know, that though I had no 〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉 , yet I had a heart to be thankfull, which ſhall always pronounce me

Sir, Your moſt obliged friend and ſervant, T. B.
IV. Another.

THough my acquaintance with you, for time & converſation, hath had the misfortune to be but ſmall: yet is my experience of your excellent worths both full and ſatisfied, even to admiration. With ſome natures, I confeſſe, much ſalt is to be eaten, before judgement can be prudentially ſetled; Others like the Sun, or Light, have power to blazon themſelves in a moment: This excellency ſeems to ſhine in your nobler conſtitution; and this commands my ſo ſudden eſteem and affections. Sir, you have then a ſervant, but he wants power to expreſs how much he is so; If I ſay, all I am, is at your devotion, 'tis not all I am ready to perform, becauſe deſire and readineſs ſurpaſs in me my too much limited abilities. You ſee then your creature and inſtrument expects but your pleaſure for operation, as far as he is apt, yet ſome offices he wil undertake uncommanded, (viz,) his daily oraiſons for your good, chiefly that which is ſoveraign; In which to make him more active, your conſent and call, ſhall be the welcom ſt imployment the world can lay upon him. Future occaſions may enlarge my expreſſions; I ſhall now content my ſelf, that I have preſumed to ſalute you with theſe generals, wh m I have devoted my ſelfe to honour in all particulars. Now let me thank you for all received favours, for thoſe immerited regards that began my obligations and continue my gratitude; for your late kind token, which was of multiplied value drawn from the ſender •• lf theſe find acceptance, and their preſumption pardon, 'twill animate him hereafter not to be ſilent, that ſhall live by being, if he may be (as he would)

Sir, Intirely yours, D.W.
V. A Letter to excuſe ſilence. Madam,

MY teeming hopes have been fed even with an aſſurance, that London ſhould e're this have been made happy with your preſence, elſe I had not thus long hazarded the loſs of your good opinion by my ſilence; ſince I confeſſe to owe a debt to your goodneſs, which all the reſpect and ſervice my poore abilities are able to perform, can never throughly ſatisfie. I beg, at preſent, but a continuance of your favours towards me; and (becauſe I know you juſt) ſhall onely expect them hereafter according to the meaſure of my ſervices, which I have faithfully devoted to your beſt ſel, in quality of,

Madam, Your vertues humble honourer, T. B.
VI. A Letter from a Gentleman baniſhed the Lines of Communication, to a Lady in London. Madam,

IF I could decline the thought of a neceſſity of being here, and believe this Baniſhment to be a voluntary retirement, I ſhould account my ſelf extreamly happy; for here we freely enjoy thoſe felicities ſo much ſought for in London, the freſh air, and ſinging of the Nightingale; yet I muſt confeſſe I begin to be ſatiated with theſe ſolitary pleaſures, not ſo ſuitable with my diſpoſition, as the converſation of my friends; and could willingly exchange the company of Birds and Beaſts, for the ſociety of men. But, pardon me (Madam) it was not my intention to trouble you with what I do or ſuffer, or to wiſh you where I would not be my ſelf; but to beſeech you to retain a memory of me, till I am reſtor'd to the honour of kiſſing your hands, a happineſs daily deſired by

Madam, The humbleſt of your ſervants.
VII. A ſecond Letter of ſalutation, upon the miſcarriage of a former. SIR,

I Have addreſſed my ſalutes before, but hear they miſcarried. The labour to repeat them is not burthenſom, yet leſt their loſſe might bring you into ſuſp tion, that I was as ſilent as their miſcarriage makes me ſeem, I add theſe to try better fortune; in which, if more happy, they know their errand, to preſent me & my loves to your devotion. If they ſtammer in the delivery, they beſt e preſs my ſelf, whoſe expreſſion (ſurcharg'd by your deſerts) muſt conceive more obligation, ſmother more affection, then I can utter. You can mend both by the clearneſſe of a candid interpretation, till both are able to be more articulate and plain; None can better expound gratitude, then he who moſt merits it. Sir, I forget not the delights of your ingenious converſations, thoſe ſweet (but too ſhort) moments of my contents. I remember your ready favors, your reall endearments, I remember all, and for all am thankfull. Will you have more? More then this you cannot, I am (what I am)

Very much yours. D.W.
VIII. An Anſwer to a Letter of kindneſs. Moſt honored Coſen,

THe great meaſure of content I received at your being here, and ſince that, the favour to be the unworthy object of your remembrance, makes me even proud of my own happineſs. The truth is, I wiſh no other heaven upon earth, then always to enjoy your preſence, that the influence of your many vertues may create in me ſome kind of goodneſs. But ſince there muſt needs be a ſeparation, excuſe it I beſeech you if in this homely manner, I preſent you with the ſervice and beſt affection of him that is,

Moſt happy in your acknowledgment, T B.
IX. A paſſionate letter of affection. Madam,

SInce that very hour, wherein Fortune made me happy in your knowledge, next under God I neither have love, care, hope, nor contentment, but for you: The day yeelds up all my thoughts, as a tribute to your memory, and the night (which was made to arreſt the agitations of Spirit) never removes the remembrance of you from my heart; over which, as you have already gain'd an abſolute dominion, ſo ſhall it yeeld you a conſtant ſacrifice of an affection which ſhall be permanent, as the Being of

Madam, Your moſt devoted ſervant, T. B.
X. A Letter from a Commander in war to his Miſtreſs. Madam,

THough I have lately been brought even to the confines of Deaths Kingdom, yet I reteine ſo much ſtrength, as to tell you I am alive; and muſt crawe leave to renue that proteſtation, which I have heretofore ſo often made, not to be willing to live but for your ſervice. The ſcars of war in ſome ſort reſemble the wounds of love, ſince thoſe which I received, have not at all diminiſhed the deſire I had to ſerve my Religion, and theſe, which you gave me, have increas'd that paſſion to honor you which reignes within my ſoul. My hand has not ſtrength eno gh to write more, and its weakneſs may ſerve as a proof of my affection, which ſhall be always greater then my power, as the effects of my obedience ſhall ever be leſſe, then my devotion to ſerve you, all days of my life, in quality of

Madam, The deareſt lover of your beſt ſelfe, T. B.
XI. A Conſolatory Letter. Noble Madam,

I Have received your gracious lines, of which I make a Jewel; becauſe both in themſelves good, as alſo becauſe I take them not to be common. For theſe are the conditions, that upon moſt things ſet a value; But could thoſe be wanting, yet would they not want a high rate, had they no other vertue, then the coming from you; If their kindnes to me had bin accompanied with the characters of your own more wiſhed Fortunes, they had by far, been more contentfull: whereas now, as they tell me, I have a friend, they at the ſame view add, ſhe's far leſs happy then I could wiſh her; Thus the ſame ſyllables make the ſame thoughts at once, both hapleſs and fortunate. But, Madam, as the news generall, and your particular, ſhare both in malignity, becauſe both bad; ſo I hope yours at leaſt is at the worſt, and by ſequele upon amendment; and hopes of better is always a fair point of good fortune, which to make more ſure, you to your ſelf will not (I hope) be wanting. There was a Phyloſopher ſaid, that each one is the framer of his own Fate; and I am partly of his Sect, at leaſt ſo farre as I believe no fate ſo bad, but 'tis in the power of the ſufferer to make it (if not good) better. And ſo Madam (I hope) will both your wiſdom and vertue endeavour; and this by ſolid grounds and ways, without which the reſt will be labour in vain. The task you have ſet me to this end (to wit) my prayers, I both daily have, do, & wil perform; and if a partner in misfortunes might leſſen the burthen, as ſome have thought, I I cannot be without my part in yours. Nor, wer't in my power, ſhould your Ladiſhip be a moment without better comforts. But I leave this ſad ſtrain till fitter opportunity, and reſt,

Madam, Your Ladiſhips humble ſervant, D.W.
XII. A paſſionate Letter of affection. My ineſtimable Jewell,

THe long continuance of all things (my infinite love to you excepted) does by little and litle decay them; but 'tis my pride, that each grey hair time adds to the affection I bear you (which again I pronounce infinite) brings an inclination to a ſecond infinity, and remains the onely excuſable dotage now extant, turning my preſent ſolitary life to one of much buſineſs; for always to think of you I eſteem my buſineſs, my faith, my every thing. Your conſtancy can never find out a greater then mine; for 'tis a vaſt one, and ſhall outlaſt all things about it; Therefore look that yours be as true marble, as you will otherwiſe anſwer the utter undoing of

Madam, Your truly, truly, truly, conſtant ſervant.
XII. To a Landlord in behalf of his Tenants. Moſt honored Sir,

TO move you to juſtice were in ſome ſort to conclude you guilty of injuſtice, and to requeſt your pitie in hehalf of your poor and long oppreſſed Tenants, were to proclaim you hard-hearted againſt them; but experience tells me you are free from both, and your own works pronounce your worth. Onely thus much I am bold to beg of you, that the falſe informations of A.B.C.D. and others of broken credits, as well as Eſtates, may not take place againſt theſe bearers, men of honor and good fortunes, and ſuch as I dare preſume will inform you of nothing but truth. In confidence whereof I aſſume the liberty to ſubſubſcribe my ſelfe,

Sir, Your very humble ſervant.
XIV. A ſecond Letter, upon a late acquaintance. SIR,

AFter one Letter (long ſince ſent) and often inquiries, I have, at laſt, had the happineſs to hear your ſafety and health. The Relator had an accidentall view of you, and I a reall comfort. I was once made fortunate by opportunity to enjoy your obliging converſation, and engag'd by your noble endearments, but this loſt, almoſt as ſoon as gain'd; ſo vaniſhing the chiefe enjoyances of this fickle life, ſo unlaſting thoſe contents we eſteem moſt ingenious and innocent. Sir, I have many ties to be yours, and not fewer misfortunes, that I may not be ſo as much as I would. But this is a world of croſſes, ſuch as, though it hath pull'd many down, yet hath it ſet others up in the ſtead. And this muſt be ſo, ſince without a croſs we cannot arrive our Crown. However, neither diſtance of place, nor intervall of time can change thoſe reſpects to your noble ſelf, that took both root and date from our firſt enterview. Affection grounded on vertue, muſt parallell it in content, or be injurious. Your true worth engaged me in ever-honoring eſteems, and theſe I muſt be unworthy if I recall. Nor are our immortall ſouls ſo menſurated to place, but they can meet; though our duller clay be confin'd to the accident of commenſuration; what they cannot perform by preſence, by operation they can; remain where they live, and be where they love; in the circumference be diſ-joyned, yet united in the center of hearts, which is their life and Being; and this is God. Here (Sir) was our firſt union, and here, I hope, nothing ſhall ſeparate: yea each flying moment of time drawes to a more emboſoming neerneſs. Sir, when we parted you enjoyned me to continue you in my beſt thoughts, This not to remember, I account to forget my ſelf. That I am not baniſhed your memory, one word from your pen, would not onely cheriſh and confirm, but honor and oblige,

Sir, Your moſt devoted and humble ſervant, D.W.
XV. A Letter to excuſe ſilence, &c. SIR,

VVHat to you I know not, but to me it ſeems long, ſince my pen preſented my reſpects. 'Tis true, I wrote laſt, but this wil not excuſe. Gratitude makes my addreſſes due; when you ſalute, your ſalutes are pure favours: ſtill oblige, never incurre obligation. If then I have been too remiſs, I flie to the Aſyle of your pardon; and to render me more capable of it, give me leave to add this qualif cation: That not neglect, but fear to be troubleſome, cauſed the intervall. Eſt modus in rebus — I would obſerve duty, I hate to be unſeaſonable: He that can light on the Mean, attains the accompliſhment of Office; he that miſſes, may mean well, but is guilty of ſome defection towards an extream. But as that morall Decorum is the beauty of humane life; ſo a preciſe niceneſs with friends, hath too much of ſcruple. Seemlineſs ſhould not be tranſgreſt, yet Friendſhip is not ſtern in her Laws. I may be bold with my ſelf, and next with my friend. Whom endearment makes mutuall, love intitles to a latitude of honeſt action. o Sir, that I bear the ſtile of your Friend, is the greateſt adjunct the world can make me happy in; I deſire no more ſplendor of honor, no relation to me is ſo pretious. My requeſt is, it may continue; my endeavour ſhall be to deſerve the continuance; not that I preſume I can deſerve it, but rather, that I hope, not by a voluntary guilt, to forfeit what you freely conferre. Nor wil you eaſily (your goodneſs is too conſtant) reject, whom you have (with ſo much condeſcence) adopted. My reſolve is unchangeable, and that is, to be

Sir, Ever and moſt intirely your devoted ſervant, D.W.
XVI. To a Mother. Madam,

THis ſhort time of abſence make me ſenſible of that great good which Nature gave me, when ſhe ordain'd you to be the Parent & me the child; for now I feel my ſelf deprived of thoſe joyes, which your preſence was wont to afford me; now I want thoſe lovefull aſpects, wherewith your indulgent eye was wont to ſolace me. In a word, I want all things, which an affectionate mother did ever beſtow upon an undeſerving, yet dutifull child, for ſuch is

T. B.
XVII. A Letter to beg acquaintance. Sir,

YOu may wonder at this boldneſs: but your worth animates it, and the ſame, I hope, will pardon what it cauſes. I have often heard of you, and once I ſaw you; and by the converſation of a few words, I perceiv'd plentifull evidence, that what I have heard of your merits, was anſwered in the truth. This your humility may reply was too ſhort a time for experience. I grant it: but not to confirm what both the Good and Wiſe by report had made credible: the ſenſes ſhould not be deceived in their proper objects; and Hearing is a ſenſe as wel as Seeing: and (if it follow the right Rules) perhaps as little erring; chiefly if a rationall hearing, to which I have ſom title by eſſence. Report the ſubject; that you are deſerving, the reported; this aver'd by wiſe men and good men, yea by all men that know you; which I muſt either believe or be irrationall. Sir, the truth is, I am ſo fully perſwaded of this verity, that I am truly ambitious of your more acquaintance; and that this may be by pen, till more joyn'd aboads afford a preſentiall intercourſe. If your thoughts anſwer, no greater obligation can be laid upon

Sir, Your moſt faithfull ſervant, D.W.
XVIII. In anſwer to a Letter of Complement. Sir,

THat I live (though abſent) thus freſh in your memory, I count my glory, and that you write to me, my happineſs; which favours, that I may ſeem in ſome meaſure to deſerve, I addreſs theſe, not as ſatisfactory Acquittances (for ſuch my weak merit, does not aim at) but as reſpective acknowledgements, which your greater goodneſs commands from me. I have now throughly both ſeen and felt the Bath, and as I find my ſelf nothing ameliorated in complexion of face, or temperature of body; ſo is the diſpoſition of my mind to ſerve you nothing leſſened, but does adequately increaſe, with the obligations of

Sir, Your unalterable ſervant, T. B.
XIX. A facetious letter upon ſending a Chriſtmas Pye to a Friend. Sir,

I Salute you with a poor token, a paſtry Bak'd-meat, as a recognition of my gratitude for your noble entertainments; and not entertainments only, but even harbour in a puſh of neceſſity, which I conſtrue to have multiplied the curteſie to many degrees of height. Theſe to requite I confeſs my ſelf unable, and to forget as unwilling. The mean of both I undertake, that is to greet you with my gratefull and remembring reſpects: which if you pleaſe to entertain in my ſenſe, it ſhall be interpreted a new added favour, and ſpeak me thankful. Gratefull minds can acknowledge what they cannot retribute, and this is both my fortune and meaning. Sir, that I may be ſome imperfect Index, or like the Weſtminſter Tomb-ſhewer, tell who or what lyes here: You have or ſhall find in the center, a Neats Tongue, empanched by a Gooſe; next both tongue and Gooſe, like the Iſle of Candia, ſwallowed up by the Turk; Round theſe, ſome few other Volatils, as lookers on, and though not main Partizans, yet not unimbroyl'd in the danger, for their curioſity. At laſt comes fierce Generall Cook, and fortifies all (as he hopes) with a ſtrong line of Circumvallation, and having perfected his works, ſends the beſieged captive to your beſt appetite, whereto they are left for triumph and conqueſt. Sir, now were it not for fear of making this our Poſt-paſte over tedious, and coming too neer the heels of time, I could ſo compare theſe Animals, or their corps, that there might riſe upon their conditions both Emblems and Morals. But this ſaceteneſs I will leave to your ſelf and good company, to recreate and abetter your digeſtion with. What I chiefly deſire to hear in this point, is, that you have been merry in parting the fray, friendly accepted what was cordially meant: That you have vanquiſhed the cruell Turk, the peeviſh Gooſe, the betrayi g Tongue, the wild Pouline, the long-nos'd Woodcocks; yea that you have raz d the very proud outworks to the ground. This done, I pray, you may conquer your worſe enemies, and number me in the Alb of

Your humble ſervants, D.W.
XX. A Letter to excuſe ſilence, and acknowledge paſt favours. Sir,

I Have long done you the ſervice, not to trouble you with my lines, but durſt no longer purſue this method, leſt it might degenerate into the ſemblance of neglect. It ver ue (for her better practice) be enthron'd twixt two extreams, writing (as an act of vertue) muſt alſo keep due diſtance with them; neither lean to importune frequency without leave, nor be benumb'd by the Lethargy of Omiſſion. And you, whoſe favours have always engaged me yours, will believe my aimes have no other end, then to be ſo, as well in forbearances as actions; provided I fail not as your votary; a crime I ſhould hate my ſelf to think I could be wicked enough to commit; and am ſure I never yet was. Sir, you have, I know, received my former Letter, and dained the civility of receiving from it my humble gratitudes, for the liberalities it acknowledged. This wil not ſo far encroach upon the Office of my better expreſſions, as to repent that duty, but muſt again and again pronounce me

Sir, Your gratefull ſervant, D.W.
XXI. A Letter of thanks, &c. Honored Sir,

I Have received your friendly Letter, and (by Proxie) your bounty: I am obliged by both, yet am by you debar'd, by pen, to anſwer either. You fetter me in the limits of ten lines, and theſe too muſt be ſilent of your ſelf, the beſt ſubject; I could obſerve your number, and yet be tedious, did I write ſhort hand, or would I imitate the Lawyers length of a Chancery Bill. But I will not force a double ſenſe on your ſincerity; What you will not have in paper, ſhall warm my br aſt, thoſe gratefull thoughts, and unfeigned devotions, that vow and maintain me

Sir, Your ever moſt affectionate ſervant, D.W.
XXII. To a Lady upon her weaving hair-bracelets. Madam,

LAſt night when I found you in a pretty harmleſs employment, weaving hair-bracelets, you commanded me to make you ſome Poeſies for that purpoſe, which I told you was a work fitter for Poets and men of wit, then for me, whoſe Cabinet enſhrineth no ſuch Treaſure; yet (Madam) that you may ſee what a ſupremacy of power you have over all my faculties, I ſend you theſe incloſed; if any of which prove worth your uſe, the compoſure muſt be aſcribed to the vertue of your commands, rather then to any skill of mine, which as I diſclaim to have, out of a juſt ſenſe of my own imperfections; ſo muſt I always ſubſcribe my ſelfe (out of a like ſenſe of your worth)

Madam, Your moſt devoted ſervant, T. B. Qui eſt tout de Coeur; n'a point de langue. Qui dedit: ſe dedit. (Nec fallit nec fallitur. A ſe convertitur in ſe. (Ʋnus: una: unum. Wear this (dear heart) and prove as true In faith to me, as I to you. This gift ſhall tell you, that I do Love you alone, and none but you. No heart more true, Then mine to you. Cupid has bound me by this band, To be your ſervant at command. I find it true, ſince you are gone, That Love makes perfect union.
XXIII. A Letter complaining of Abſence. Madam,

IF I could find out words to expreſs the language of my heart, I ſhould then be able to demonſtrate how little I enjoy my ſelf, whilſt I am abſent from you, in whom all my joyes and all my felicities are ſo wealthily ſum'd up; that as I live by none but you; ſo, were it as much in my power as deſires, I ſhould never be abſent from you; But ſince Fate hath thus decreed a ſeparation, I beſeech you let nothing make you forget him, who always remembers you, in quality of

Madam, Your greateſt admirer, T. B.
XXIV. In anſwer to one that congratulated an arrivall in the Countrey. Sir,

THat you congratulated our well-coming to G. was ſo neceſſary for us, and ſo great a mark of goodneſs in you, that I believe without your good wiſhes, we had taken up our quarters on Saturday night in the Forreſt, where we were benighted (a ſad thing to think on) and loſt our way; But being (as I ſay) arrived here, by the help of God, and your good wiſhes, I find little ſubject for envy in our enjoyments, not a Deer being left in the Park, nor a Kid in ſeaſon, (unleſs a woodden one) nor a Walk dry enough for a Spaniſh-leather ſhooe; and I am ſure you will not envy us a little freſh air, ſince we have paid ſo dear for it, by the fatigues of a long journey. Truſt me (Sir) theſe things (however you value them) bend my thoughts towards London, and the rather, in reſpect of your dear ſelf, to whom I am (by manifold obligations)

An affectionate humble ſervant, T. B.
〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 XXV. Ʋpon the late Commotions. SIR,

HAd not Pithagoras excepted our Terreſtriall Orbe, when hee aſſerted the Orbes harmonious; this Age had clearly confuted him. For how muſicall ſoever thoſe higher are; this I am ſure ſounds nothing but harſh Diſcords: and ſo lowd; that wee cannot but hear them; ſo unpleaſant, that the dinne diſcompoſes quiet minds. The way to eaſe our ſelves is hard, yet not impoſſible: but what is it? 'tis this, To elevate our abode: To Compoſe our own interiour. He that enjoyes in time Peace, is not open to extern broiles: they may beat the out ſide, but cannot enter; batter the walls of fleſh and bloud, but the Citadell of reaſon is ſafe; and if reaſon ſway, wee fly up to manſions indiſturbd. We are all Citizens of the lower World, I grant, muſt wiſh 'tis good; may deplore it's evills; Yet our own private welfare, ought to be to us moſt precious. This were a Paradox with Polititians (if not well gloſſed) and ſo I allow it (each part was made for the whole.) But our Placite ſtill ſtands: and ſtands in this: each mortall is neareſt to himſelf. My own preſervation, leſſens not my contribution to the Publicke muſt I bee, or I cannot be able? I muſt be able, or I cannot aid it. Of Aides, there is more then one ſort. All were not fram'd for the ſame function, or influence. The Martiall blade, and bullet has it's office; ſo policy military; theſe we leave to the ſons of Mars. Yet we have our duty too, and this is piety. Piety firſt calmes it's own lares; then becomes inſtrumentall to others reconcilement. When heaven ſees mee at peace within, I am approved, fit to pacify. To complain of exterior commotions, and my ſelf to be torn by the diſorder of my own Paſſions, is an improper addreſs, a mediation ineffectuall. It was well dream't by Scipio, when he ſaid; as the intelligences guided (by a regular Order) the upper Spheres; ſo ought our intellectuall powers govern our own little World. Where the ſuperiour portion of the ſoul obeys the divine Lawes, and the part irrationall acquieſces to the mind; (in the mind (and all man) reſounds a harmony far ſurpaſſing Pithagorean accents. Ah! (my friend) were mentall and private tumults appeas'd, the civill would ceaſe, and whilſt theſe (with you and I) are ſetled, the civill cannot annoy us. A compoſ'd ſoul miſeries may try, cannot diſorder. Whilſt others, then fight for earth, and purple it with native bloud; let us aſpire higher enterpriſes: pray for their peace, ſecure our own. Let us fix our thoughts where ambition reaches not, where War embroiles not, where tranquillity eternally triumphes. Thus ſhall we offer our ſelves a piacular ſacrifice before the high Altar of God, in our own condition acceptable, in alien behoof not deſpiſed. The inceſſant vowes, of

Sir, Your moſt devoted ſervant, W.D.
XXVI. ANSWER. SIR,

YOu have given us, (who are indeed Terreſtriall Coſmopolites) moſt excellent preſcriptions, for the compoſure and regiment of the inward man in theſe times of fluctuation, whereby thoſe that are at War within themſelves, may know how to ſeek, and where to find a laſting peace, a peace with truth and endles repoſe, and thoſe that are at peace may learne how to ſettle the ſoules Militia in an unconquerable poſture of defence againſt the Common enemy; In a word there's a volume of rich Apothegmes abridg'd into the compendium of your letter; heavens make my breaſt a fit repoſitory for ſuch treaſure. But in concluſion you evidence the vertue of ſelf-abnegation to be one part of the Cargazon of your ſhip; For you ſtill work with the old Perſpectives, by ſerving your ſelf of a diminiſhing Glaſſe, when you mention your own perfections, and of one, that multiplies, when you make the mole hills of your friends qualities (if any were) to ſeem mountains. Alas! what is my plain ſong, if compared with your heavenly deſcant; Majores majora canunt- It muſt content mee to contemplate you in a higher Orbe, whilſt I ly mudling here below, even

Sir, The humbleſt of your ſervants, T. B.
XXVII. To a Lady, upon her leaving the City. Madam,

EVer ſince you left London, all joyes and good fortune have left us, the heavens have not ceaſed to ſhed continual It was a time of great rain. teares for your abſence, and Mars has frownd upon all our undertakings, nor can we hope to receive good news or enjoy fair weather, till the rayes and vertue of your preſence returne hither, to uncloud the watry element and uncharm the fortune of War. Whilſt in this ſadnes, I was ſtudying what might render my lines worthy your acceptance, the encloſed arrives with the much wiſh'd for news of — And if this prove in any meaſure an Antidote to prevent the contagion of ſadder thoughts, which theſe times are apt to adminiſter, I ſhall enjoy the height of my ambition, which holds no title in competition with that of

Madam, Your humble ſervant, T. B.
XXVIII. To excuſe the not taking leave, and to acknowledge received favours. SIR.

BEfore I left London I did endeavour to have given my perſonall attendance upon your noble ſelf, with an addreſs of thankfulnes for your generous favours, and free entertainments; But this devoir (by your abſenting occaſions) being fruſtrate; I am forced upon pen-ſupply. Wherein yet the moſt I can expreſs to the purpoſe, is ingeniouſly to avow, I owe more to your bounties than I can expreſſe; more expreſſions to your high Worths, then I can make legible. Which defect of Language (I humbly yet conceive) you of all (Sir,) have moſt reaſon to indulge; ſince your great merits of mee, and your own ſelf-nobleneſs, has moſt put it to ſilence. Be then above my feeble Oratory, as your endearments tranſcend my deſerts; 'tis praiſe enough, as you aim not at empty Epithets, ſo your reall perfections are abundant and natively clear to be their own encomiums. I with admiring gratitude will remember what I cannot utter. Yet (Sir) take this unfeigned image of my thoughts; that from the firſt houre I received the honour of your acquaintance, I have ſingularly honour'd your ſelf; and ſince you have bin pleaſed to rank mee in the albe of your ſervants, and priviledge mee not onely with your friendly familiarities, but alſo ſignall favours, I confeſſe my ſelf bound for requitall of all, as to yeeld to none in my reſpect, ſo to be ever (as I profeſſe I am obliged)

Sir, Your ſervant and votary. D.W.
XXIX. A Ladies Anſwer to her ſervants firſt letter. SIR,

THat upon ſo ſmall acquaintance, you ſhould make mee ſuch friendly and paſſionate expreſſions, I cannot but take as a civility, being apt to make the beſt conſtruction of every ones actions; yet (Sir) that ſo many moneths ſhould paſſe in ſilence, ſince I ſaw you, is enough to make me believe your letter meerly complementall; For theſe times afford many of your ſex, whoſe pens or tongues can ſpeak one language, and their hearts another When I ſhall find cauſe to believe your profeſſions real, I ſhall ſet a greater value upon your reſpect: Mean time civility invites mee to ſubſcribe my ſelf

Sir, Your humble ſervant, V.T.
XXX. A Complementall Addreſſe from one Lady to another. Madam,

I Have not ſo much vanity to think to make a return, worthy the honour I have recieved, nor do I bear ſo little juſtice to my own gratitude, as not to witnes my reſentment, though great, yet in huge diſproportion to your merit, whoſe vertues and goodnes I hold in equall value with thoſe of demi-Gods: I receive the new aſſurances of your Ladyſhips favour, as a bleſſing ſent mee from heaven, which bids me cheriſh it and live, ſince I can reliſh no felicity without it. Indeed (Madam) I know not what Sacrifice to offer you for ſuch a bounty; All hearts are made tributary to your Commands; yet none with ſo much obligation, as that of

Auguſt. Madam, Your ſervant, E.D.
XXXI. The Anſwer. Madam,

YOu may ſay of mee, as a Cavalier once ſaid of the late Synod, that they had ſate long and at length hatch'd a Monſter (meaning the Directory:) So have I bin long in anſwering yours, & at length my dull Genius produces this ill-ſhapd letter: Madam, if the faculty of my pen were correſpondent to the devotion of my heart, I could ſay much, when as now I muſt be ſilent; Yet not ſilent neither; For every caſt of my eye upon your lines begets a wonder & wonder makes mee break ſilence; I have alwayes had your ſweet perſon and vertues in a reverentiall eſteem, and now the charmes of your pen have hurld mee into new admirations; yet not ſo, as to forget the old, nor at any time to be leſſet he

October, Madam, The moſt humble of your Devotes, A.T.
XXXII. A letter from the Author of a book to the approver, Sir, N. B. SIR,

THis hand which hath ſtood ſo long before your Barr, comes now to accuſe it ſelf of a fault by which the Judge muſt needs have ſuffered much from the offender, ſince the ſoulneſſe of the Copy, is like to have tryed your patience, more then the worth of the cauſe can hope to have recompencd your paines; Wherefore theſe lines come before you to offer ſatisfaction at leaſt to your civility, if they fail of giving it to your judgment, and the courſe of my life qualifies me better for civill diſcharges, then for litterate ſatisfactions; You ſhall then Sir, receive by this a return of much ſenſe of your fair and obliging carriage towards mee in the examination of my papers; wherein I muſt deſire you to conſider the whole deſigne, which aimes ſolely at morall regulations, and does rather decline then accept any inducements to controverſiall doctrines; if there bee any point ſo incident to the ſubjects, as my opinion muſt needs appeare in ſome dark light, this may well bee connived at by ſo ingenious a Judge, as your ſelf, who cannot expect I ſhould diſſemble my Principles, though in diſcretion I was forbid to declaime upon them; So that I conceive your abilities, will make a due difference, between what may critically be ſifted out, and what does litterally profeſſe it ſelf; and of this laſt ſort, I preſume you will find nothing in the whole work, that has an open face of contention or offence; Wherefore upon your animad verſions, I have changed the looks of ſuch places, as had any apparant features of enmity, and have offered you ſuch ſatisfaction upon the other points, I have not altered, as I hope your candor and diſpaſſionate temper may admit; Upon the opinion whereof, I ſhall conclude, that if you have found, in theſe my meditations, more matter promiſing good influencies upon the affections of our Country, then projecting any dangerous infuſions, you will allow them your contribution to that effect I have ſingly propoſed in them; In order whereunto my prayers ſhall intend the ſuppliment of my pens deficiency; which the leſſe worthy it is of this expoſure to the World, the more muſt it owe your patience and civility for your favour to

Your moſt affectionate ſervant W.M.
XXXIII. Ʋpon the New-year. SIR.

MY preſent Theme is, to give you the cerimonies (in real wiſhes) of a happy New-year. Nor ſhall I doubt the effect, ſince I cannot your Piety or Prudence. No revolution of time can be inauſpicious, where theſe fair pair of twin-virtues are fixt, and in action. Time tells our hours, produces change, but our happines, or infortunes onely from our ſelves. 'Tis vain then to accuſe deaf fate, when we are our own deſtiny, or at leaſt it in our arbitrement. Prudence, (the eye of our life) foreſees, diſpoſes our affaires; Piety, our ſelves. That diſcharges our devoirs, This guides all events (proſperous or adverſe) to our eternal (if it cannot temporall) felicity. Hence we have a method either to prevent miſery, or of turning it into better luck, by being unhappy. Croſs chances I grant, are but ſower friends, rather to be entertained then invited; yet 'tis too viſible none are more wretched, then thoſe that moſt court fortune. Give mee Indifferency and I'le bee fortunes fate, and fortunate, maugre her deſpight. As to time it ſelf, the beſt deſcription of it, is to employ it well. 'Tis a thing of ſo ſwift an Eſſence, that 'tis gone before we can think what it is. 'Tis the meaſure of ſublunary beings, and proclaimes to us, (by its height) how faſt wee our ſelves fade, and dwindle away. The paſt is no more ours, then frugall uſage has made it ſo. The future is not; and ſo, uncertain whether 'twill ever be in our power. What of it we can own is only the preſent, and this ſo coy, that if not taken by the ſoretop, 'tis vaniſht, like a Ghoſt and leaves us nothing, but cauſe to repent and gaze. Ah! my friend, how pretious our moments; on theſe ſhort Inſtances depends our whole Eternity. Temporall exiſtence is as fickle as temporall happineſſe; both participate of the nature of time, are fleeting In this caſualty then, let us fix on what is truely durable: above floating incertainties, beyond temporall laſtingneſſe. Whilſt our minutes fly from us, our ſelves ſpeed faſter towards unchangeable permanency, ſo we doe in naturall tendency; but let us by virtue's vigours. Each hour poſts away with it's length of our life; The old year is gone, if ou imperfections with it, 'twas well ſpent; if not, there's the more ne d we ſpend the New better And leſt we live not to the end, let's take advantage of the begining: make that our own that is ſo. Thrift of our dayes is th' only end to make our ſelves in time eternally happy. But I fear by this rude Rhapſody of the initiate yeare, I have waſted your hourglaſs too much, rendring my prayer of your proſperous future, your preſent Domage; But pardon, becauſe my ſubject (time) as wel as my diſtracted capacity fail'd me. Suffice it, I wiſh you more then I can utter or need perſcribe you the way to; and whilſt you are bleſt, I patrake

31 Decemb. Sir Your happy friend and joy'd ſervant. W.D.
XXXIV. To a Lady, reſiding in a Town that had lately bin beſiegd. Madam,

AFter the diſquiet of your late Alarms, I am bold to congratulate the re-enjoyment of your wonted repoſe, which (had I bin Generall) no cauſe nor quarrel ſhould have made me hazard; ſince in all things I value your content above my own; My regard to your ſafety had bin in ſuch caſe motive enough with mee, to have ſuſpended the chaſtiſment of that mutinous City. Madam, If (as I hope and pray) you are now both free from diſ uietude and from fear; I have my hearts wiſh; deſiring (as you know) nothing more, then by continued devotion to your ſelf and ſervice; to purchaſe at length the eſteem of

Madam, Your moſt faithfull ſervant, T.B.
XXXV. To his Lady Mri•, complaining of her cruelty. Madam,

TYranny as ill becomes a ſubject as a Prince, and cruelty is the natural iſſue of that Monſter; To ſay your Ladyſhip is guilty of both in ſome kind, is a truth undeniable: For ever ſince fortune made me happy in your knowledge, my affection hath had no Centre, but your breaſt; my faith, no fellow; and my conſtancy ſuch as can never admit a change; yet my ſighes are unpittied, my love unregarded, my faith and conſtancy anſwered with nothing, but your diſproportionate denialls; Nor can I, without wonder, conſider, that your Ladyſhip ſhould be 〈◊〉 all the world ſo perfectly charitable, to mee ſo cruell, unles 'twere ordained by fate, That the firſt fruits of my love (which ſhould be the firſt ſtep to happines) muſt be made abortive by your incompaſſion. Madam, the more you deny, the more fuel you add to thoſe flames, which (if not ſuddenly allai'd by your pittie) will conſume my very being into aſhes of mortalitie; Theſe are Madam, the reall dictates of a heart, that's wholly ben

To ſerve you, T. B.
XXXVI. A conſolatory letter to a Mother upon the death of her firſt born Honoured Madam,

THe ſad need a Comforter, and a Soul, in deſolation, requires to bee aſſiſted with reaſons to bear the cauſe of its griefs. That you are both ſad and grieved, I can no more doubt, then I can be without a ſhare in your paſſions. That you have many comforters, becauſe friends, many ſolid conſiderations from your own pietie and pious wiſdome to ſalve your ſorrowes, I am as confident; Yet as none more tenders your happineſſe then my ſelf, ſo could not I alone be ſilent in this motive of your teares; what I would ſay is, Deareſt Madam, be comforted, and this (were't in my power) I would effect. The reaſon of your ſable thoughts, the ſpring that ſtreames your cheekes, riſe I know from the ſad accident of your childs death. It was I confeſs the firſt image of your likenes, the firſt bleſſ •• g that heaven honored your body with, the firſt pledge of nature, the firſt title you had to be a Mother. And to bee deprived of this, almoſt as ſoon as 'twas given, could not but find and afford matter both for teares and grief, in a diſpoſition ſo natural and good. But Madam, there's a time for all, and a meane alſo. What could not be denied to your ſweetneſs, muſt be moderated by your diſcretion. 'Tis true, that ſweet infant was yours, 'twas your firſt, 'twas dear, and you ſuffered many dolours, to give it life; But withall you conſider, as 'twas yours, ſo given you by God; as the firſt, ſo more due to him; as dear, yet could it not be too dear for him that hath it; Although of painfull birth; yet that your throwes brought forth a Saint, that your dolours were endured, ſo ſoon to enthrone a part of your ſelf among the Angels; theſe dolours, theſe throwes, happily ſuffered. Thoſe whom God makes Parents, he makes but Nurſes of his own children, he lends them to be brought up for heaven: and if hee hath ſo ſoon diſcharged you of this obligation, tis not ſo much a croſs, as a bleſſing; Had it lived to mature age, perhaps he ſaw danger both to It and you: it might have been more cauſe of grief to you, more loſs to it ſelf; it might have been unfortunate in life, in death unhappy; 'Tis not the being children of either good or great extract, that makes them alwayes either good or happy. And this perhaps God (that provident Parent of all) foreſaw. Be it ſo, or not, certaine it is, the bodies but the ſouls priſon, wherein 'tis no ſoner breathed from Heaven, but 'tis maculated by this corrupt Earth: and in this, as it longer ſojournes, ſo is it not only debarred of its true happineſs & welfare, but alſo offends its great Creator; and conſequently is miſerable. Therefore would God make the cradle of yours, its death bed, that he might haſten its bliſſe. As he breathed a pure ſoul into it, ſo would he again take it before defiled by the actuall blemiſhes of ſin. Had it liv'd, it could have afforded no comfort to your piety, but being in health, proſperity, and pious; and can it be more pious, then in heaven, more proſperous, then in heavens joyes, more healthfull then in the enjoyance of immortality. O conſider, tis now paſt all danger, 'tis freed from all miſery, 'tis bleſſed in bleſſedneſs, it prayes for you. And can there be any ſorrow ſo great that theſe conſiderations cannot conſolate? O what more happy then to be ſo happy a Mother; no ſooner a Mother, then a Mother to heaven. Nor doubt (dear Madam,) but hee that gave you this dear pledge of his love, will give you more, and, as he took this to his own joyes, ſo will he leave in its ſtead more to your comfort. This he took to give it as ſoon happineſs as being, and therein to try your virtue and reſignation to his will: this as I doubt not but he will find, ſo may you be confident he will bee bountifull: a ſure rewarder, of your patience, a proſperer of your ſoul, body, and its fruitfulneſs. But pardon (moſt honoured Madam) my loves redouſneſs; and if in this unpoliſhd Conſolatory I have errd, let it be as it is loves fault, a fault that your nobleneſs I am certain will remit. Thus with humbleſt reſpects he takes his leave that will no longer bee, then be yours, the daily Petitioner to heaven for your moſt wiſhed comforts of both Worlds.

Madam, Your humble and moſt affectionate ſervant, D.W.
XXXVII. To excuſe the not anſwering a letter. SIR,

THat I have committed ſo great a Solaeciſme in good manners, as to receive two letters from you, without giving you humble thanks for either; I beſeech you aſcribe not to any want of zeal to your ſervice; for in earneſt you cannot make me more happy, then in vouch ſafing mee the honour of your commands, which ſhall alwayes find as ready an obedience in mee, as any thing that moſt concernes my own intereſt; In the aſſurance •• ereof I give you the humble reſpects of

Sir, Yours ad nutum, T. B.
XXXVIII. Ʋpon a Motion of marriage. Dear Sir,

I Give you many humble thanks, for your tendring mee a wife, and your good adviſe in that affair; I well remember the Counſell of a prudent friend was, not to marry till I were 30 years of age, and then to have a wife ten years younger then my ſelf; becauſe women (eſpecially teeming ones) ſooner decay, then men. I have alſo read, that there are 3 principall motives to a wedded life; Procreatio Prolis: Conſervatio Domus: and Conſolatio vitae. Now the gentlewoman you write of, in ſtead of being ten years younger, I believe is ten years elder, then my ſelf; and ſo may be in danger to fruſtrate the two firſt motives, by being iſſue-leſs. Yet if ſhe have ſo many fill'd baggs as you mention, it may bee a ſhrewd temptation: But in marriage, Love (as you well obſerve) is moſt preferrable, provided there be a competency of fewel (which is riches) to keep it warm Now tis like I might love the Lady you motion mee unto, with an ordinary conjugall love, but perhaps not with an eminent dear affection, and on this ſubject I remember to have read theſe old but well meaning verſes.

Who makes the object of his fancy, gold, Grows cold-in fancy, when his money's told: And ſhe who faines to love, to live a Lady, Is honors fawn, I know not what ſhe may be.

Examples are too frequent in this age of the infelicity of thoſe Matches, which are meerly concluded for wealth, without love: Therefore in this (as a choiſe, whereon the happines of my whole life depends) I ſhall be very deliberate in reſolving, yet ever glad to receive your adviſe, as being

Sir, Your moſt reſpective nephew and humble ſervant.
XXXIX. The firſt addreſſe to his Miſtreſſe. Madam,

THat fear is an individuall companion to ſincere affection, and that the heartieſt devotions, are brokenly expreſſed, are Maximes in humanity, and however Errors, yet veniall; The diſcreeteſt love is ſeldome without ſome annexed paſſion, which oft-times fetters the faculties and leads underſtanding captive; that which did and juſtly might deter, doth now animate; The moon in her fartheſt diſtance from the Sun, and greateſt oppoſition, receives moſt light; The poorer they bee to whom charity is extended, the greater the merit; Worth gaines moſt honour by enobling unworthineſs; Nature never ordaind two Suns to ſhine in one firmament. I liſt not to expatiate in this kind. In the diſcription of your worth this ſhort expreſſion ſhall ſuffice; That would Earths Monarch pay his devotions before perfections Altar, he need ſeek no further then your breaſt. To expreſs my devoted affection by deep proteſts and multiplyed vowes doth nothing pleaſe, my Motto is, rather in deed then in word. Till matters be maturely diſcuſſed, and the adviſe of friends on both ſides had, I aime no higher then to be enſtil'd your ſervant; Deliberation (if in any caſe) in this moſt neceſſary. I honour you too much to wiſh you the ſmalleſt amiſs, though the ſum of my earthly felicity depended thereon. My affection is no frenzy; if my Starrs mean mee not the enjoying of ſuch happineſs, I muſt frame a content. For concluſion, I will only add, that though you may have your choice of many in all points more accompliſhd, yet none that ſhall ſo truely love you; My lines are confuſed like my thoughts; your milder cenſure hee perſumes on, who truely honours your worth and reſts

Solely devoted to your virtues. T. B.
LX. In anſwer to an expoſtulatory letter. SIR,

THe receipt of yours brought with it ſome amazement to ſee my ſelf almoſt ſhip-wrackt in your good opinion, when my own Veſſel was full fraught with reſpect, which I intended to di-ſimbark at your haven. I am firſt to thank you, for your plainneſs and ingenuity in my charge, and ſhall aſſume the ſame freedome in my own acquitall. The ſtory told you by Mr. W. from Mris. P. a womans diſcourſe (for thoſe I ſuppoſe the parties mentioned in yours) I deny to have been either Author or Promulgator of, and muſt aſſure you, that ſuch like, with other volatile reports were here before my return; yet I muſt tell you (ſince it ſo much concernes mee) that I had Commiſſion to make ſome inquiſition in the Country upon a preconceived neglect in you, and other rumours, but do aſſure you, what I ſaid was with ſuch modeſty, and ſo ſhort of what common fame delivered, nay with ſuch regret to have ſaid any thing at all, that it will hereafter appeare, I have been ſo far from being diſaffected to this your ſervice, that I have run my ſelf into an Oblique opinion elſewhere, for promoting it, and I am confident the young Lady (when you ſhall be felicitated with her enjoyment) will aſſure you aſmuch, nor indeed could I poſſibly have ſaid leſs, in performance of that truſt which was repoſed in mee. Sir, if this give you not ſatisfaction, I ſhall be glad to know what may, becauſe I profeſſe to owe you much ſervice, and the more in order to that approaching happineſs, which your Starrs have aſſigned you, whereto no wiſhes of a happy confarreation ſhall more readily concurr, then thoſe of

Sir, Your very humble ſervant, T. B.
XLI. A REPLY. Lady,

TIll I was bleſſ'd with the happy ſight of yours I labour'd in a ſtrange perplexity, believing that either the attempt of mine had purchaſed your disfavour, or otherwiſe (by ſome harder fate) I had ſuffered in your good opinion, then which Peru is to mee of leſſe value. Theſe feares I muſt confeſſe with-held mee till now from a ſecond addreſſe of ſervice, though not from offering continuall thoughts of reſpect to your merit, and of perfect obedience to your commands, nor ſhall I longer live, then breath the air of ſuch devotion, being profeſſedly.

Lady, Yours in firme affection, T. B.
XLII. IN ANSWER. SIR,

I Am (as you ſay) indeed alwayes pleaſed to accept, what time permits you to write. Your lines pleaſe, and cannot chuſe, being full of erudition, full of love, and guided by a judgement not vulgar; And, what ever your time is, your men all ſtore ailes not: what others with many a ſc atched brow cannot invent, you with facility dictate, and as copiouſly pen; Then for my acceptance, theres, no benignity required, but gratitude, and gratitude not common, but ſuch as ought to quadre with merits impararelld. That you daigne to entertain mine but with a ſuperficiall view, adds honour and value, adds courage and alacrity. We ſee many things carry price, not from innate worth, but the eſteemers fancy: So Jewells and other rarities, which humane eſtimate and not nature, have made pretious: The rule is Opinion; and if any mans approbation could make my lines accurate (that is, what they are not) ſooner to yours ſhould I yeeld the efficiency, and with much reaſon; for there's none I approve more. Whilſt I am jejune and empty, you are polite, and even upon my deficiencies, raiſe Trophies to your own Genius; Thus what I am not my ſelf, I make you, by accident; So increaſes a black ſpot the candour of a blanchd veſture; So gloomy ſhades ſeem to augment the Phaebean radiances, and ſo are your perfections ſet off by the foiles of

Sir, Your ſervant, W.D.
XLIII. A conceited letter of thanks for favours. SIR.

YOu know that I (with friendſhip and affection my ſureties) ſtand already bound to you in an obligation, for requitall of a larger ſumme of favours, then my poore abilities can any wayes ſatisfy, yet now you make a large addition to the principall debt by— Till fortune better enable mee, I much beg your acceptance of thankfulnes, which I deſigne in liew of intereſt, and (for you better ſecurity) my Bond renewed for the reſt, with the addition of another ſurety, my ſervice, ſeald with the privy ſignet of my love, atteſted by two witneſſes, gratitude and acknowledgment, and ſubſcribed by

Sir, Your faithfull ſervant, T. B.
XLIV. In anſwer to a letter from a dear friend. SIR,

OF late my many evocations render mee, as, inconſtant in reſidency, ſo in my letters and addreſſes both various and uncertain; Hence have proceeded (and a while I fear muſt) the languiſhment of my lines, the alteration of my weekes; Yet with this added diſadvantage, that the more time may ſeem given mee to write, the leſs I have to be accurate. I received your laſt abroad, and am never yet more at home, then where they find mee, or I them. A virtue that (with mee) accompanies yours, and yours only. And being it wants a name, let it be a Sympathy: a Sympathy 'twixt you and mee, ſo charming, that by reading your characters, I draw in my own Idea's (but abettered and ſo fall, by an introverſion, into my ſelf. By this you may gueſſe how much you endear your friend; by ſo expreſſing your ſelf his, to make him (even in the midſt of diſtractions, and fatigues) his own; and yet only to own him, to be more yours and Gods. Know then, I am yet free from misfortune, nor enfeebled by any mortall malady, that's ſenſible; Some grudgings of a 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 Caduque being, and the unwholſome ſeaſons effects if I feel, they are but the antecedents of what I am ſure at laſt muſt follow. But ſince you ſtile my ſickneſs, your infirmity, my infortunes, your miſhapps, I would be well, to encreaſe your Vigours; fortunate to leſſen your leaſt bad events. The Heavens influence and their interpreting Predictions now we hear begin to work in your clime; and as the operation bodens ſtupendious revolutions, ſo are we tickled with curioſity to know your changes, and y what ſteps, the main Deſignes are aſcended to? and what you conceive will be the ſequels, chiefly of neereſt connexion? In the mean we will hope and feare; Two paſſions that will blend all the fore-caſts of humane life. Be carefull of your health that you may enjoy your ſelf in a diſtracted Age: So ſhall you bee ſafe in the guards of your own virtues; and in the innocency of your life, with comfort conſolate your friends. Amongſt whom not the leaſt dependent, is ever,

21 April 1653. Dear Sir, Your intirely affectionate D.W.
XLV. Ʋpon a promiſe to write to one. SIR,

THe inconſiderate promiſe I made to render you my thoughts in writing during this abſence, was grounded upon a juſt ſence of my obligations, without the leaſt reflection upon my diſabilities for any ſuch performance; And in this reſpect I might juſtly have been diſobliged without breach of faith, but that (ſeriouſly) I had rather diſcover my imperfections in this kind, then be any waies wanting in my remerciaments, which are much indebted to your many favours: And therefore I ſend this ſmall tribute, as an earneſt of the much greater affection of

Sir Your coſen and ſervant, T. B.
XLVI. Dear Coſen,

AMong the various contentments, which the Country yeelds in this ſeaſon, I have met with none equall to that which the receit of your letter affords mee; for (truſt mee) I am ſo raviſhed with the contents, that whenſoever I perceive that ſadnes to invade mee, which the want of your ſweet preſence often begets, I have inſtantly recourſe to your letter for cure. Thus do I honour the lines for your dear ſake that ſent them, nor ſhall I ever ceaſe to acknowledge your numberleſs favours, whilſt I have breath but to pronounce mee

Your moſt affectionate Coſen and ſervant, T. B.
XLVII. In Anſwer to an elegant letter. Sir,

WHen I obſerve the equall facility and felicity of your expreſſion, I loath the rudenes and indigeſtion of mine, and when I conſider the pith and plenitude of your lines, I look upon the emptines and inainty of my own with much indignation: yet though I were not born a Cicero for Eloquence, I am and muſt be another Achates for affection. If there bee any thing in this World can deſerve the name of good, 'tis really in the fruition of you; in and by whom I am ſo perfectly beatified, that I count my ſelf in a Paradice, when I am gathering the fruits of your preſence. Fortune (in other things leſs liberall) hath given mee many friends, and Correſpondents, yet none ſo reall, none ſo learned, as your ſelf; I never made ſo happy a bargaine (if I may ſo rudely ſtile it) as when I contracted this intertrafique of love, I never hear from you or ſee you, but I make an infinite purchaſe of piety, and knowledge, from your weighty lines and ſolid diſcourſe; But above all, I have gained (yet bluſh to think with how little deſert) in you a friend, whoſe boſome is an Archive, fit to treaſure up the greateſt ſecret, and in whoſe hands I can repoſe my life, nay (which is dearer) my ſoul; O happineſs; happineſs ſaid I? 'tis beyond the degree of common happineſs; Such pious condeſcendings (where you give pure Gold and receive nothing but droſs in exchange) argue a goodnes in you, beyond the reach of my pen to delineate, which I muſt content my ſelf, to admire. Sir, you have here the reall dictates of my inmoſt thoughts, though wrapt up in a homely dreſs; for I am as yet hardly entred into the Suburbs of good Language, yet do but pardon theſe my rude expreſſions, & I may hope (by your conduct) in time to enter that City, where you, by due merit, command in chief. To morrow I am bound for the frigid Zone, yet will aſſure you, that no change of Climate ſhall have power to alter or frigidify the affections of

Sir, Your devoted ſervant, and therein moſt happy. T. B.
XLVIII. REPLY. SIR,

YOurs, as a ſuddain joy, have ſurpriſed mee. So accort your ſtile, ſo pathetike your love, that I am both rapt and enflamed: you could never in better time have made your friendly addreſſes. They came as cordialls to refreſh my exhauſted Spirits. I was even ſpent in diſpatches, diſtracted with unexpected viſits of friends. From theſe, as a reviving refrigeration, I caſt my eyes and thoughts on your emphatick ſtraines. In which I am loſt; Can wonder but not reply. In ſhort I am ſo variouſly divided this day; and chiefly for the moments of the Meſſengers ſtay, that I have not reſpite of reply. Before you direct your courſe, toward the North Pole, I hope to get ſo much pauſe, as to be my own, that I may make ſome ſuppletory addition. Pardon theſe extemporaries: what in ſenſe and language is deficient, that affection ſupplies, which really ever ſtiles mee

Sir, Yours, D.W.
XLIX. A further reply. SIR,

MY heſtern note anſwered yours, with apology, that I wanted time to anſwer them; I promis'd alſo to be more reſponſary, and now repent it. My leaſure's as interrupted, and ſecond reviſings of your accurate lines diſanimate. What is moſt delightfull to view, is as hard to paralell. Sir, the flote of your Eloquence runs high, and where (by the Art of ſelf-annihilation,) you would ſeem to depreſs your ſufficiency, there you moſt riſe; And indeed ſkill cannot but by ſkill be hid, nor perſpicuous abilities better blazond, then when moſt curiouſly mantled by arted invelopings. You are no Cicero born, 'tis confeſſd, yet I think born to be an Engliſh Cicero; of this, nature has given ripe ſpecimens, and induſtry as faſt poliſhes, judgement matures. In one letter I trace you flouriſhing in various figures; in the property and ſtore of words choiſe, in c mpoſure compt; in ſenſe acute. Truſt mee, I admire, yet cannot envy; For whilſt an Achates in affection, your embelliſhments are mine. The Acceſſory (you know) in Law follows the Principall, and love makes all common. If then by this inviolable tie we are one, your endowments entitle me joinct owner; a riches, I prepone to Monarchies. Sir, I were happy did I rightly own the leaſt degree in the litterary attributes you pleaſe to give mee; thoſe of endeared paſſion I doe; thoſe of reality I cannot refuſe. It is indiſpenſably your claime; what e're I am or ſhall be (that's commendable) is dedicated to your loyall friendſhip; honour me with belief till I faile. My breaſt (as long as the harbour of a heart) ſhall be a ſafe repoſitory; I was never by ingenerate diſpoſition futile and porous, and with ſo prudent and emboſom'd a friend, I ſhall not ſure begin. Upon ſecrets I do not wittingly encroach, yet if (by freedom of a friend) committed, the gaſtly terrours of death unlock them not; He that wants this guiſt has no challenge to Amities ſacred intereſt. But I am now interturb'd, and my pen (dear friend) is ſnatch'd off, yet firſt take theſe votary wiſhes; Propitious be your guiding Stars; inſpiring the Muſes; a ſafe journey; fortunately our expeditions, and a ſpeedy circuit to your City entertainments and ſuſpir'd retires; It is almoſt your peculiar felicity, that, where others are chiefly ſcattered, you can find or make an improving ſeceſs; An evidence as you are ſtudious; ſo you can be, in all places, the commander of your ſelf and houres. Well! my loves, longings and prayers ſhall accompany this forcd vagary, and with as much joy welcome you home. Interſtices locall may divide bodies & abodes; vinted minds know no ſeparation. Hence wherever I, in my better part, am with you concommitant, and laſtingly

Oxford 29 Sept. Sir, Yours, D.W.
L. ANSWER. SIR,

HItherto I have been in a ſuperlative degree, both felicitated by the riches of your preſence and enriched by the wealth of your lines; But I have learnt there's nothing permanent in this world, otherwiſe 3 weeks abſence from the one and deprivement of the other, would be more afflictive, then words can expreſs; For in earneſt you are to me that fire of Prometheus, without which all my actions ſeem inanimate, detaine but the food of your favours from mee & I am a meer nothing. Though I am now bound (as you know) for the North, yet believe it my daily beſt thoughts ſhall ſteer Weſt-ward, where (how far ſoever diſtant in perſon) I leave the hearty affections of

Sir, Your faithfull ſervant, T.B.
LI. Anſwer to a quaint Letter. SIR.

WHen will your treaſury of choiſe words be exhauſted, when will your fountain of Eloquence be drawn dry, when will your Magazin of rich matter be emptied? never; I now plainly ſee the more you write, the more you have to write, and may (with reverence) not ineptly compare your Cranium to the holy Chriſmatory of France; you ſtill take out, yet leave it without the leaſt diminution; Prodigy of nature! It fares much otherwiſe with mee; I (if at any time big with words) fall into a painfull labour, and after many throwes, am alwaies by abortion diliver'd of a thing like a Bear's whelp, which I can lick into no form. Every Bucket drawn from mine own Well, goes neerer the bottome, the reaſon is, there's no ſprings for repletion of that ſtore; yet in earneſt the influence of your teeming Muſe has (me thinks) in ſome meaſure fertilis'd my ſiccaneous and Barren ſoyle. But whether rove I? Now for News (which is the primum quaerite of theſe dayes) I muſt tell you, thus —Sir, the length of my letter and this ſhorteſt of daies doe not well quadre; This is the winter Solſtice, So is it alſo the ſtation both of my invention and paper, the firſt is at a non p us ultra of matter, the laſt only affords me roome to ſubſcribe my ſelf

13 Decembr. 1652. Sir, Your vowed ſervant, T.B.
LII. To a Brother. Dear brother,

YOurs equally full of love and good Councell came to my hands with no ſmall contentment, ſince I perceive you intereſſe your ſelf (as a very kind friend) in all things that concern my good, which as I can never forget, ſo do I ever account my ſelf moſt happy, when I hear of your progreſſe in all perfections and good qualities, wherewith to ſee you accompliſhed is the paſſionate deſire of

Your moſt affectionate brother, T.B.
LIII. To Mr. G. SIR,

THis is only to give you many humble thanks for the favour you did mee to the D: If I live not to be able to ſtrike Taleys with you, yet I ſhall alwaies record your kindnes with a thankfull reminiſcence: And though I am blunt in my expreſſion, yet believe it, I ſhall moſt willingly in-Gage in any ſervice that may approve mee

Sir, Your faithfull ſervant, T.B.
LIV. Another to him in Fuſtian. SIR,

MY laſt was from Dunſtable, and (though I am in perſon removed thence yet) I fear the matter of this may come from thence too, being not as yet ſufficiently rudimented, in your Accademy for ſuch ſuſceptions. I muſt tell you (with ſome regret) that I find, not an Academick (except the noble Brittan) in all our voiſinage; ſo that if we converſe at all, it muſt be with Labradors and ſuch out of whoſe hebetudinous cerebroſity, we may as ſoon extract A rum potabile, as the Elixer of any knowledge; Their querilous outcry is, that the continuall ſiccity of this ſeaſon, ha's inuſted all their herbiferous grounds, which mny happily breed a dearth of Aliment, as there is already of litterature in theſe parts. Thus much ex obliquo, now to the purpoſe, I hope your late obſtreperous Alarmes, have not interturbed the procedure of our noble Authors Miſcelany, which is a principall point in my Card. Sir, believe it without ſome Miſſive of Conſolation from you, the Country will ſoon put me into a Chagrin, therefore be no longer coſtive, as you love

10 Aug. Your ſervant, T.B.
LV. ANSWER. SIR,

HAving by the incloſed given you ſome few ſerious lines, let me now anſwer your facetious letter (of 10 Auguſt) with a joculatory line or two; And firſt by way of allauding your acuminous Exordium; but withall of ſhewing, you imediately miſtake the word ſuſception, if you think it can ſtand in a ſober ſence for underſtanding, however in a way of Raillery it may paſs. Again rudimented for taught is harſh; ſo is hebetudinous cerebroſity. Documented for taught may paſs in a ſerious Line, and plumbious, better then hebetudinous; for inuſted, you ſhould ſay exuſted; ſo for herbiferous, frugiferous; becauſe herbes and plants are the leſs principall children of the Earth; whereas Corn and all ſorts of grain are the moſt principall for Mans uſe; for ſo you muſt mean by the word (aliment) that followes in the text of your letter.

And by this you ſee there is a kind of Elegance to be obſerved in a fuſtian phraſe; nay I ſay more, the lepid lines of fuſtian are loſt, when 'tis not genuine but ſtrained; And truſt me (Sir) I hold it a piece of greater Art to line a letter with proper fuſtian, then with ſilken language, eſpecially when friends reſolve to be merry by diſtantiall ſalutes, your French Chagrin and Spaniſh Labrador may paſs as appoſite, becauſe proper to the ſenſe, and nothing ſtrained; So the miſſive of Conſolation you deſire, by way of an amicable obſervation upon the Text of yours; And this is what I can ſport away, who muſt reſt

17 Aug. Sir, Your fuſtianizing friend, G.G.
LVI. REPLY. SIR,

THis brings you humble thanks both for your news and your Criticiſmes, and though mine of the 10 of Auguſt were but panis ſpeuſticus, a doghbak'd piece of fuſtian, wherein I intended nothing ad amuſſim, yet you muſt give me leave to make ſome defence. For Suſception I have Rider for my warrant in that ſenſe; Rudimented I hold to be good and (according to the new mode of converting Nounes into Verbs) I purpoſely avoided plumbeous cerebroſity (not plumbious as you write it) as trite and thread bare; But for your exception to herbiferous, in that you miſtake the ſenſe, for the ſeaſon hath bin of late very good for Corn and grain, which frugiferous includes, and as bad for graſs, the Sun having in ſome places not only burnt the very rootes of it, but has alſo made ſtrange clefts and impreſſions in the Earth, therefore I us'd inuſted, a word which though not ſo uſuall, as exuſted, or aduſted yet in this ſenſe I think no leſs proper, if not in a genuine, at leaſt in a metaphoricall way, and Cattle, that are fed by graſs & hay, are a conſiderable part of our aliment, &c.

Sed me reprimo, not at all perſuming to enter the Cirque with you in Logomachy or the pugnacity of ſuch diſputes, but with ſubmiſſion in all things to your greater judgment, whence I muſt confeſs to have received in theſe my junior years; a great increment to my ſmaller portion of knowledge, both by theſe and other your documentall redargutions, which I alwaies receive with a reverentiall reſpect, anſwerable to your merit and the obligation of

24 Aug. Sir, Your very humble ſervant, T.B.
LVII. Rejoynder. Sir,

I Do hugely allaud your endeavour to abonar what I had vitiated in my laſt; For tis a ſigne you are Maſter of what you do, when you can avow it ab ipſis primis principiis, and thereby ſhew you are as far from being conſcious of errour, as you are from being inſcious how far you may uſe the latitude of uſtianiſing, without exceeding the limits of modeſt avowment, per modum inculpatae tutelae, Macte animo mi Thoma, & perge eo quo cepiſti pede, &c. Truſt me Sir, I ſhall (without a bluſh) eaſily yeeld you the advantage of me in logomachy, as often times deep divines do to Logitians in point of reducing Syllogiſmes to all their poſſible variations into ſeverall Moodes and figures; becauſe the one is actually converſant in that perticular, whereas the other depends only upon the habitual uſe of ſuch figures, without retaining the rule that leads to the rectitude thereof; So men ſpeak true Latine, without being able to give rule for it, and by this means ſome times are peccant againſt the Rule, which every ſchool-boy can correct them in. And truely in this perticular of Logomachy you may and will be able to read Lectures to the deepeſt of men, becauſe you laudably make it your profeſs'd ſtudy and conſequently will make a world of men obliged to you, as well as

2 Sept. Sir, Your ſervant, G.G.
LVIII. An Anſwer from one ſick. SIR,

SUch my perſent condition, that I receive your letters as ſick men do viſits, am gratefull, yet cannot returne the curteſie, but by feeble thanks; In this nature I have now been 3 weeks a decumbent; This the cauſe I have already faild in my wonted entercourſe, and the ſame continuate diſability muſt render theſe, of my own complexion, infirm and faint, yet I beg you will not interrupt your turnes; For though I am not reſponſible, yet your lines are much ſolace and no ſmall divertiſement from the ſence of my weaknes: What was before but a friendly coreſpondence, will (till it pleaſe God I mend) be an office of endearing charity, extended towards him, who is

Entirely yours, D.W.
LIX. To his Mris, after a long Journey. My deareſt friend,

I Have bin a long and ſad journey, which ſeem'd ſo much the longer and ſo much the ſadder, by how much I was farther diſtanced from your ſweet abode, nor had the ſadnes of this forc'd vagary any ſolace at all, ſaving that of neer 300 miles, I paſſed no one, without making a Relique of your memory, which had ſtill the vertue to renew all joyes in me, and expell the miſts of melancholy, almoſt with equall force (ſo ſtrong was my imagination) as if I had bin really in your preſence; If you have but beſtowed one thought on me for every hundred I have dedicated to you, I am ſatisfied, believing that no love can come within ſo many degrees of mine, nor that there's any ſtate ſo happy, as that of being

Your devoted ſervant, T.B.
LX. Another to the ſame. My onely dear,

THat you may ſee I forget you not at any time nor in any place, I preſent you theſe, and if I ſeem importune by my frequent addreſſes, you muſt pardon me, ſince I profeſſe to receive no ſolace in this abſence, but what the comfortable entertainment of thoughts on you affords me, and ſhould I but as often put ſuch thoughts in writing, as my heart preſents them to my memory, I ſhould be no day, even no houre without a pen in my hand; And I may well hope, from the excellency of your nature, that you will not leave ſuch faith, ſuch affection, without a juſt retribution, nor can I deſpair of your remembrance of me in ſome propor •• on anſwerable to mine of you; ſo may happineſs in the end crown both, and I live eternally

Yours, as at firſt, unalterable, T.B.
LXI. In anſwer to a friend, ill of a cold. Sir,

THe next degree to the happines of not having evils, is to have had them: which imports, though not our immunity, yet riddance: & to have overcome annoiance may be better, then not to have ſuffered it. This ſince you ſay, you have bin almoſt dead of a Cold, congratulates your almoſt Reſurrection: and hopes to find your ſhort-windednes turn'd into free reſpiration. 'Tis a vulgar Probleme, whether this malady may be called a diſeaſe, or Phyſick. You I believe found it trouble ſome; but will not repent, if it prove medicinall. I imagin (allur'd by Aprils forward Sun) you ſlipt too early into your Summer Aparell; which, though it prov'd too thin to defend you, yet not unable, to make you take a warier choiſe of your Wardrobe next Spring. Gondamar was of opinion, as there were in England many ſeaſons of the year in one day; ſo a man had need of ſeverall ſuits: My fancy is, if you will not alwaies be ſhifting, 'tis beſt not to ſhift till you ſee nature in her beſt Green gown: whoſe faſhion you may harmleſly follow. Sir, you ſee by my ſpinning out this one Clauſe of your letter, I want matter; Yet you may ſee too, there's nothing drops ſo raw from you, but affords ſubject. Nor muſt you blame me, if your indiſpoſition buſie my Pen, ſince your 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 is the Copie of it, and my own beſt conſtitution. Hence you have a double care lies upon your preſervation; your love to your ſelf, and indulgence to

Sir, Your ſervant, W.D.
LXIII. In anſwer to a letter of Commends, &c. SIR.

I Never look'd awry (pardon the phraiſe) upon any of yours till now, and now (were not our mutuall loves united with many a dear link) jealouſie (that Canker of affection) would corrode my heart, I ſhould, and can yet hardly forbear to) judge, that you had ſome more deſerving object in your mind, when you fancied mee with ſuch high commends, as hold no proportion with my merit. I know you never wrote, but your heart and pen were coitinerants, yet (pardon mee, if) I aſſure you that in this (and perhaps in this alone) love has pourblinded your (otherwiſe much diſcerning) judgment; ſhould I believe all your write of mee, I might quickly be waſted into a Fools Paradiſe and ſo become a Ludibry; I'le rathet characteriſe my ſelf, then own the leaſt of your attributes, take it thus bluntly, yet with truth and candor, for I have ſtudied that Sentence, which was engraven upon the gate of Apollo's Temple at Delphos (viz) 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . I was born under the dull planet Saturn, ſo that Mercury had no influence on my production, hence I am ſo far from being a Lynceus of nature, a Pelops of wiſdome or Cicero of Eloquence, that I never pretended to any of thoſe virtues, which beget admiration, nor to have my mind embroidered with any ſtudied ornaments of learning, I onely claime ſome ſmall title to thoſe qualities, which ſtir affection, As truth of word, ſincerity of heart, &c. Having thus ingenuouſly premiſed, I now ſend you an inhibition from the Court of love, not to treat any more of that ſubject, but to redargue my Errors and ſhew me the flats both of my pen and judgement, that what I write hereafter may merit this only Elogium; As here's no Elegance, ſo likewiſe no incongruity or affectation; I aim no higher; for in earneſt if it were poſſible any thing of yours could nauſeate me, the way were to ſend me a Laudatory Epiſtle, inſtead of a redargutory letter; But I have another taſk therefore tis high time to put Omega to this, by ſubſcribing my ſelf

Sir, Your humbleſt ſervant, T.B.
LXIII. THE REPLY. SIR,

MY fancied exceſſe in your praiſe, now recoiles upon my ſelf; you are, I ſee, your Artes Maſter: and what you could not divert, by a juſt diſclaim; you can ſtop, by an exaggerated retorſion. You may expect, I ſhould now imitate your ſhame-fac'd modeſtie; right this paper, with renouncing the abilities you heap upon me. But, I will not; ſhould I, We ſhould ſtill dwell in one Theme, & by the Nauſeous tautologie, both impaire, what ere we both merit. I dare not vendicate to my ſelf, a perfect ſelf-knowledge; nay, I avoid the reflex glances, that ſhould tell me what I am; leſt, what I am, might caſt me into a dejection; & ſo, hinder amendment. Puſill animity, never yet attained an eminence. Do you ceaſe your own undervaluings, & I ſhall my more adjuſted expreſſions. I can let your worths be their own blazons, would you ſo let them; but, if you will wrong you ſelf, juſtice calls me, to your vindication. Nor, muſt the Legiſts Maxime, here ſway; volenti non fit injuria. Neither of us (pardon the parallel) are ſo accompliſht but we ought to thrive in imbelliſhments. Whether our ſouls came Ariſtotles Tabula raſa; or written with Plato's Idea's into our earth; in our earth, they have either forgot much, or learnt little. The fault, doubtles, ours. For, by what we know, we know we might, & may, know more. Nature, has made us capable; that we become not better Proficients, our own truant inertie, the obſtacle. I, am not ſo much a Scotiſt, as to confeſſe a ſubſtantiall difference, in ſouls: nor yet, ſuch an Abcedary Philoſopher, as to deny the Organs muſt be fitted, where the operation is to be excellent. You, & I ſhould be ingrate, did we not aſſert, God has been liberall enough. To aſperſe his bounty with our wants, were a petty blaſphemie in Philoſophie it ſelf. Let us both confeſſe, our reſpective ignorance, & our ignorance to be onely ours. This done: we are not to center in old dulneſſe, but from the remorſe of loſt time, vigorouſly imploy the future. It imports the Vulgar rout, more to be good, than ſagacious: We, are moulded for higher action: yet muſt joyn Vertue to knowledge. Reaſon's brutiſh, where the will's incult. The Patterne, we were effigiated to, was infinitely Knowing, infinitely good; in both, we are bound to imitate: bound to be the Repreſentatives, of both, or, we forfeit our Orginall, and our ſimilitude, too. Man's a little world; his minde the Heaven; the two great Lights thoſe ſplendid faculties, his Intellect, and Will: the leſſer Starres, are the other powers: the intellect the Sun of all: all borrow his brightneſſe, all muſt Cooperate with his raies, by adding their proper vertues. Thus ſhall our Microcoſme be reſplendent and fruitful, & gloriouſly rich: thus, we wiſe, and good, & thus nor good nor wiſe, I am.

Sir, Yours, D.W.
LXIV. The Rejoinder. Sir,

I Quarrell'd your laſt in hope you would have retracted your tranſcendent elogicall conmends, which whilſt you ſeem to intend in this, you have by a Rhetoricall Artifice, added more fewell to that fire; So that I perceive whether I write or be ſilent, complain or acquieſce, I am every way dilemma'd; I muſt confeſs to have nor wit nor language enough, to fadome the depth of your abilities, and by conſequence am rendred impoſſibilited to pay you in your own coine, which is of ſuch allay, that I may well ſay, you have truely found out the Philoſophers ſtone, ſince you are able to convert any groſs matter into the gold of fine language; your proſaick lines are (for excellency) like thoſe metricall ones of Homer, which as they excell in other points, ſo they ſeem to have an eaſie native ſlide in them, and to be conducted by a happy Genius. If I had abilitys to expatiate upon this ſubject, I could not be held a Patelin, but rather a ſuffragran to truth; what I want words to expreſs, ſilent admiration ſhall ſpeak in the thoughts of

Sir, Your obliged ſervant, T.B.
LXV. An Anſwer. Sir,

'TIs well you are, as you are, the Rendevouz where all perfections meet, otherwiſe I ſhould in this intercourſe have one (and one onely) advantage of you; For whilſt you at every return of the Tabellary, have your Theme to ſeek, and yet no ſooner ſought but found (ſuch is the magazin of your invention) I have a plentifull ſubject alwaies ready at hand, If I had anſwerable abilitys to make my election, and to word it accordingly and that is news, news which whilſt there are men, will never ceaſe to bee in vogue; And ſince this week affords that which is ſomewhat palaticall, I ſhall no longer tantalize you with a proletarious Exordium. Then know, &c. —I humbly kiſs your hands and remain.

Sir, Your faithfull ſervant, T.B.
LXVI. REPLY. SIR,

I Am aſſaulted by your Martiall metaphors, yet with this favour, that where others erect their engines, to ruine, your levell aimes to ſtrengthen the weak fort you direct againſt; your continued Elogies at laſt mean to perſwade me (I ſee) into ſome Ability, and could you infuſe what you commend (in ſtead of bluſh) your Rhetorique would make me doubtleſs eloquent. I will not ſay with that keen Satyriſt recuſo Euge tuum & Belle. No I will with a modeſt guilt of non-deſert embrace them, to profit, and that nec te quaeſiveris extra (of the ſame Poet) was a good Monition. But our Muſe is not ſo ſtoicall.

Quis enim virtutem amplectitur ipſam,

Praemia ſi tollas— Sir, honour is the reward of Artes and fame the tongue of honour, nor are either honour or fame more the guerdons, then the incentives of Proficience. Do you ſee (my friend) how I hug your attributions? My vanity yet (in it) may be your leſſon; not to be vain but ingenuous, Be not ſo ſqueamiſh, hence forward: Accept your Baies offered, or merit it confer'd. What praiſe finds not anſwerable, let it incite to anſwer. I know my inſufficiencies, but utterly deſpair not amendment; If by your encouragement I amend not, I ſhall confeſſe my Brutiſh nature, to be paſt cure. If I grant you an advantage over me, 'tis but what you have aſſerted: I anſwer the ſame Poſt, and to many beſides yours; But what is this? (my both matter, and the couching ſhewes it) to be ſuddainly ſlight and rude, an odd perfection, and but ſuitable to both my leiſure and me; you have a ready ſubject for your pen, and how gratefully and ably you paint it forth, give me leave to be the Judge, that receive the delight: and I muſt keep it to my ſelf, for you are as coy to receive the titles of your worth, as I am conſcious they are due. Be then ſtill higher then words can expreſs you; ſo I may ſtill bee

Sir, Exceſſively yours, W.D.
LXVII. The firſt Addreſs to his Miſtris. Moſt honoured Lady,

IN a cauſe whereon the felicity of my whole life depends, and wherein I have moſt will, I find leaſt power to unboſome the ſecrets of my heart, ſuch force has love to captivate my faculties; Hence 'tis I rather choſe this, then that other way of verball delivery; For though in either I ſhould diſcover my own imperfections, yet in theſe lines my guiltles bluſhes will paſs unſeen. Hitherto I have onely appear'd a ſervant to your affaires, and in that quality had continued, if the excellency of your perſonall endowments had not (by ſome kind of heavenly impulſe) driven mee on to more aſpiring thoughts; Thoughts, which (with truth I ſpeak it) were engendred by the onely object of your goodnes, without any adulterate commixture of eſtate, which (however valued by others) is not of weight ſufficient to turn the ballance of my ſcale, if not otherwiſe well laden with pure and unbiaſs'd affection, which I profeſs to owe to none but you; and to you all things, even the being of

Your moſt faithfull and devoted ſervant, T.B.
LXVIII. Another to the ſame. My ineſtimable Jewell,

IF the fumes of thoſe corroſives you gave me laſt night from other hands, had not been qualified with the ſweet odors of your own cordialls, I had (unfeignedly ſpeaking) wholly ſacrifiz'd the enſuing night to the vigils of a diſquiet mind; But as your goodneſſe had not the will onely, but the power to raiſe mee from a hell of tormenting thoughts, to a Paradiſe of expected comfort, ſo does it multiply my endeared affections, which no miſfortune ſhall have power to alienate, nor ſhall any thing but death determine. I am with much ſollicitude ſetting all my imaginations upon the tenter, in order to the removall of thoſe Rocks, which ſeem (and but ſeem) to threaten Shipwrack to our approaching happineſs, whereto your utmoſt contribution is (by all the ties of true love) moſt earneſtly implored, together with the continuance of him in your beſt thoughts, who is

Your own, beyond expreſſes, T.B.
LXIX. ANOTHER. Dear pledge of my ſoul.

AMong all the obloquies, which the unrelenting malice of mine (and by conſequence your) enimies hath caſt upon mee, none appears ſo gaſtly in my thoughts, as that pretended want of love towards you, which (the heavens will witneſs) was never imbreaſted in any mortall with more purity and plenitude; For 'tis the foundation, whereon I intend (by divine aſſiſtance) to build a frame of mutuall and interminable happines; a happines that will be admired by ſome, but envied by others. Pleaſe to remember that you are now filia emancipata (as divines terme you) at your own diſpoſe, and that you have of mee a ſervant, who only breathes by your favour and lives through your love, who will ever owe you fealty for the one, and ſtill do you homage for the other; a ſervant, who with unwearied expectation only waits for the happy houre, wherein that (fiat) ſhall be by you pronounc'd, which will in an inſtant (Elixar-like) turn all my droſſy cares and anxieties into true contentments, and make me live eternally

Yours without change, T.B.
LXX. ANOTHER. My happy Choice,

IF a more preſſing occaſion had not detain'd me, I ſhould have thought the foulneſſe of the weather but an eaſie penance, in reſpect of the ſolace, which the ſweets of your preſence would have afforded me; for the enjoyment whereof I muſt (with much regret) adjourn my expectation till to morrow; Mean time I ſend you the promiſed pictures, if the ſight of which do at any time erect your thoughts to heaven-ward, even then remember him, who on earth deſires no greater happines, then to live and die loving (and beloved by) you, in quality of

Your ſecond ſelf, T.B.
LXXI. To excuſe the not taking leave of a Lady of quality. Madam,

THough it be held a readier way to gain pardon, by acknowledging then excuſing a fault, yet the Eminency of your Ladyſhips perſon doth ſo aggravate it in me, that I muſt beg leave to leſſen, though, I cannot hope to have it wholly remitted, in ſaying the juſtneſs of your Ladyſhips cauſe of ſtay, made me preſume none had ſo little compaſſion as to deny it; and that I might expect the being freed from my ague, without danger of loſing the opportunity of preſenting my humble thanks for ſo many ſingall favours, undeſervedly conferred on me; but ſince that happineſs with many others is loſt by your Ladyſhips abſence, honour this paper ſo far I beſeech you, as to ſuffer it to ſupply my defects herein, and teſtify how ambitious I ſhall be, by my future obſervance, to merit the title of

Madam, Your moſt humble ſervant, A.B.
LXXII. Ʋpon the death of a fair Lady. Sir,

AMong other impartments, your laſt tells mee, you were to uſher a fair Lady to her grave; A Corporall work of Mercy, it is to bury the Dead, I grant; but to interr ſo great a Beauty e ms to entrench on Pity and blaſt the Spring. Had ſhe lived till Autumne or even Midſommer, the funeralls of many flowers, had lamented her Urne: yea if but till they had been blown, they would have loſt their lives to adorn her Hearſe; and have been ambitious (like thoſe Savages) to have been buried quick with their Ladie Paragon, for her attendance in the other World. But ſhe has inverted Nature, and the Seaſon too; the flower of beauty died, when the beauty of flowers ſhould ſpring; and ſo has not onely left a withered World, but diſmayed the Blowth of what ſhould garniſh it. Flowers are diſheartened to open their fragrant Colors, ſince their Pattern is ſo early Cropt: and ſeem to intend (being ſhe's entomb'd under the Earths ſurface) to keep themſelves under Earth to accompany her duſt; yet I will free you of cruelty in this fate; you had no hand (I am ſure) in her death, though you helpt her to her Grave. And who ſhould be a fitter Mourner at the exequies of a fair Lady, than ſo compleat a ſervant of Ladies? Sir, I ſee what grace you are entertained with by them: they not only love you living, but are loath to part with you, dead: will carry you as for as they can towards the other life, when they goe. That if they may not have your company quite through (which were a wrong to Survivors) they may your funerall tears, ſighes, or prayers for their Ʋltime Vale: you preface a happy imprimis, to this ſad diſcourſe, and ſay having (firſt) done all that might tend to her future happineſs. Happy News! and it ownes you, I believe, an inſtrument of good effects and offices. Had all fair Ladies ſuch faithfull ſervants, More Idols of beauty would receive impreſſion of the divine Image, and become the ſervants of God. And ſhe had much reaſon to deſire your care of her bodies enterrment, that had firſt aided her ſoul, with a ſaving Viaticum for heaven. Long may you live the Author or helper of ſuch good deeds. In the interim, as here was a double work of mercy (Corporall and Spirituall) exploited; ſo you, I am confident, have made your uſefull application of the Accident; beheld in the blaſting of this flower, the fate of Fairneſs, the frailties of the faireſt Clay, that feature, and white and red could embeliſh. If ſhe were not Superlative in Beauty, in beauty ſhe had many inferiours; if in fortunes, not the favourite of fortune; yet, ſhe has had her ſmiles. Many Beauties have faln ſooner, many may ſooner fade; yet in her all beauties, all fortunes, have expreſt, what fortunes and beauties are; what is the Exit of the Fable of this temporary life: to wit, ugly death, eternall deprivation, the cold Tomb, and deformed duſt. Fortunate life! that ſo contemplates mortal condition, as to be indifferent and ready to change; that fraile incertainties, and vain glitter may be motives to aſſure and fix on laſting good, that by others death learnes to live, and lives the life that feares not death: that ſo accompanies others funeralls, as in that ſable equipage, to behold the mournfull Pomp of the Worlds farewell, and their own deſtiny: that reads in that earthy bed of death (the Grave of others) their own Motto, we are duſt, and all mortall things Momentary. Sir, pardon this long ſlip of my pen: you ſee how a fair Ladies death and your living pietie, entrances me, to the forgetfulneſs of other ſubjects, I confeſs I am alſo now in a dull Mood, not apt as to expreſſion. Thanks for your News on which, the only preſent comment ſhall be; that I am for ever

Sir, Your thankfull ſervant, D.W.
LXXIII. The Reply, relating the particulers of that Ladies death. Sir,

SInce you have been pleas'd to ſing ſo ſweet a dirge, and to make ſo excellent a comment upon our late funerous text, I cannot think the particulers of that ſad ſubject (how confuſedly ſoever I deliver them) will be unacceptable to you; This Lady was 3 moneths continually dying, without any hope of recovery, and this occaſioned by an ulcer in her throat, it was my good fortune (though others had aſſai'd it) to gain her firſt aſſent to bring a ſpirituall Phiſitian to her. Dr. G. was next at hand, and did act his part exceedingly well; after 2 or 3 effective viſits, the Patient (through the comfort and eaſe of the ſpirituall Cataplaſmes and emplaiſters, which the Doctor applied) was ſo rapt and piouſly enamor'd of him, as ſhe even embrac'd him at every appearance. When ſhee drew neer the confines of deaths kingdom, ſhe did uſually ejaculate not only moſt pious but even eloquent or rather diviniloquent expreſſions, as this (amongſt many others) which heaven grant I may never forget. I have (ſaid ſhe) lived long in the vanity of this World, for which God hath placed mee in this bed of ſorrow; Were it his holy pleaſure, I ſhould act over one of them again, and the choice left to mee, I would (by the Grace of Jeſus) rather choſe the torments of this bed, and malady, then have any thing to do with the Worlds vanities, &c Beſides nothing did ſo much trouble her, as that ſhe had lived (as ſhe ſaid) for fear of Worldly endamagement) ſome yeares in an outward profeſſion that contradicted her inward perſwaſion; The Doctor was no leſs taken with his Patient, then ſhe with him, for I heard him ſay hee was never more ſatisfied with the manner of any perſons death; And I confeſs her exit did more triſtitiate mee, then did that of my own Siſter, the manner of it, not a little both mortifying and edifying mee; For to ſee her picture in the Anti-chamber, and then go in and look upon the originall, was ſubject enough for mortification, the one being ſo incomparable beautifull, the other ſo ghaſtly; In a word, the laſt breath ſhe drew was Je-and in pronouncing-ſus ſhe expir'd. So that we may conclude, as ſhe was a great beauty living, ſhe was a greater dead; For whereas corporall beauty in others dies with the body, hers did not ſo, but by a ſecret tranſition paſs'd into the ſoul. Thus have you heard the brief (but ſad) ſtory of this good Ladies end, and that from

Sir, Your humble ſervant, T.B.
LXXIV. LETTER. Sir,

THe puniſhment that Apollo inflicts of reading Guicciardine is a light one, compar'd to this that you impoſe pon your ſelf, and yet you will only here play the Stoick in not acknowledging you are in pain; Nothing can juſtify mee, but obedience, for perſuming to offer this tedious Romance to thoſe eyes that ſhould onely look upon Iliads; I give verſes as Galeniſts do Phiſick, which clogs the ſtomack more then the diſeaſe; I muſt confeſs we may view Cities taken, kingdomes ruin'd, and new worlds diſcovered in leſſe roome; It is a Poem that hath neither height nor profundity, yet it has length; it overflowes but ſwells not; it wearies without aſcents, as Promenades do upon a flat; In a word, I ſhall think, if you do not find fault with it and reprehend me, it is becauſe you are angry and will do nothing in Paſſion; however it is a truſt I recommend to your ſecrecy, for follies are not things of the leaſt conſequence to truſt a friend with. And having now performed my promiſe with you, I expect you ſhould do the like with

Sir, Your affectionate ſervant, J.C.
LXXV. Ʋpon the New year. Sir,

AS all things ſublunary owe their being to the revolution of the upper Spheres, ſo their change; And 'tis juſt, they ſhould ſubmit to their eſſentiall Guides. Amongſt other novelties, the firſt mover had brought about the point of Circular motion, that has began us a New year: and promiſes many unwonted effects. Whilſt theſe appeare, let us be the ſame we were, conſtant old friends to God, heaven and our ſelves. Change, though to the better, argues imperfection, yet not to change to the better, were the worſt of imperfections. As reſtles rivers haſt to their Ocean, ſo ought we to ours, which is God, that Ocean of bliſs, repoſe, and Center of aeternity; Till here arrived, we are in flux and variety: Let us be ſo, but hold the right way.

As Grace is elder then Nature, ſo ſhe firſt begins her year; Aſtronomers commence theirs with the ſprings vigour, when the Sun's in Aries, the Church is content with Capricorn; When her Sun's in the Cradle, that Orient of Juſtice and mercy, the Son of God, The ſignes melancholy; yet the forerunner of more propitious. So let our ſorrows ſhorten with the nights, our joyes with the dayes lengthen. This ſolſtice (if we follow the conduct of the right Star) will fairly move to a brighter height, a nearer approach; diſpell our miſts, warme our hearts, raviſh our eyes.

This rambling prologue, is but to bring in the prayer that wiſhes you a happy New year, and that regard of times winged Cariers, which in running moments may take hold of the ſtedfaſt point of eternity. This is the Center of circumference; In which who truly fix, may be moved but not from it. Then, as time whirles away the meaſure of our mortall being, it will ha ten that, which ſhall know no alteration, but to be invariable. Sir, my complex on ſuits the dead ſeaſon at preſent, and yeilds me but a languiſhing health: Hence my pen's as dull. You know when the bodies out of order, the ſpirits cannot but flag. I muſt ſuffer the one, you will pardon the other. And ſo to affaires that require no politure, but what your patience ſhall give them, &c.

2 January. W.D.
LXXVI. ANSWER. SIR

YOurs I have received, read, and read again, and the more I read it, the more I have a a mind to read it, ſuch are the incentives of your heaven-inſpired lines, which as they clearly demonſtrate the truth of that Maxime of a modern Author, that Eternity is the Port and Sabbath of all humane Contemplations: So, ſince my more earthy Soul and leſſe heavenly cogitations are not able in due manner to comprehend them; I wrap my ſelf in this your learned ſheet and ſay to it (with equall wonder) As Ariſtotle once did to Euripus, Q uia ego non capio te, tu capias me

T B.
LXXVII. A letter to a friend upon his marriage. SIR.

I Have of late with held from you the Characters of my hand, though not the welwiſhes of my heart, conceiving you as cloſe in the purſuit of your fair Daphne, as Phabus was of his, when the breath of his mouth diſorder'd her disſheiveld hair: For I perceive you have now ran ſo, as happily to take the Virgin-prize; may you be ever mutually happy. There now onely remains the metamorphoſis (not into the Beaſt with two backs, which the knaviſh Shakeſpear ſpeaks of) but of that more ingenious, two into one, unus, una, into unum, which you have hinted ſo modeſtly in yours. Your Daphne I hope (before the arrivall of this paper) will be converted not onely into Bayes, but Roſemary, which is one fragrancy, due to her perfections (if you have (as I doubt not) given her a true Character) more then the Poet gave Apollo's Miſtreſs; Let this therefore ſuffice to give you both the parabien of Hymen's honours and felicities, and to let you know I ſhall both expect and be ambitious to wear a ſprig in honour of her, nor will I faile heartily to commend you both to the great Preſident of the wedding of Cana in Galilee, that he may turn the bitter Waters of your long expectation into the Wine of a happy and contented life, made up with the bleſſing of a good and pious poſterity. In which devotion I affectionately reſt

Sir, Your humble ſervant, H.T.
Superſcriptions FOR LETTERS, to be addreſſed to all ſorts of perſons, according to the uſage of the preſent times.

If to a Duke,

TO the moſt Noble (and ſome times) Excellent or illuſtrious Prince.

And in diſcourſe we ſtile him Grace

If to a Marqueſs,

To the right Noble or right honourable.

And in diſcourſe his attribute is, Lordſhip or Honour.

If to an Earle, Viſcount or Baron

To the right honourable.

And to begin a Letter, we, either ſay

May it pleaſe your Honor or Lordſhip

Right honorable

My Lord.

Which laſt is uſed only by Lords to Lords, or by Gentlemen of ſome quality, otherwiſe it is held too familiar.

If to a Baronet, or Knight of the Bath, we ſay

To the honourable or much honoured.

And his attribute (in the beginning of a letter may be Much honored Sir.

The like may be given to a Collonel.

The uſuall attribute of a Knight was of old

Right Worſhipfull.

And of an Eſquire

Worſhipful.

But theſe are much diſus'd, unles it be by perſons of inferiour rank.

We ſay (writing to a Knight)

To my noble or to my much honored friend,

Sir A.B. Knight, theſe preſent.

To an Eſquire we ſay

To my much honored or moſt worthy friend T.G. Eſquire.

Obſerve that (when you write to an Eſq) you be ſure not to ſay Maſter T.G. Eſq for the (Maſter) is ridiculous, the Eſq including it.

So if you write to a Doctor of Divinity, a Doctor of the Civil Law, or Doctor of Phiſick, you muſt not ſay Mr. Doctor T.G. nor Doctor T.G. Eſq; for Doctor both comprehends Maſter and Eſquire, and of theſe the Divine hath firſt place, the Civilian next, and the Phiſitian laſt.

To an ordinary Gentleman thus,

To my approved friend

To my moſt eſteemed friend

To my much valued friend

To my very much reſpected friend

To my worthy good friend, or the like.

Note that all the younger Sons of Dukes and Marqueſſes are Lords for their lives only, and are called Lord John, or Lord William, &c. by their Chriſtian names.

The eldeſt Son of an Earle is a Lord by birth, ſo is not a Viſcounts Son, till his Father be dead.

The youngeſt Sons of Viſcounts and Barons are but Eſquires, yet are honorable, and take place of all Baronets and Knights.

The eldeſt Son of a Baron is but an Eſq during his Fathers life.

Eſquire (comes from the French Eſcuier, in latin Armiger or Scutifer i. a bearer of Armes, or of a Sheild, and) is that Degree of Gentry, which is next to a Knight; It is conceived that at the firſt theſe Eſquires were bearers of Arms to Lords and Knights, and thereby had their name and dignity: Now to be true Eſquires according to the Law of Armes, they muſt either be Lords younger Sons, Baronets or Knights eldeſt Sons, members of Parlement, Sheriffs, Juſtices of the Peace, Serjeants at Law, Barriſters at Law (yet the late Earle Marſhall would not allow Barriſters to be Eſquires, but in the Act for Polemoney they were ranked by the then Parliament as Eſquires and paid as Eſq ) or of ſome ancient family that has it by being heir to a Knight in the right line; Though now a dayes (I know not by what warrant) all Gentlemen that have but ſome conſiderable Eſtate in Lands, take that title upon them, when as the Eſtate (though never ſo great) adds no title. And that the title of Eſq ſhould deſcend from Father to Son (as the Eſtate of Gentry doth) is meer fabulous, ſaies Mr. Herne in his Glory of Generoſity, p. 100.

Ladies have (for the moſt part) the ſame attributes as their husbands.

Both in Letter and diſcourſe, we give a Dutches the title Grace.

But to a Marchioneſs, Counteſs, Viſcounteſs or Baroneſs, right honourable and in diſcourſe your honour, and among their equals, or in more familiar diſcourſe, Madam.

If you write to any of theſe, the title Madam, is very moding, both at the beginning and end of your Letter, But if the perſon writing be of much lower Rank, then the Lady written unto, it will be decent to ſay.

May it pleaſe your honour, or Right honourable!

All the daughters of Dukes, Marqueſses and Earles are Ladies by birth, and are called Lady Anne, Lady Mary, &c.

But the daughters of a Viſcount or Baron are but Miſtris, yet are honorable; And their Addition (being named in inſtruments of Law or Conveyances) is no more then a Yeomans daughter hath, and that is Spinſter, wherein there ſeems to be ſome title wanting.

And for the better underſtanding the point of precedency, I have thought fit to tranſcribe an abſtract of two Decrees made by King James touching the ſame, in the 10 and 14 years of his raigne, which you may read more at large in Mr. Seldens, Titles of honour, Page 906.

That the younger Sons of Viſcounts and Barons ſhall take place and precedence before all Baronets.

That such Bannerets (as ſhall be made by the Kings Majeſty, his heirs and Succeſſors, or by Henry now Prince of Wales, under his or their Standard diſplayed in an Army Royall in open war, and the King or Prince perſonally preſent) for their lives onely, and no longer, ſhall for ever in all places take place and precedence, as well before all other Bannerets whatſoever, as likewiſe before the younger Sonnes of Viſcounts and Barons, and before all Baronets.

The younger Sons of Viſcounts and Barons, and all Baronets, ſhall take place before all Bannerets whatſoever, other then ſuch as ſhall be made by the King as aforeſaid.

That the Knights of the Garter, Privy Councellors to the King, the Maſter of the Court of Wards and Liveries, the Chancellor and under Treaſurer of the Exchequer, Chanceller of the Dutchy, the chief Juſtice of the Kings Bench, the Maſter of the Rolls, The chief Juſtice of the Common-pleas, the chief Baron of the Exchequer, and all other the Judges and Barons of the degree of the Coif of the ſaid Courts, ſhall have place before the younger ſons of Viſcounts and Barons, and before all Baronets.

That Baronets and their heires Males ſhall alwayes have place next unto the younger Sonnes of Viſcounts and Barons, and their wives ſhall take place accordingly.

And in another Decree, 14 Jacobi.

That the eldeſt ſonnes of Baronets and their wives as well during their husbands lives, as after; And the daughters of the ſame Baronets following next after the ſaid wives of the eldeſt ſonnes of Baronets, ſhall have place and precedence before the eldeſt ſon and the wife of the eldeſt ſonne of any Knight of what Order ſoever, And likewiſe the younger ſonnes of ſuch Baronets and their wives ſhall take place accordingly before the younger Sons of any Knights, &c.

ERRATA

PAge 3. l. 19. r Matter. p. 11. l. 10. r Proleptoton. p. 38. l. 15. r Jocus. p. 43. l. 16. r Periphraſis. p. 44. l. 35. r continuance. p. 49. l. 19. r my Soul. and l. 20, refreſh. p. 61. l. 10. r aſtoniſh. p. 63. l. 18. r in Bac. p. 70. l. 15. dele the ſame. p. 71. l. 3. dele in. p. 72. l. 18. r hardeſt. p. 69. l. 27. r enclines. p. 79. l. 8. r forth teares. p. 107. l. 34. r a ſleep. p. 112. l. 9. r her own. p. 124. l. 3. r preterhard p. 128. l. 11. r there. p. 134. l. 22. r over. p. 138. l. 15. dele — p. 142. l 2. r form. p. 153. l. 16. r beſt ſelf. p. 170. l. 11.12. r intime. p. 197. l. 17. r guift. and l. 31. r united.

FINIS.