CHAP. 1. The good Wife.

S ^t. PAUL to the Colossians chap. 3. vers. 18. first adviseth women to sub­mit themselves to their husbands, and then counselleth men to love their wives. And sure it was fitting that women should first have their lesson given them, because it is hardest to be learned, and therefore they need have the more time to conne it. For the same reason we first begin with the chara­cter of a good Wife.

She commandeth her husband in any equall matter, Maxime 1 by con­stant obeying him. It was alwayes observed, that what the English gained of the French in battel by valour, the French regained of the English by cunning in Comineus lib. 4. cap. 8 & Rodinus. De Repub. lib. 5. p. 782. Treaties: So if the husband should chance by his power in his passion to prejudice his wives right, she wisely knoweth by compounding and complying to recover and rectifie it again.

She never crossetb her husband in the spring-tide of his an­ger, 2 but stayes till it be ebbing-water. And then mildly she argues the matter, not so much to condemn him, as to acquit her self. Surely men, contrary to iron, are worst [Page 2] to be wrought upon when they are hot; and are farre more tractable in cold bloud. It is an observation of Seamen, Erasmus Dial. in nau­sragio. That if a single meteor or fireball falls on their mast, it portends ill luck; but if two come to­gether (which they count Castor and Pollux) they pre­sage good successe: But sure in a family it bodeth most bad, when two firebals (husbands and wives anger) come both together.

3. She keeps home if she hath not her husbands company, or leave for her patent to go abroad: For the house is the wo­mans centre. It is written, Psalm 104.2. The sunne ari­seth, —man goeth forth unto his work, and to his labour untill the evening: but it is said of the good woman, Prov. 31.15. She riseth whiles it is yet night: For man in the race of his work starts from the rising of the sunne, be­cause his businesse is without doores, and not to be done without the light of heaven: but the woman hath her work within the house, and therefore can make the sunne rise by lighting of a candle.

4. Her clothes are rather comely then costly, and she makes plain cloth to be velvet by her handsome wearing it. She is none of our dainty dames, who love to appear in variety of sutes every day new, as if a good gown, like a strata­geme in warre, were to be used but once: But our good wife sets up a sail according to the keel of her husbands estate; and if of high parentage, she doth not so remember what she was by birth, that she for­gets what she is by match.

5. Arcana imperii (her husbands secrets) she will not devulge. Especially she is carefull to conceal his infirmities. If he be none of the wisest, she so orders it that he ap­pears on the publick stage but seldome; and then he hath conn'd his part so well, that he comes off with great applause. If his Forma informans be but bad, she provides him better formas assistentes, gets him wise ser­vants and secretaries.

6. In her husbands absence she is wife and deputy husband, [Page 3] which makes her double the files of her diligence. At his re­turn he finds all things so well, that he wonders to see himself at home when he was abroad.

Her carriage is so modest, 7. that she dis-heartens wantons not onely to take but even to besiege her chastity. I confesse some desperate men will hope any thing; yea, their shame­lesse boldnesse will fasten on impossibilities, measu­ring other folks badnesse by their own: yet seldome such Salamanders, which live in the fire of lust, dare approch, without seeing the smoke of wantonnesse in looks, words, apparell, or behaviour. And though charity commands me to beleeve, that some women which hang out signes, notwithstanding will not lodge strangers; yet these mock-guests are guilty in tempting others to tempt them.

In her husbands sicknesse she feels more grief then she shews. 8. Partly that she may not dis-hearten him; and partly because she is not at leisure to seem so sorrow­full, that she may be the more serviceable.

Her children, 9. though many in number, are none in noyse, steering them with a look whither she listeth. When they grow up, she teacheth them not pride but painfulnesse, ma­king their hands to clothe their backs, and them to wear the livery of their own industry. She makes not her daughters Gentlewomen before they be women, rather teaching them what they should pay to others, then receive from them.

The heaviest work of her servants she maketh light, 10. by order­ly and seasonable enjoyning it: Wherefore her service is counted a preferment, and her teaching better then her wages. Her maids follow the president of their mi­stresse, live modestly at home. One askt a grave Gentlewoman, How her maids came by so good hus­bands, and yet seldome went abroad; Oh, said she, good husbands come home to them. So much for this subject: and what is defective in this description shall be sup­plied by the pattern ensuing.

CHAP. 2. The life of MONICA.

MONICA is better known by the branch of her issue, then root of her parentage, and was born in or nigh Tagasta in Africk. August. con­fess. lib. 9. c. 8. Her parents, whose names we find not, were Christians, and carefull of her education, committing her to the breeding of an old maid in the house, who, though herself crooked with age, was excellent to straighten the manners of youth. She instructed her with holy severity, never [Page 5] allowing her to drink wine, or between meals. Having out-grown her tuition, she began by degrees to sip, and drink wine, lesser draughts like wedges widening her throat for greater, till at last (ill cu­stomes being not knockt, but insensibly scru'd in­to our souls) she could fetch off her whole ones. Now it happened that a young maid (formerly her partner in potting) fell at variance with her, and (as malice when she shoots draws her arrow to the head) called her Tos-pot, and drunkard; whereupon Moni­ca reformed her self, and turned temperate. Thus bit­ter taunts sometime make wholesome Physick, when God sanctifies unto us the malice of our enemies to perform the office of good will.

After this was she married to Patricius, one of more honour then wealth, and as yet a pagan; wherein she brake S. Pauls precept, To marry onely in the Lord. Per­chance then there was a dearth of husbands, or she did it by her parents importunity, or out of promise of his conversion: and the history herein being but lamely delivered us, it is charity to support it with the most favourable construction. He was of a stern na­ture, none more lamb when pleased, or lion when angry; and which is worse, his wild August. con­fess. lib. 9. c. 9. affections did prey abroad, till she lured them home by her loving behaviour. Not like those wives who by their hide­ous outcries drive their wandring husbands farther out of the way.

Her own house was to her a house of correction, wherein her husbands mother was bitter unto her, ha­ving a quarrell not so much to her person as relation, because a daughter in law. Her servants, to climbe in­to the favour of their old mistresse, trampled on their young, they bringing tales, and the old woman be­lief; though the teeth of their malice did but file her innocency the brighter. Yea at last her mother in law, turning her compurgatour, caused her sonne to punish [Page 6] those maids which causelesly had wronged their mi­stresse.

When her neighbours, which had husbands of far milder dispositions, would shew her their husbands cruelty legible in their faces, all her pitying was repro­ving them: and whereas they expected to be praysed for their patience, she condemned them for deserving such punishment. She never had blow from, or jarre with her husband, she so suppled his hard nature with her obedience, and to her great comfort saw him converted to Christianity before his death. Also she saw Augustine her sonne, formerly vitious in life, and erro­neous in doctrine (whose soul she bathd in her Tears) become a worthy Christian, who coming to have his eares tickled, had his heart touched, and got Religion in to boot with the eloquence of S. Ambrose. She survived not long after her sonnes conversion (God sends his servants to bed when they have done their work) and her candle was put out, as soon as the day did dawn in S. Augustine.

Take an instance or two of her signall piety. There was a custome in August. con­fess. lib. 6. c. 2. Africk to bring pulse bread and wine to the monuments of dead Saints, wherein Mo­nica was as forward as any. But being better instruct­ed that this custome was of heathenish parentage, and that Religion was not so poore as to borrow rites from Pagans, she instantly left off that ceremony: and as for pietie's sake she had done it thus long, so for pietie's sake she would do it no longer. How ma­ny old folks now adayes, whose best argument is use, would have flown in their faces, who should stop them in the full career of an ancient custome.

There was one Licentius a novice-convert, who had got these words by the end, Turn us again, O Lord God of hosts: show us the light of thy countenance and we shall be whole. And (as it is the fashion of many mens tongues to echo forth the last sentence they learnt) he said it [Page 7] in all places he went to. But Monica, over-hearing him to sing it in the house of office, was August. lib. 1. De ordine, c. 8. highly of­fended at him: because holy things are to be suted to holy places; and the harmonie could not be sweet where the song did jarre with the place. And al­though some may say, that a gracious heart consecra­teth every place into a Chapell; yet sure though pious things are no where unfitting to be thought on, they may somewhere be improper to be uttered.

Drawing near her death, she sent most pious thoughts as harbingers to heaven, and her soul saw a glimpse of happinesse through the chincks of her sicknesse-broken body. She was so inflamed with zeal, that she turned all objects into fewell to feed it. One day standing with S. Augustine at an East-win­dow, August. con­fess. lib. 9. c. 10. she raised her self to consider the light of Gods presence, in respect whereof all corporall light is so farre from being match'd, it deserves not to be mentioned. Thus mounted on heavenly meditati­ons, and from that high pitch surveying earthly things, the great distance made them appear unto her like a little point, scarce to be seen, and lesse to be respected.

She died at Ostia in Italy in the fiftie sixth yeare of her age, Augustine closing her eyes, when through grief he had scarce any himself.

CHAP. 3. The good Husband.

HAving formerly described a good Wife, she will make a good Husband, whose character we are now to present.

Maxime 1 His love to his wife weakeneth not his ruling her, and his ru­ling lesseneth not his loving her. Wherefore he avoideth all fondnesse, (a sick love, to be praised in none, and par­doned onely in the newly married) whereby more have wilfully betrayed their command, then ever lost it by their wives rebellion. Methinks the he-viper is right enough served, which (as Plin. Nat. hist. lib. 10. cap. 62. Pliny reports) puts his head into the she-vipers mouth, and she bites it off. And what wonder is it if women take the rule to themselves, which their uxorious husbands first sur­render unto them?

2 He is constant to his wife, and confident of her. And sure where jealousie is the Jailour, many break the prison, it opening more wayes to wickednesse then it stop­peth; so that where it findeth one, it maketh ten dis­honest.

3 He alloweth her meet maintenance, but measures it by his own estate: nor will he give lesse, nor can she ask more. Which allowance, if shorter then her deserts and his desire, he lengtheneth it out with his courteous carri­age unto her; chiefly in her sicknesse, then not so much word-pitying her, as providing necessaries for her.

4 That she may not intrench on his prerogative, he maintains her propriety in feminine affairs: yea, therein he follows her advice: For the soul of a man is planted so high, that he overshoots such low matter as lie levell to a womans eye, and therefore her counsell therein may better hit the mark. Causes that are properly of feminine cog­nizance he suffers her finally to decide, not so much as [Page 9] permitting an appeal to himself, that their jurisdicti­ons may not interfere. He will not countenance a stubborn servant against her, but in her maintains his own Authority. Such husbands as bait the mistris with her maids, and clap their hands at the sport, will have cause to wring them afterwards.

Knowing she is the weaker vessell he bears with her infir­mities. 5 All hard using of her he detests, desiring therein to do not what may be lawfull, but fitting. And grant her to be of a servile nature, such as may be bettered by beating; yet he remembers he hath enfranchised her by marrying her. On her wedding-day she was like S. Paul free born, and priviledged from any ser­vile punishment.

He is carefull that the wounds betwixt them take not ayre, 6 and be publickly known. Jarres conceald are half recon­ciled; which if generally known, 'tis a double task to stop the breach at home, and mens mouths abroad. To this end he never publickly reproves her. An open reproof puts her to do penance before all that are pre­sent, after which many rather study revenge then refor­mation.

He keeps her in the wholsome ignorance of unnecessary se­crets. 7 They will not be starved with the ignorance, who perchance may surfet with the knowledge of weighty Counsels, too heavy for the weaker sex to bear. He knows little, who will tell his wife all he knows.

He beats not his wife after his death. 8 One having a shrewd wife, yet loth to use her hardly in his life time, awed her with telling her that he would beat her when he was dead, meaning that he would leave her no maintenance. This humour is unworthy a worthy man, who will endeavour to provide her a competent estate: yet he that impoverisheth his children to enrich his widow, destroyes a quick hedge to make a dead one.

CHAP. 4. The Life of ABRAHAM.

I Intend not to range over all his life as he stands threesquare in relation, Husband, Father, Master. We will onely survey and measure his conjugall side, which respecteth his wife.

We reade not that ever he upbraided her for her barrennesse, as knowing that naturall defects are not the creatures fault, but the Creatours pleasure: all which time his love was loyall to her alone. As for his going in to Hagar, it was done not onely with the consent but by the advice of Sarah, who was so ambi­tious of children she would be made a mother by a proxie. He was not jealous of her (though a grand beauty) in what company soever he came. Indeed he feared the Egyptians, because the Egyptians feared not God; suspecting rather them of force, then her of falsenesse, and beleeving that sooner they might kill him, then corrupt her.

Yet (as well as he loved her) he expected she should do work fit for her calling. Make ready quickly three measures of meal and knead it. Well may Sarah be cook, where Abraham was caterer, yea where God was guest. The print of her fingers still remain in the meal, and of crumbling dow she hath made a lasting monument of her good houswifry.

Being falsely indited by his wife, he never travers'd the bill, but compounded with her on her own terms. The case this. Hagar being with child by Abraham, her pride sweld with her belly, and despiseth her mistresse: Sarah, laying her action wrong, sues Abraham for her maids fault, and appeals to God. I see the Plaintiff hath not alwayes the best cause; nor are they most guilty which are most blamed. However Abraham passes by her peevishnesse, and remits his maid to [Page 11] stand or fall to her own mistresse. Though he had a great part in Hagar, he would have none in Hagars re [...]bellion. Masters which protect their faulty servants hinder the proceeding of justice in a family.

He did denie himself to grant his wives will in a matter of great consequence. Sarah desired, Cast out this bondwoman and her sonne. Oh hard word! She might as well have said, Cast out of thy self nature and na­turall affection. See how Abraham struggles with A­braham, the Father in him striving with the Husband in him, till God moderated with his casting-voyce, and Abraham was contented to hearken to the coun­sel of his wife.

Being to sacrifice Isaac, we find not that he made Sarah privie to his project. To tell her, had been to torture her, fearing her affections might be too strong for her faith. Some secrets are to be kept from the weaker sex; not alwayes out of a distrust, lest they hurt the counsel by telling it, but lest the counsel hurt them by keeping it.

The dearest Husband cannot bail his wife when death arrests her. Sarah dies, and Abraham weeps. Tears are a tribute due to the dead. 'Tis fitting that the body when it's sown in corruption should be watered by those that plant it in the earth. The Hit­tites make him a fair offer, In the chiefest of our sepulchres bury thy dead: But he thinks the best of them too bad for his Sarah. Her chast ashes did love to lie alone; he provides her a virgin tombe in the cave of Machpe­lah, where her corps sweetly sleep till he himself came to bed to her, and was buried in the same grave.

CHAP. 5. The good Parent.

HE beginneth his care for his children not at their birth but conception, giving them to God to be, if not (as 1. Sam. 1.11. Hannah did) his Chaplains, at least his Servants. This care he continueth till the day of his death, in their Infancy, Youth, and Mans estate. In all which,

Maxime 1 He sheweth them in his own practice what to follow and imitate; and in others, what to shun and avoid. For though The words of the wi [...]e be as Eccles 12.11. nayles fastened by the masters of the Assemblies, yet sure their examples are the hammer to drive them in to take the deeper hold. A father that whipt his sonne for swearing, and swore himself whilest he whipt him, did more harm by his example then good by his correction.

2 He doth not welcome and imbrace the first essayes of sinne in his children. Weeds are counted herbs in the beginning of the spring: nettles are put in pottage, and sallads are made of eldern-buds. Thus fond fathers like the oathes and wanton talk of their little children, and please themselves to heare them displease God. But our wise Parent both instructs his children in Piety, and with correction blasts the first buds of profanenesse in them. He that will not use the rod on his child, his child shall be used as a rod on him.

3 He observeth Give [...] each child a part, Versteg. O [...] decayed intell. cap 3. Gavel-kind in dividing his affections, though not his estate. He loves them (though leaves them not) all alike. Indeed his main land he settles on the eldest: for where man takes away the birth-right, God com­monly takes away the blessing from a family. But as for his love, therein, like a well-drawn picture, he eyes all his children alike (if there be a parity of deserts) not parching one to drown another. Did not that mother shew little wit in her great partiality, to [Page 13] whom when her neglected sonne complained that his brother (her darling) had hit and hurt him with a stone, whipt him onely for standing in the way where the stone went which his brother cast? This partiali­ty is tyrannie, when Parents despise those that are deformed, enough to break them whom God had bowed before.

He allows his children maintenance according to their quality:4 Otherwise it will make them base, acquaint them with bad company and sharking tricks; and it makes them surfet the sooner when they come to their estates. It is observed of camels, that having travelled long without water through sandy deserts, Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. 8. c. 18. Implentur cum bibendi est occasio & in praeteritum & in futurum: and so these thirsty heirs soak it when they come to their means, who whilest their fathers were living might not touch the top of his money, and think they shall never feel the bottom of it when they are dead.

In choosing a profession he is directed by his childs disposition:5 whose inclination is the strongest indenture to bind him to a trade. But when they set Abel to till the ground, and send Cain to keep sheep; Jacob to hunt, and Esau to live in tents; drive some to school, and others from it; they commit a rape on nature, and it will thrive accordingly. Yet he humours not his child when he makes an unworthy choice beneath himself, or rather for ease then use, pleasure then profit.

If his sonne prove wild he doth not cast him off so farre, 6 but he marks the place where he lights. With the mother of Moses, he doth not suffer his sonne so to sink or swim, but he leaves one to Exod. 2.4. stand afarre off to watch what will become of him. He is carefull whilest he quench­eth his luxury, not withall to put out his life. The ra­ther, because their souls, who have broken and run out in their youth, have proved the more healthfull for it afterwards.

He moves him to marriage rather by arguments drawn from 7 [Page 14] his good, then his own authority. It is a style too Princely for a Parent herein, To will and command, but sure he may will and desire. Affections like the conscience are rather to be led then drawn; and 'tis to be feared, They that marry where they do not love, will love where they do not marry.

8 He doth not give away his loaf to his children, and then come to them for a piece of bread. He holds the reins (though loosely) in his own hands, and keeps to reward duty, and punish undutifulnesse; yet on good occasion for his childrens advancement he will depart from part of his means. Base is their nature who will not have their branches lopt, till their bodie be fell'd; and will let go none of their goods, as if it presaged their spee­dy death: whereas it doth not follow that he that puts off his cloke must presently go to bed.

9 On his death-bed he bequeaths his blessing to all his children: Nor rejoyceth he so much to leave them great porti­ons, as honestly obtained. Onely money well and lawfully gotten is good and lawfull money. And if he leaves his children young, he principally nominates God to be their Guardian, and next him is carefull to appoint provident overseers.

CHAP. 6. The Good Child.

Maxime 1 HE reverenceth the person of his Parent though old, poore, and froward. As his Parent bare with him when a child, he bears with his Parent if twice a child: nor doth his dignity above him, cancell his duty unto him. When Stapleton. in vita Tho. Mori, cap. 1.S^r. Thomas More was Lord Chancellour of England, and S^r. John his father one of the Judges of the Kings-Bench, he would in Westminster-Hall beg his blessing of him on his knees.

[Page 15] He observes his lawfull commands, 2 and practiseth his precepts with all obedience. I cannot therefore excuse S. Barbara from undutifulnesse, and occasioning her own death. The matter this. Her father being a pagan commanded his workmen building his house, to make two win­dows in a room: Barbara, knowing her fathers plea­sure, in his absence injoyned them to make A [...]phons. Vil [...]eg. in the [...]i [...]e of Barbara on the 4. o [...] De­cemb. three, that seeing them she might the better contemplate the mystery of the holy Trinity. (Methinks two windows might as well have raised her meditations, and the light arising from both, would as properly have mind­ed her of the Holy Spirit proceding from the Father and the Sonne.) Her father enraged at his return, thus came to the knowledge of her religion, and accused her to the magistrate, which cost her her life.

Having practised them himself, 3 he entayls his Parents pre­cepts on his posterity. Therefore such instructions are by Solomon, Proverbs 1.9. compared to frontlets and chains (not to a sute of clothes, which serves but one, and quickly weares out, or out of fashion) which have in them a reall lasting worth, and are bequeathed as legacies to another age. The same counsels observed are chains to grace, which neglected prove halters to strangle undutifull children.

He is patient under correction, 4 and thankfull after it. When M^r West, formerly Tutour (such I count in loco parentis) to D^r. Whitaker, was by him, then Regius Professor, created Doctour, Whitaker solemnly gave him thanks before the University for giving him correction when his young scholar.

In marriage he first and last consults with his father:5 when propounded, when concluded. He best bowls at the mark of his own contentment, who besides the aim of his own eye, is directed by his father, who is to give him the ground.

He is a stork to his parent, 6 and feeds him in his old age. Not onely if his father hath been a pelican, but though [Page 16] he hath been an estridge unto him, and neglected him in his youth. He confines him not a long way off to a short pension, forfeited if he comes in his presence; but shews piety at home, and learns (as S. Paul saith the 1. Timothy. 5.4.) to requite his Parent. And yet the debt (I mean onely the principall, not counting the interest) cannot fully be paid, and therefore he compounds with his father to accept in good worth the utmost of his endeavour.

7 Such a child God commonly rewards with long life in this world. If he chance to die young, yet he lives long that lives well; and time mispent is not lived but lost. Be­sides, God is better then his promise, if he takes from him a long lease, and gives him a free-hold of better value. As for disobedient children,

8 If preserved from the gallows, they are reserved for the rack, to be tortured by their own posterity. One complained, that never father had so undutifull a child as he had. Yes, said his sonne, with lesse grace then truth, my grand­father had.

I conclude this subject with the example of a Pagans sonne, which will shame most Christians. Pomponi­us In vita At­tici in fine E­pist. ad Attic. Atticus, making the funerall oration at the death of his mother, did protest that living with her three­score and seven years, he was never reconciled unto her, Se nunquam cum matre in gratiam rediisse; because (take the comment with the text) there never hap­pened betwixt them the least jarre which needed re­conciliation.

CHAP. 7. The good Master.

HE is the heart in the midst of his houshold, pri­mum vivens et ultimum moriens, first up and last a­bed, if not in his person yet in his providence. In his carriage he aimeth at his own and his servants good, and to advance both.

He oversees the works of his servants. Maxime 1 One said that the dust that fell from the masters shooes was the best compost to manure ground. The lion Plin. nat. Hist. lib. 8. cap 16. out of state will not run whilst any one looks upon him, but some servants out of slothfulnesse will not run except some do look up­on them, spurr'd on with their Masters eye. Chiefly he is carefull exactly to take his servants reckonings. If their Master takes no account of them, they will make small account of him, and care not what they spend who are never brought to an audit.

He provides them victualls, 2 wholsome, sufficient and seasona­ble. He doth not so allay his servants bread to debase it so much as to make that servants meat which is not mans meat. He alloweth them also convenient rest and recreation, whereas some Masters, like a bad con­science, will not suffer them to sleep that have them. He remembers the old law of the Saxon King Ina, S. H. Spil­man in conci­li [...]s, An. ch. 692. pag. 188. If a villain work on Sunday by his lords command, he shall be free.

The wages he contracts for he duly and truly payes to his ser­vants. 3 The same word in the Greek [...] signifies rust and poyson: and some strong poyson is made of the rust of mettalls, but none more venemous then the rust of money in the rich mans purse unjustly detained from the labourer, which will poyson and infect his whole estate.

He never threatens Ephes. 6.9. his servant but rather presently corrects him. 4 Indeed conditionall threatnings with promise of pardon on amendment are good and usefull. Absolute [Page 18] threatnings torment more, reform lesse, making ser­vants keep their faults, and forsake their Masters: wherefore herein he never passeth his word, but makes present paiment, lest the creditour runne away from the debtour.

5 In correcting his servant, he becomes not a slave to his own passion. Not cruelly making new indentures of the flesh of his apprentice. To this end he never beats him in the height of his passion. Moses being to fetch water out of the rock, and commanded by God onely to speak to it with his rod in his hand, being transported with anger smote it thrice. Thus some Masters, which might fetch penitent tears from their servants with a chiding word (onely shaking the rod withall for terrour) in their fury strike many blows which might better be spared. If he perceives his servant incorrigible, so that he cannot wash the black-moore, he washeth his hands of him, and fairly puts him away.

6 He is tender of his servant in his sicknesse and age. If crip­pled in his service, his house is his hospitall: yet how many throw away those dry bones out of the which themselves have suckt the marrow? It is as usuall to see a young serving-man an old beggar, as to see a light­horse first frō the great saddle of a Nobleman to come to the hackney-coach, and at last die in drawing a carre. But the good Master is not like the cruell hunter in the fable, who beat his old dogge because his toothlesse mouth let go the game; he rather imitates the noble nature of our Prince Henrie, who took or­der for the keeping of an Hows con­tinuat. of Stows Chron. pag. 836. old English mastiffe which had made a Lion runne away. Good reason good ser­vice in age should be rewarded. Who can without pity and pleasure behold that trusty vessell which car­ried S^r. Francis Drake about the world.

Hitherto our discourse hath proceeded of the carriage of Masters towards free covenant servants, not inter­medling with their behaviour towards slaves & vassals, [Page 19] whereof we onely report this passage: When Charles the fifth Emperour returning with his fleet from Algier was extremely beaten with a tempest, and their ships overloaden, he caused them to cast their best horses into the sea to save the life of many Pantal [...]n part. 3. De [...]l­lust. Germ. & alii auto­res. slaves, which ac­cording to the market price was not so much worth. Are there not many that in such a case had rather save Jack the horse then Jocky the keeper. And yet those who first called England the Purgatory of servants, sure did us much wrong: Purgatory it self being as false in the application to us, as in the doctrine thereof; ser­vants with us living generally on as good conditions as in any other countrey. And well may masters consider how easie a transposition it had been for God, to have made him to mount into the saddle that holds the stirrop; and him to sit down at the table, who stands by with a trencher.

CHAP. 8. The good Servant.

HE is one that out of conscience serves God in his Master, and so hath the principle of obedience in himself. As for those servants who found their obedience on some externall thing, with engines, they will go no longer then they are wound, or weighed up.

He doth not dispute his Masters lawfull will, Maxime 1 but doeth it. Hence it is that simple servants (understand such whose capacity is bare measure, without surplusage equall to the busines he is used in) are more usefull, because more manageable, then abler men, especially in matters wherein not their brains but hands are required. Yet if his Master out of want of experience injoyns him to do what is hurtfull, and prejudiciall [Page 20] to his own estate, duty herein makes him undutifull (if not to deny, to demurre in his performance) and chusing rather to displease then hurt his master, he humbly represents his reasons to the contrary.

2 He loves to go about his busines with cheerfulnesse. One said, He loved to heare his carter though not his cart to sing. God loveth a cheerfull giver; and Christ reproved the Pharisees for disfiguring their faces with a sad countenance. Fools! who to perswade men that Angels lodged in their hearts, hung out a devil for a signe in their faces. Sure cheerfulnesse in doing renders a deed more ac­ceptable. Not like those servants, who doing their work unwillingly, their looks do enter a protesta­tion against what their hands are doing.

3 He dispatcheth his busines with quicknes and expedition. Hence the same English word Speed signifies celerity, and successe; the former in businesse of execution cau­sing the latter. Indeed haste and rashnesse are storms and tempests, breaking and wrecking businesse; but nimblenesse is a fair full wind, blowing it with speed to the haven. As he is good at hand, so is he good at length, continually and constantly carefull in his ser­vice. Many servants, as if they had learnd the nature of the besoms they use, are good for a few dayes, and afterwards grow unserviceable.

4 He disposeth not of his masters goods without his privity or consent: no not in the smallest matters. Open this wic­ket, and it will be in vain for masters to shut the doore. If servants presume to dispose small things without their masters allowance (besides that many little leaks may sink a ship) this will widen their consciences to give away greater. But though he hath not alwayes a particular leave, he hath a generall grant, and a war­rant dormant from his master to give an almes to the poore in his absence, if in absolute necessity.

5 His answers to his master are true, direct, and dutifull. If a dumbe devil possesseth a servant, a winding cane is the [Page 21] fittest circle, and the master the exorcist to drive it out. Some servants are so talkative, one may as well com­mand the echo as them not to speak last; and then they count themselves conquerours, because last they leave the field. Others, though they seem to yield and go away, yet with the flying Parthians shoot backward over their shoulders, and dart bitter taunts at their ma­sters; yea, though with the clock they have given the last stroke, yet they keep a jarring, muttering to them­selves a good while after.

Iust correction he bears patiently, 6 and unjust he takes cheer­fully; knowing that stripes unjustly given more hurt the master then the man: and the Logick maxime is verified, Agens agendo repatitur, the smart most lights on the striker. Chiefly he disdains the basenesse of run­ning away.

Because charity is so cold, 7 his industry is the hotter to pro­vide something for himself, whereby he may be maintained in his old age. If under his master he trades for himself (as an apprentice may do if he hath Bracton. lib. 5. tract. 2. cap. 3. num. 7. covenanted so be­fore-hand) he provides good bounds and sufficient fences betwixt his own and his masters estate (Iacob Gen. 30.36. set his flock three dayes journey from Labans) that no quarrell may arise about their proprietie, nor suspicion that his remnant hath eaten up his masters whole cloth.

CHAP. 9. The life of ELIEZER.

ELiezer was Steward of Abrahams houshold, Lieutenant generall over the army of his ser­vants, ruler over all his Master had: the confidence in his loyalty, causing the largenesse of his commission.

But as for those who make him the founder of Da­mascus, on no other evidence but because he is called Eliezer of Damascus, they build a great city on too nar­row a foundation. It argues his goodnesse that Abra­ham, if dying without a sonne, intended him his heir (a kinsman in grace is nearest by the surest side) till Isaac stepping in stopt out Eliezer, and reverst those resolutions.

The Scripture presents us with a remarkable presi­dent ofThat the namelesse, ser­vant, Gen. 24 was this Eliezer Abra­hams steward, is the opinion of Luther in his comment on that chapter, Rivet on the same, Exercit. 111. with many others. his piety, in a matter of great moment: Abra­ham, being to send him into Mesopotamia, caused him to swear that he would faithfully fetch Isaac a wife from his own kinred. Eliezer demurr'd awhile before he would swear, carefully surveying the lati­tude of the oath, lest some unseen ambushes therein should surprise his conscience. The most scrupulous to take an oath will be the most carefull to perform it, whereas those that swear it blindly will do it lamely. He objects, Peradventure the woman will not be willing to fol­low me. At last being satisfied in this quaere, he takes the oath: as no honest man which means to pay, will re­fuse to give his bond if lawfully required.

He takes ten camells (then the coaches of the East-countrey) with servants and all things in good equi­page, to shew a sample of his Masters greatnesse; and being a stranger in the countrey asked direction of him who best knew the way, God himself. If any object that his craving of a signe was a signe of infidelity, and unmannerly boldnesse to confine God to particulars; [Page 23] yet perchance Gods spirit prompted him to make the request, who sometimes moves men to ask what he is minded to give, and his petition seemeth just because granted.

Rebecca meets him at the well. The lines drawn from every part of the signe required centre them­selves in her. Drink my Lord, said she, and I will draw wa­ter for thy camells. Her words Prophesie that she will be a good housewife, and a good housekeeper. Eliezers eyes are dazeled with the beams of Gods providence: Her drawing of water drew more wonder from him; and the more he drinks of her pitcher, the more he is athirst to know the issue of the matter. He questions her of her parentage, and finds all his mysticall ex­pectation historically expounded in her. Then he bowed down his head, and did homage to Gods pro­vidence, blessing him for his protection. Many fa­vours which God giveth us ravell out for want of hemming, through our own unthankfulnesse: for though prayer purchaseth blessings, giving praise doth keep the quiet possession of them.

Being come into the house, his first care is for his cattell, whose dumbenesse is oratory to a conscientio [...]s man; and he that will not be mercifull to his beast, is a beast himself. Then preferring his message before his meat, he empties his mind before he fills his body. No dainties could be digested, whilst his errand like a crudity lay on his stomach.

In delivering his message, first he reads his commis­sion, I am Abrahams servant; then he reports the ful­nesse of his Masters wealth without any hyperboles. How many, employed in such a matter, would have made mountains of gold of molehills of silver? not so Eliezer, reporting the bare truth; and a good estate if told, commends it self. As plain also is his narration of the passages of Gods providence, the artificialnesse whereof best appeard in his naturall relation. Then [Page 24] concludes he, with desiring a direct answer to his mo­tion.

The matter was soon transacted betwixt them; for seeing that heaven did ask the banes, why should earth forbid them? onely her friends desire Rebecca should stay ten dayes with them, which Eliezer would not yield to. He would speedily finish that bargain whereof God had given the happy earnest; and because blest hitherto, make more haste hereafter. If in a dark businesse we perceive God to guide us by the lantern of his providence, it is good to follow the light close, lest we lose it by our lagging behind. He will not truant it now in the afternoon, but with convenient speed returns to Abraham, who onely was worthy of such a Servant, who onely was worthy of such a Ma­ster.

CHAP. 10. The good Widow.

SHe is a woman whose head hath been quite cut off, and yet she liveth, and hath the second part of virginity. Conceive her to have buried her Husband decently according to his quality and condition, and let us see how she behaves her self afterwards.

Maxime 1 Her grief for her Husband though reall, is moderate. Exces­sive was the sorrow of King Richard the second besee­ming him neither as king, man, or Christian, who so fervently loved Anna of Bohemia his Queen, that when she dyed at Shean in Surrey, he both cursed the place, and also out of madnesse Weaver fun. monum. p. 473. out of Stows Annals. overthrew the whole house.

2 But our widows sorrow is no storm but a still rain. In­deed some foolishly discharge the surplusage of their passions on themselves, tearing their hair, so that their [Page 25] friends coming to the funerall, know not which most to bemoan the dead husband, or the dying wi­dow. Yet commonly it comes to passe, that such wi­dows grief is quickly emptyed, which streameth out at so large a vent; whilest their tears that but drop, will hold running a long time.

She continues a competent time in her widows estate. 3 An­ciently they were, at least, to live out their annum luctus, their yeare of sorrow. But as some vid. August. de c [...]vitat. Dei lib. 15. cap. 12. erroneously com­pute the long lives of the Patriarks before the flood not by solary, by lunary years, making a moneth a yeare: so many overhasty widows cut their yeare of mourning very short, and within few weeks make post speed to a second marriage.

She doth not onely live sole and single, 4 but chaste and honest. We know pesthouses alwayes stand alone, and yet are full of infectious diseases. Solitarinesse is not an infal­lible argument of sanctity: and it is not enough to be unmarried, but to be undefiled.

Though going abroad sometimes about her businesse, 5 she never makes it her businesse to go abroad. Indeed man goeth forth to his labour, and a widow in civill affairs is often forced to act a double part of man and woman, and must go abroad to solicite her businesse in person, what she cannot do by the proxie of her friends. Yet even then she is most carefull of her credit, and tender of her modesty, not impudently thrusting into the society of men. Oh 'tis improper for tinder to strike fire, and for their sexe which are to be sued to, first to intrude, and offer their companie.

She loves to look on her husbands picture, 6 in the children he hath left her: not foolishly fond over them for their fa­thers sake (this were to kill them in honour of the dead) but giveth them carefull education. Her hus­bands friends are ever her welcomest guests, whom she entertaineth with her best cheer, and with ho­nourable mention of their friends, and her husbands memorie.

[Page 26] 7 If she can speak little good of him, she speaks but little of him. So handsomely folding up her discourse, that his virtues are shown outwards, and his vices wrapped up in silence, as counting it Barbarisme to throw dirt on his memorie who hath moulds cast on his body. She is a champion for his credit if any speak against him. Foolish is their project who by raking up bad savour against their former husbands think thereby to perfume their bed for a second marriage.

8 She putteth her especiall confidence in Gods providence. Sure­ly if he be a father to the fatherlesse, it must needs follow that he is an husband to the widow. And therefore she seeks to gain and keep his love unto her, by her constant prayer and religious life.

9 She will not morgage her first husbands pawns, thereby to purchase the good will of a second. If she marrieth (for which she hath the Apostles licence, not to say man­date, I will that the younger widows marry) she will not a­bridge her children of that which justly belongs unto them. Surely a broken faith to the former is but a weak foundation to build thereon a loyall affection to a latter love. Yet if she becomes a mother in law, there is no difference betwixt her carriage to her own and her second husbands children, save that she is severest to her own, over whom she hath the sole jurisdiction. And if her second husbands children by a former wife commit a fault, she had rather bind them over to an­swer for it before their own father, then to correct them her self, to avoid all suspicion of hard using of them.

CHAP. 11. The life of the Lady PAULA.

WHat? (will some say) having a wood of widows of upright conversation, must you needs gather one crooked with superstition to be pat­tern to all the rest? must Paula be their president? whose life was a very masse-book, so that if every point of popery were lost, they might be found in her practice.

Nothing lesse. Indeed Paula lived in an age which was, as I may say, in the knuckle and bending betwixt [Page 28] the primitive times and superstition, popery being then a hatching, but farre from being fledg'd. Yea no Papist (though picking out here and there some passages which make to his purpose) will make her practice in grosse the square of his own: for where she embraces some superstitions with her left hand, she thrusts a­way more with her right. I have therefore principally made choice to write her life, that I may acquaint both my self and the reader with the garb of that age in Church-matters▪ wherein were many remarkable pas­sages, otherwise I might and would have taken a farre fitter example.

I know two trades together are too much for one man to thrive upon, and too much it is for me to be an Historian and a Critick, to relate and to judge: yet since Paula, though a gratious woman, was guilty of some great errours, give me leave to hold a pencil in one hand, and a spunge in the other, both to draw her life and dash it where it is faultie. And let us that live in purer times be thankfull to God for our light, and use our quicker sight to guide our feet in Gods paths, lest we reel from one extremitie to another.

To come to the Lady Paula's birth: the Noblest blood in the world by a confluence ran in her veins. I must confesse the most Ancient Nobilitie is junior to no Nobilitie, when all men were equall. Yet give o­thers leave to see Moses his face to shine, when he knew it not himself; and seeing Paula was pleased not to know, but to neglect and trample on her high birth, we are bound to take notice thereof. She was descended from Hieron. Epist. ad Eu­stoch. pag. 185. Agamemnon, Scipio, and the Gracchi's, and her husband Toxotius from Idem in eadem epist. p. 172. Aeneas, and the Julian familie; so that in their marriage the warres of the Grecians and Trojanes were reconciled.

Some years they lived together in the Citie of Rome, in holy and happy wedlock, and to her husband she bare foure daughters, Blesilla, Paulina, Eustochium, and [Page 29] Ruffina. Yet still her husband long'd for posteritie, like those who are so covetous of a male heir, they count none children but sonnes: and at last God, who keeps the best for the close, bestowed Toxotius, a young sonne upon her.

But commonly after a great blessing comes a great crosse: scarce was she made a mother to a sonne, when she was made a widow, which to her was a great and grievous affliction. But as a rubbe to an overthrown bowl proves an help by hindering it; so afflictions bring the souls of Gods Saints to the mark, which otherwise would be gone and transported with too much earthly happinesse. However Paula grieved lit­tle lesse then excessively hereat, she being a woman that in all her actions (to be sure to do enough) made alwayes measure with advantage.

Yet in time she overcame her sorrow, herein being assisted by the counsel and comfort of S. Hierome, whose constant frequenting of her, commented upon by his enemies malice (which will pry narrowly and talk broadly) gave occasion to the report, that he ac­companied with her for dishonest intents. Surely if the accusations of slanderous tongues be proofs, the primitive times had no Churches but stews. It is to be suspected that Erasmus in scholia in epi­taphium Paulae p. 193. Ruffin his sworn enemie raised the report; and if the Lady Paula's memorie wanted a compurgatour, I would be one my self, it being im­probable that those her eyes would burn with lust which were constantly drownd with tears. But the reader may find S. Hierome purging In epistola quae incipit, Si tibiputem, tom. 2. sol. 368. himself; and he who had his tongue and an innocent heart needed no body else to speak for him.

It happened that the Bishops of the East and West were summoned by the Hier [...]nym. Epist. praedict. pag. 172. Emperours letters to appear at Rome for the according of some differences in the Church. (It seemes by this that the Pope did not so command in chief at Rome, but that the power of [Page 30] congregating Synods still resided in the Emperour.) Hither came Paulinus Bishop of Antioch, and Epipha­nius Bishop of Salamine in Cyprus, who lodged at the Lady Paula's, and his virtues so wrought upon her, that she determined to leave her native countrey, and to travel into the East, and in Judea to spend the re­mainder of her life. The reasons that moved her to re­move, was because Rome was a place of riot and lu­xury, her soul being almost stifled with the frequencie of Ladyes visits; and she feared courtesie in her would justle out piety, she being fain to crowd up her devotions to make room for civill entertain­ments. Besides, of her own nature she ever loved privacie and a sequestred life, being of the Pelicans nature, which use not to flie in flocks. Lastly, she conceived that the sight of those holy places would be the best comment on the History of the Bible, and fasten the passages thereof in her mind. Wherefore she intended to survey all Palestine, and at last to go to Bethlehem, making Christs inne her home, and to die there where he was born, leaving three of her daughters, and her poore infant Toxotius behind her.

For mine own part, I think she had done as accept­able a deed to God, in staying behind to rock her child in the cradle, as to visit Christs manger, seeing Grace doth not cut of the affections of nature but ripen them: the rather, because Christianity is not naild to Christs crosse and mount Calvary, nor Piety fastned (as we may say) to the freehold of the land of Palestine. But if any Papist make her a pattern for pil­grimages, let them remember that she went from Rome: and was it not an unnaturall motion in her to move from that centre of Sanctitie?

She with her daughter Eustochium began her jour­nie, and taking Cyprus in her way, where she visited Epiphanius, she came at last to Judea. She measured [Page 31] that countrey with her travelling, and drew the truest mappe thereof with her own feet, so accurately that she left out no particular place of importance. At last she was fixed at Bethlehem, where she built one mo­nasterie for men, and three for women. It will be worth our pains to take notice of some principall of the orders she made in those feminine Academies; because Paula's practice herein was a leading case, though those that came after her went beyond her. For in the rules of monasticall life, Paula stood at the head game, and the Papists in after ages, desirous to better her hand, drew themselves quite out.

Each monasterie had a chief matrone, whilst Paula was Principall over all. These societies were severd at their meat and work, but met together at their prayers: they were carefully kept apart from men, not like those Epicoene monasteries not long since in­vented by Joan Queen of Sweden, wherein men and women lived under one roof, not to speak of worse libertines. Well were Nunnes called Recluses, which ac­cording to the true meaning of the word signifie those which are set wide open, or left at libertie, though that Barbarous age mistook the sense of the word, for such as were shut up, and might not stirre out of their Littleton fol. 92. Cloyster.

They used to sing Halelujah, which serv'd them both for a psalm, and a bell to call them all together. In the Mane, horâ tertiâ, sextâ, nonâ, vesperi. Hieron. in praefat. Epist. p. 180. surely living in Palestine he meaneth the Iewish compu­tation of houres. morning, at nine a clock, at noon, at three a clock in the afternoon, and at night they had prayers, and sang the psalmes in order. This I believe gave originall to canonicall houres. The Apostles precept is the plain song, Pray continually; and thus mens in­ventions ran their descants upon it, and confin'd it to certain houres. A practice in it self not so bad for those who have leisure to observe it, save that when devotion is thus artificially plaited into houres it may take up mens minds in formalities to neglect the sub­stance.

[Page 32]They rose also at midnight to sing psalmes. A custome begun before in the time of persecution, when the Christians were forced to be Antipodes to other men, so that when it was night with others, it was day with them, and they then began their devo­tions. These night-prayers, begun in necessitie, were continued in Paula's time in gratefull remembrance, and since corrupted with superstition: the best is, their rising at midnight breaks none of our sleep.

These virgins did every day learn some part of the holy Scriptures; whereas those Nunnes which pre­tend to succeed them learn onely with post-horses to run over the stage of their beads (so many Ave Maries, and Pater nosters) and are ignorant in all the Scripture besides. Such as were faultie, she caused to take their meat apart from others at the entrance of the dining-room; with which mild severitie she reclaimed many: shame in ingenuous natures making a deeper impressi­on then pain. Mean time I find amongst them no vow of virginitie, no tyrannicall Penance, no whip­ping themselves; as if not content to interre their sinnes in Christs grave, they had rather bury them in furrows digg'd in their own backs. They wrought hard to get their living, and on the Lords day alone went out of their monasterie to hear Gods word.

Yet was she more rigid and severe towards her self, then to any of them, macerating her body with fasting, and refusing to drink any wine, when advised there­to by Physicians for her health. So that (as an Bernard. devot. devotis holy man complained of himself, whilest he went about to subdue an enemie he kild a subject) she overturned the state of her bodie, and whilest she thought to snuff the candle put it quite out. Yea S. Hierome himself, what his Eloquence herein doth commend in her, his Charity doth excuse, and his Judgement doth Haec refero, non quòd in­consideranter & ultra vires sumta onera probem, p. 181. con­demne. But we must Charitably believe that these her fastings proceeded out of true humiliation and sorrow [Page 33] for her sinnes; otherwise where opinion of merit is annexed to them, they are good onely to fill the body with wind, and the soul with pride. Certainly pro­digious Popish self-penance is will-worship, and the purest Epicurisme, wherein pain is pleasant: for as long as people impose it on themselves, they do not deny their own will, but fulfill it; and whilst they beat down the body they may puff up the flesh.

Nor can her immoderate bounty be excused, who gave all and more then all away, taking up money at interest to give to the poore, and leaving Eustochium her daughter deep in debt, a great charge, and nothing to maintain it. Sure none need be more bountifull in giving then the Sunne is in shining, which though freely bestowing his beams on the world keeps not­withstanding the body of light to himself. Yea it is necessary that Liberality should as well have banks as a stream.

She was an excellent text-woman, yea could say the holy Scriptures by heart, and attained to understand and speak the Hebrew tongue, a language which Hie­rome himself got with great difficultie, and kept with constant use (skill in Hebrew will quickly go out, and burn no longer then 'tis blown) yet she in her old age did speedily learn it. She diligently heard Hierome expounding the old and new Testament, asking him many doubts, and Quaeres in difficult places (such constant scouring makes our knowledge brighter) and would not suffer his judgement to stand neuter in hard points, but made him expresse the probable opinion.

Most naturally flie from death; Gods Saints stand still till death comes to them; Paula went out to meet it, not to say, call'd death unto her by consuming her self in fasting: she died in the fiftie sixth yeare of her age, and was solemnly buried in Bethlehem. People of all countreys flockt to her funerall: Bishops carried her [Page 34] corps to the grave: others carried torches and lamps before it, which though some may condemne to be but burning of day was no more then needed, she be­ing buried in a cave or grot as an G. Sandys Travells, pag. 179. eyewitnesse doth testifie. Psalmes were sung at her buriall in the He­brew, Greek, Latine, and Syriack tongue, it being fit there should be a key for every lock, and languages to be understood by all the miscelany company there present.

Eustochium her daughter had little comfort to be Executrix or Administratrix unto her, leaving her not a pennie of monie, great debts, and many brothers and sisters to provide for, quos sustentare arduum, abjicere impium. I like not this charitie rever­sed, when it begins farre off & neglects those at home.

To conclude, I can do her memorie no better right, then to confesse she was wrong in somethings. Yet surely Gods Glory was the mark she shot at, though herein the hand of her practice did sometimes shake, and oftener the eye of her judgement did take wrong aim.

CHAP. 12. The constant Virgin

IS one who hath made a resolution with herself to live chaste, and unmarryed. Now there is a grand difference betwixt a Resolution and a Vow. The for­mer is a covenant drawn up betwixt the party and herself; and commonly runs with this clause, durante nostro beneplacito, as long as we shall think fitting; and therefore on just occasion she may give a release to herself. But in a vow God is interested as the Credi­tour, so that except he be pleased to give up the band, none can give an acquittance to themselves. Being now to describe the Virgin, let the reader know that virginity belongs to both sexes; and though in Cour­tesie [Page 35] we make our Maid a female, let not my pen be chalenged of improprietie, if casually sometimes it light on the Masculine Gender.

She chooseth not a single life solely for its self, Maxime 1 but in reference to the better serving of God. I know none but beggars that desire the Church-Porch to lye in, which others onely use as a passage into the Church. Virginity is none of those things to be desired in and for it self, but be­cause it leads a more convenient way to the worship­ping of God, especially in time of persecution. For then if Christians be forced to run races for their lives, the unmarryed have the advantage, lighter by many ounces, and freed from much encumbrance, which the married are subject to; who, though private Per­sons, herein are like Princes, they must have their train follow them.

She improveth her single life therewith to serve God the more constantly. 2 Housekeepers cannot so exactly mark all their family-affairs, but that sometimes their ranks will be broken; which disorder by necessary conse­quence will disturb their duties of pietie, to make them contracted, omitted; or unseasonably performed. The Apostle saith, Such shall have troubles in the flesh; and grant them sanctified troubles, yet even Holy-thistle and Sweet-brier have their prickles. But the Virgin is freed from these encumbrances. No lording Husband shall at the same time command her presence and distance, to be alwayes near in constant attendance, and alwayes to stand aloof off in an awfull obser­vance; so that providing his break-fast hazards her soul to fast a meal of morning prayer: No crying Children shall drown her singing of psalmes, and put her devotion out of tune: No unfaithfull Servants shall force her to divide her eyes betwixt lifting them up to God and casting them down to oversee their work; but making her Closet her Chappell, she freely enjoyeth God and good thoughts at what time she pleaseth.

[Page 36] 3 Yet in all her discourse she maketh an honourable mention of marriage. And good reason that virginity should pay a chief rent of honour unto it, as acknowledging her selfe to be a colonia deducta from it. Unworthy is the practice of those who in their discourse plant all their arguments point-blank to batter down the married estate, bitterly inveighing against it; yea base is the behaviour of some young men, who can speak no­thing but Satyres against Gods ordinance of Matrimo­ny, and the whole sex of women. This they do either out of deep dissimulation, to divert supicion, that they may prey the farthest from their holes; or else they do it out of revenge: having themselves former­ly lighted on bad women (yet no worse then they deserved) they curse all adventures because of their own shipwrack; or lastly they do it out of mere spight to nature and God himself: and pity it is but that their fathers had been of the same opinion. Yet it may be tolerable if onely in harmlesse mirth they chance to bestow a jest upon the follyes of married people. Thus when a Gentlewoman told an ancient Batche­lour who lookd very young, that she thought he had eaten a snake; No mistris (said he) it is because I never meddled with any snakes which maketh me look so young.

4 She counts her self better lost in a modest silence then found in a bold discourse. Divinity permits not women to speak in the Church; morality forbids maids to talk in the House, where their betters are present. She is farre from the humours of those, who (more bridling in their chinnes then their tongues) love in their constant prating to make sweet musick to their own ears, and harsh jarring to all the rest of the company: yea as some report of sheep, that when they runne they are afraid of the noise of their own feet; so our Virgin is afraid to heare her own tongue runne in the presence of graver persons. She conceives the bold maintain­ing of any argument concludes against her own civil [Page 37] behaviour; and yet she will give a good account of any thing whereof she is questioned, sufficient to shew her silence is her choice, not her refuge. In speak­ing she studiously avoids all suspicious expressions, which wanton apprehensions may colourably com­ment into obscenity.

She blusheth at the wanton discourse of others in her company. 5 As fearing that being in the presence where treason against modesty is spoken, all in the place will be ar­raigned for principalls: yea if silent, she is afraid to be taken to consent; if offering to confute it, she fears lest by stirring a dunghill, the savour may be more noy­some. Wherefore that she may not suffer in her title to modesty, to preserve her right she enters a silent ca­veat by a blush in her cheeks, and embraceth the next opportunity to get a gaole-delivery out of that compa­ny where she was detained in durance. Now because we have mentioned Blushing, which is so frequent with virgins that it is called a maidens blush, (as if they alone had a patent to die this colour) give us leave a little to enlarge our selves on this subject.

• 1 Blushing oftentimes proceeds from guiltines; when the of­fender being pursued after seeks as it were to hide himself under the visard of a new face.
• 2 Blushing is othertimes rather a compurgatour then an accuser; not arising from guiltinesse in our Virgin, but from one of these reasons: First because she is surprised with a sudden accusation, and though armed with innocency, that she cannot be pier­ced, yet may she be amazed with so unexpected a charge. Secondly from sensiblenesse of disgrace, ashamed, though innocent, to be within the suspicion of such faults, and that she hath carried her self so that any tongue durst be so impudent as to lay it to her charge. Thirdly from a disability to acquit her self at the instant (her integrity wanting rather clearing then clearnesse) and per­chance [Page 38] she wants boldnesse to traverse the action, and so non-suiting her self, she fears her cause will suffer in the judgements of all that be present: and although accused but in jest, she is jealous the accusation will be believed in earnest; and edg'd tools thrown in merriment may wound reputations. Fourthly out of mere anger: for as in fear the blood makes not an orderly retreat but a confused flight to the heart; so in blushing the blood sallies out into our Virgins cheeks, and seems as a champion to challenge the accuser for wronging her.
• 3 Where small faults are committed blushing obtaines a pardon of course with ingenuous beholders. As if she be guilty of casuall incivilities, or soloecismes in manners occasioned by invincible ignorance, and unavoid­able mistakes, in such a case blushing is a suffici­ent penance to restore her to her state of inno­cencie.

6 She imprisons not her self with a solemn vow never to marry. For first, none know their own strength herein. Who hath sailed about the world of his own heart, sounded each creek, surveied each corner, but that still there remains therein much terra incognita to himself? Juni­us, at the first little better then a Iunius in his life writ by himself. Misogynist, was afterwards so altered from himself, that he successive­ly married foure wives. Secondly, fleshly corruption being pent will swell the more, and Shemei being confin'd to Jerusalem will have the greater mind to gad to Gath. Thirdly, the devil will have a fairer set mark to shoot at, and will be most busie to make people break their vow. Fourthly, God may justly de­sert people for snatching that to themselves, which is most proper for him to give, I mean, Continency. Ob­ject not, that thou wilt pray to him to take from thee all desire of marriage, it being madnesse to vow that one will not eat, and then pray to God that he may [Page 39] not be hungry. Neither say that now thou may'st pre­sume on thy self, because thou art well stricken in years, for there may happen an autume-spring in thy soul; and lust is an unmannerly guest, we know not how late in the evening of our lives it may intrude into us for a lodging.

She counts it virginitie to be unspotted, not unmarried. 7 Or else even in old age, when nature hath given an inhi­bition, they may be strong in desiring who are weak in acting of wickednesse; yea they may keep stews in their hearts, and be so pregnant and ingravidated with lustfull thoughts, that they may as it were die in tra­vail because they cannot be delivered. And though there be no fire seen outwardly; as in the English chymnies, it may be hotter within, as in the Dutch stoves; and as well the devils as the Angels in heaven, neither marry nor are given in marriage.

As she lives with lesse care, 8 so she dies with more cheerful­nesse. Indeed she was rather a sojourner, then an in­habitant in this world, and therefore forsakes it with the lesse grief. In a word, the way to heaven is alike narrow to all estates, but farre smoother to the Virgin then to the married. Now the great advantage Vir­gins have to serve God above others, & high favours he hath bestowed on some of them, shall appear in this Virgin prophetesse, whose life we come to present.

CHAP. 13. The life of HILDEGARDIS.

HIldegardis was born in Germany, in the County of Spanheim, in the yeare 1098. So that she li­ved in an age which we may call the first cock-crow­ing after the midnight of Ignorance and Superstition.

Her parents (Hidebert, and Mechtilda) dedicated her to God from her infancie: And surely those whose Childhood, with Hildegardis, hath had the advantage of pious education may be said to have [Page 41] been good time out of mind, as not able to remember the beginning of their own goodnesse. At eight years of age she became a Nunne under S. Jutta sister to Megenhard, Earl of Spanheim, and afterwards she was made Abbesse of S. Ruperts Nunnery in Bingen on Rhene in the Palatinate.

Men commonly do beat and bruise their links be­fore they light them, to make them burn the brighter: God first humbles and afflicts whom he intends to illuminate with more then ordinary grace. Poore Hildegardis was constantly and continually sick, and so Fuerunt ei ab ipsa penè infantia cre­bri ac ferè continui lan­guorum do­lores, ità ut pedum in­cessu petraro uteretur, Theod. Abbas in vita Hilde­gardis, lib. 1. cap. 2. weak that she very seldome was strong enough to go. But God who denied her legs, gave her wings, and raised her high-mounted soul in Visions and Re­velations.

I know a generall scandall is cast on Revelations in this ignorant age: first, because many therein intitled the Meteors of their own brain to be Starres at least, and afterwards their Revelations have been revealed to be forgeries: secondly, because that night-raven did change his black feathers into the silver wings of a dove, and transforming himself into an Angel of light deluded many with strange raptures and visions, though in their nature farre different from those in the Bible. For S. Paul in his Revelations was caught up into the third heaven; whereas most Monks with a contrary motion were carried into hell and purgatorie, and there saw apparitions of strange tor­ments. Also S. Johns Revelation forbids all additi­ons to the Bible, under heavie penalties; their visions are commonly on purpose to piece out the Scripture, and to establish such superstitions as have no footing in Gods word.

However all held Hildegardis for a Prophet, being induced thereunto by the piety of her life: no breck was ever found in her veil, so spotlesse was her con­versation; by the sanctity of her writings, and by the [Page 42] generall approbation the Church gave unto her. For Pope Eugenius the third, after exact examination of the matter, did in the Councell of Trevers (wherein S. Bernard was present) allow and priviledge her Revelations for authenticall. She was of the Popes Conclave, and Emperours Counsel, to whom they had recourse in difficulties: yea the greatest torches of the Church lighted themselves at her candle. The Pa­triach of Jerusalem, the Bishops of Mentz, Colen, Breme, Trevers sent such knots as posed their own fingers to our Hildegardis to untie.

She never learn'd word of Latine; and yet Trithemius de Scriptor. Eccles. fol. 92. therein would she fluently expresse her Revelations to those notaries that took them from her mouth; so that throwing words at randome she never brake Priscian's head: as if the Latine had learn'd to make it self true without the speakers care. And no doubt, he that brought the single parties to her married them also in her mouth, so that the same Spirit which furnished her with Latine words, made also the true Syntaxis. Let none object that her very writing of fifty eight Homi­lies on the Gospel is false construction, where the fe­minine Gender assumes an employment proper to men: for though S. Paul silenceth women for speak­ing in the Church, I know no Scripture forbids them from writing on Scripture.

Such infused skill she had also of Musick, whereof she was naturally ignorant, and wrote a whole book of verses very good according to those times. Indeed in that age the trumpet of the warlike Heroick, and the sweet harp of the Lyrick verse, were all turned into the gingling of Cymballs, tinckling with rhythmes, and like-sounding cadencies.

But let us heare a few lines of her Prophecies, and thence guesse the rest. In those dayes there shall rise up a people without understanding, proud, covetous, and deceitfull, the which shall eat the sins of the people, holding a certain order of foolish de­votion [Page 43] under the feigned cloke of beggery. Also they shall instantly preach without devotion or example of the holy Martyrs, and shall detract from the secular Princes, taking away the Sacra­ments of the Church from the true pastours, receiving almes of the poore, having familiarity with women, instructing them how they shall deceive their husbands, and rob their husbands to give it unto them, See much more to this purpose in Ca­talog. Testium veritatis in Hildegard [...]: Also in F [...]es Acts and mo­numents, p. 461. &c. What could be said more plain to draw out to the life those Mendicant friers (rogues by Gods statutes) which afterwards swarm'd in the world.

Heare also how she foretold the low water of Ti­ber, whilest as yet it was full tide there. The Kings and o­ther Rulers of the world, being stirred up by the just judgement of God, shall set themselves against them, and run upon them, saying, We will not have these men to reigne over us with their rich houses, and great possessions, and other worldly riches, over the which we are ordained to be Lords and Rulers: and how is it meet or comely that those shavelings with their stoles and che­sils should have more souldiers or richer armour and artillery then we? wherefore let us take away from them what they do not justly but wrongfully possesse.

It is well the Index expurgatorius was not up in those dayes, nor the Inquisition on foot, otherwise dame Hil­degardis must have been call'd to an after account. I will onely ask a Romanist this question, This Pro­phesie of Hildegardis, was it from heaven or from men? If from heaven, why did ye not believe it? If from men, why did the Pope allow it, & canonize her?

As for miracles, which she wrought in her life time, their number is as admirable as their nature. I must confesse at my first reading In Liponian. in vitis Sanct. Tom. 5 fol. 91. & sequen. of them, my belief di­gested some, but surfeted on the rest: for she made no more to cast out a devil, then a barber to draw a tooth, and with lesse pain to the patient. I never heard of a great feast made all of Cordialls: and it seems improbable that miracles (which in Scripture are used sparingly, and chiefly for conversion of unbelievers) [Page 44] should be heaped so many together, made every dayes work, and by her commonly, constantly, and ordi­narily, wrought. And I pray why is the Popish Church so barren of true works nowadayes here wrought at home amongst us? For as for those report­ed to be done farre of, it were ill for some if the gold from the Indies would abide the touch no better then the miracles.

However Hildegardis was a gratious Virgin, and God might perform some great wonders by her hand; but these piae fraudes with their painting have spoyled the naturall complexion of many a good face, and have made Truth it self suspected. She dyed in the 82. yeare of her age, was afterwards Sainted by the Pope, and the 17 day of September assign'd to her memory.

I cannot forget how Udalrick Abbat of Kempten in Germany made a most Bruschius Demonaster. & Centuriatores, Centur. 11. Col. 350. courteous law for the weaker sexe, That no woman, guilty of what crime soever, should ever be put to death in his dominions, because two women condemn'd to die were miracu­lously delivered out of the prison by praying to S. Hil­degardis.

CHAP. 14. The Elder Brother

IS one who made hast to come into the world to bring his Parents the first news of male-posterity, and is well rewarded for his tidings. His compositi­on is then accounted most pretious when made of the losse of a double Virginitie.

Maxime 1 He is thankfull for the advantage God gave him at the starting in the race into this world. When twinnes have been even match'd, one hath gained the gole but by his length. S. Questioni­bus ex utroque mix [...]im Tom. 40 Col. 874. Augustine saith, That it is every mans [Page 45] bounden duty solemnly to celebrate his birth-day. If so, Elder Brothers may best afford good cheer on the festi­vall.

He counts not his inheritance a Writ of ease to free him from industry: 2 As if onely the Younger Brothers came into the world to work, the Elder to complement. These are the Toppes of their houses indeed, like cotlofts, highest and emptiest. Rather he laboureth to furnish himself with all gentile accomplishment, being best able to go to the cost of learning. He need not fear to be served as Ulrick Fugger was (chief of the noble family of the Fuggers in Auspurg) who was disinhe­rited of a great patrimony onely for his Thua [...]. de obit. vi [...]. do. l. in Ann. 1584. studiousnesse, and expensivenesse in buying costly Manuscripts.

He doth not so remember he is an Heire, 3 that he forgets he is a Sonne. Wherefore his carriage to his Parents is al­wayes respectfull. It may chance that his father may be kept in a charitable Prison, whereof his Sonne hath the keyes; the old man being onely Tenant for life, and the lands entaild on our young Gentleman. In such a case when it is in his power, if necessity re­quires, he enlargeth his father to such a reasonable proportion of liberty as may not be injurious to him­self.

He rather desires his fathers Life then his Living. 4 This was one of the principall reasons (but God knows how true) why Philip the second, King of Spain, caused in the yeare 1568. Charles his Eldest Sonne to be executed for plotting his fathers death, as was pre­tended. And a Op [...]rerus was the Au­thour thereof: Famianus Strada de bello Belg [...]ro lib. 7. pag. 432. Wit in such difficult toyes accommo­dated the numerall letters in Ovids verse to the yeare wherein the Prince suffered.

[Page 46] But if they had no better evidence against him but this poeticall Synchronisme, we might well count him a martyr.

5 His fathers deeds and grants he ratifies and confirms. If a stitch be fallen in a lease, he will not widen it into an hole by cavilling, till the whole strength of the grant run out thereat; or take advantage of the default of the Clark in writing where the deed appears really done, and on a valuable consideration: He counts himself bound in honour to perform what by marks and signes he plainly understands his father meant, though he spake it not out.

6 He reflecteth his lustre to grace and credit his younger bre­thren. Thus Scipio Africanus, after his great victories against the Carthaginians and conquering of Hanni­bal, was content to serve as a Plutar. in the life of Scipio. Lieutenant in the warres of Asia, under Lucius Scipio his younger Brother.

7 He relieveth his distressed kinred, yet so as he continues them in their calling. Otherwise they would all make his house their hospitall, his kinred their calling. When one being an Husbandman challenged kinred of Ro­bert Grosthead Bishop of Lincoln, and thereupon re­quested favour of him to bestow an office on him, Cousen (quoth the Bishop) if your cart be broken, I'le mend it; if your plough old, I'le give you a new one, and seed to sow your land: but an Husbandman I found you, and an Husbandman I'le leave you. It is better to ease poore kinred in their Profession, then to ease them from their Profession.

8 He is carefull to support the credit and dignity of his family: neither wasting his paternall estate by his unthrifti­nesse, nor marring it by parcelling his ancient man­nours and demesnes amongst his younger children, whom he provides for by annuities, pensions, mo­neys, leases, and purchased lands. He remembers how when our King Alfred divided the river of Lee (which parts Hartfordshire and Essex) into three [Page 47] streams, it became so shallow that boats could not row, where formerly ships did ride. Thus the ancient family of the Woodfords (which had long continued in Leicestershire and elsewhere in England in great ac­count, estate and livelihood) is at this day quite ex­tinct. For when S^r. Thomas Woodford in the reigne of King Henrie the sixth made almost an even partiti­on of his means betwixt his five Grandchildren, the House in short space utterly decay'd; not any part of his lands now in the Burton in his descrip. of Leicestershire, p. 264. tenure or name of any of his male line, some whereof lived to be brought to a low ebbe of fortune. Yet on the other side to leave all to the eldest, and make no provision for the rest of their children, is against all rules of religion, forgetting their Christian-name to remember their Sir-name.

CHAP. 15. The Younger Brother.

SOme account him the better Gentleman of the two, because sonne to the more ancient Gentle­man. Wherein his Elder Brother can give him the hearing, and a smile into the bargain. He shares e­qually with his Elder Brother in the education, but differs from him in his portion, and though he giveth also his Fathers Armes, yet to use the Herauld's lan­guage, he may say,

Like herein to a young nephew of Tarquines in Rome, who was called Livi. lib. 1. Egereus, from wanting of maintenance, because his Grandfather left him no­thing. It was therefore a mannerly answer which a young Gentleman gave to King James, when he ask­ed him what kinne he was to such a Lord of his name: Please your Majestie (said he) my Elder Brother is his Cousen german.

[Page 48] Maxime 1 He repines not at the Providence of God in ordering his birth. Heirs are made, even where matches are, both in heaven. Even in twinnes God will have one next the doore to come first into the world.

2 He labours by his endeavours to date himself an Elder Bro­ther. Nature makes but one; Industry doth make all the sonnes of the same man Heirs. The fourth Bro­ther gives a Martilet for the difference of his Armes: a bird Gerard Leigh in his 9. differences of Brothers Armes. observed to build either in Castles, Steeples, or Ships; shewing that the bearer hereof, being debarr'd from all hopes of his fathers inheritance, must seek by warre, learning, or merchandize to advance his estate.

3 In warre he cuts out his fortunes with his own sword. William the Conquerour, when he first landed his forces in England, burnt all his ships; that despair to return might make his men the more valiant. Younger Brothers, being cut off at home frō all hopes, are more zealous to purchase an honourable support abroad. Their small Arteries with great Spirits have wrought miracles, & their resolution hath driven successe before it. Many of them have adventured to cheapen dear en­terprises, & were onely abel to pay the earnest, yet for­tune hath accepted them for chapmen, and hath freely forgiven thē the rest of the payment for their boldnes.

4 Nor are they lesse happy if applying themselves to their book. Nature generally giving them good wits, which be­cause they want room to burnish may the better af­ford to soar high.

5 But he gaineth more wealth if betaking himself to merchan­dize. Whence often he riseth to the greatest annuall honour in the kingdome. Many families in England though not first raised frō the City, yet thence have been so restored and enriched that it may seem to amount to an originall raising. Neither doth an apprentiship extinguish native, nor disinable to acquisitive Gentry; and they are much mistaken who hold it to be in the nature of bondage. For first, his indenture is a civill [Page 49] contract, whereof a bondman is uncapable: secondly, no work can be base prescribed in reference to a noble end, as theirs is that learn an honest mystery to inable them for the service of God and the Countrey: thirdly, they give round summes of money to be bound. Now if apprentiship be a servitude, it is either a pleasing bon­dage, or strange madnesse to purchase it at so dear a rate. Gentry therefore may be suspended perchance, & asleep during the apprentiship, but it awakens afterwards.

Sometimes he raiseth his estate by applying himself to the Court. 6 A pasture wherein Elder Brothers are observed to grow lean, and Younger Brothers fat. The reasons whereof may be these.

• 1 Younger Brothers, being but slender in estate, are easier bowed to a Court-complyance then Elder Brothers, who stand more stiff on their means, and think scorn to crave what may be a Princes pleasure to grant, and their profit to receive.
• 2 They make the Court their calling, and studie the mysterie thereof, whilest Elder Brothers, divi­ded betwixt the Court and the Countrey, can have their endeavours deep in neither, which run in a double channell.
• 3 Elder Brothers spend highly in proportion to their e­states, expecting afterwards a return with increase, which notwithstanding never payes the principall: and whilest they thus build so stately a stair-case to their preferment, the Younger Brothers get up by the back stairs in a private silent way, little expence being expected from them that have little.

Sometimes he lighteth on a wealthy match to advance him. 7 If meeting with one that is Pilot of her own affections, to steer them without guidance of her friends, and such as disdaineth her marriage should be contracted in an exchange, where joynture must weigh every grain even to the portion. Rather she counts it an act both of love and charity to affect one rich in deserts, [Page 50] who commonly hath the advantage of birth, as she hath of means, and so it's made levell betwixt them. And thus many a young Gentleman hath gotten ho­nourable maintenance by an Heiresse, especially when the crying of the child hath caused the laughing of the father.

8 His means the more hardly gotten are the more carefully kept. Heat gotten by degrees, with motion and exercise, is more naturall and stayes longer by one, then what is gotten all at once by coming to the fire. Goods ac­quired by industry prove commonly more lasting then lands by descent.

9 He ever owneth his Elder Brother with dutifull respect: yea though God should so blesse his endeavours as to go beyond him in wealth and honour. The pride of the Jesuites is generally taxed, who being the youngest of all other Orders, and therefore by canon to go last, will never go in Vid. Preface to the Iesuites Catechism. Procession with other Orders, be­cause they will not come behind them.

10 Sometimes the Paternall inheritance falls to them who never hoped to rise to it. Thus John, sirnamed Sans-terre, or, Without land, having five Elder Brothers came to the kingdome of England, death levelling those which stood betwixt him and the Crown. It is observ'd of the Carew Sur­vey of Corn­wall, fol. 117. Coringtons, an ancient familie in Cornwall, that for eight lineall descents never any one that was born heir had the land, but it ever fell to Younger Brothers.

To conclude, there is a hill in Voitland (a small coun­trey in Germany) called Feitchtelberg, out of which arise foure rivers running foure severall wayes, viz. 1. Eger, East, 2. Menus, West, 3. Sala, North, & 4. Nabus, South: so that he that sees their fountains so near together would admire at their falls so farre asunder. Thus the younger sons issuing out of the same mothers wombe and fathers loyns, and afterwards embracing different courses to trie their fortunes abroad in the world, chance often to die farre off, at great distance, which were all born in the same place.

CHAP. 1. The good We take it promis [...]uously for Civil or Common Lawyer. Advocate.

HE is one that will not plead that cause, wherein his tongue must be confuted by his conscience. It is the praise of the Spanish souldier, that (whilest all other Nations are mercenary, and for money will serve on any side) he will never fight against his own King: nor will our Advocate against the Sovereigne Truth, plainly appearing to his conscience.

He not onely hears but examines his Client, Maxime 1 and pincheth the cause, where he fears it is foundred. For many Clients in telling their case rather plead then relate it, so that the Advocate hears not the true state of it, till opened by the adverse party. Surely the Lawyer that fills himself with instructions will travell longest in the cause without tiring. Others that are so quick in searching, seldome search to the quick; and those miraculous apprehensions who understand more then all, before the Client hath told half, runne without their errand, and will return without their answer.

If the matter be doubtfull, 2 he will onely warrant his own di­ligence. Yet some keep an Assurance-office in their [Page 52] chamber, and will warrant any cause brought unto them, as knowing that if they fail they lose nothing but what long since was lost, their credit.

3 He makes not a Trojan-siege of a suit, but seeks to bring it to a set battel in a speedy triall. Yet sometimes suits are con­tinued by their difficulty, the potencie and stomach of the parties, without any default in the Lawyer. Thus have there depended suits in Cambdens Br [...]t. in Glocest. Glocester-shire, betwixt the Heirs of the Lord Barkley, and S^r. Thomas Tal­bot Viscount Lisle, ever since the reigne of King Ed­ward the fourth untill now lately they were finally compounded.

4 He is faithfull to the side that first retains him. Not like Plutarch. in vita De­mosth. Demosthenes, who secretly wrote one oration for Phormio, and another in the same matter for Apoli­dorus his adversary.

5 In pleading he shoots fairly at the head of the cause, and having fastened, no frowns nor favours shall make him let go his hold. Not snatching aside here and there, to no purpose, speaking little in much, as it was said of Anaximenes, That he had a flood of words, and a drop of reason. His boldnesse riseth or falleth as he apprehends the good­nesse or badnesse of his cause.

6 He joyes not to be retain'd in such a suit, where all the right in question, is but a drop blown up with malice to be a bubble. Wherefore in such triviall matters he perswades his Client to sound a retreat, and make a composition.

7 When his name is up, his industry is not down, thinking to plead not by his study but his credit. Commonly Physicians like beer are best when they are old, & Lawyers like bread when they are young and new. But our Advocate grows not lazie. And if a leading case be out of the road of his practice, he will take pains to trace it tho­row his books, and prick the footsteps thereof where­soever he finds it.

8 He is more carefull to deserve, then greedy to take fees. He accounts the very pleading of a poore widows honest [Page 53] cause sufficient fees, as conceiving himself then the King of Heavens Advocate, bound ex officio to prose­cute it. And although some may say that such a Law­yer may even go live in Cornwall, where it is Carew Sur. of Cornwall, fol. 60. obser­ved that few of that profession hitherto have grown to any great livelihood, yet shall he (besides those two felicities ofCoke in h [...]s Preface to Littletons Te­nures. common Lawyers, that they seldome die either without heirs or making a will) find Gods blessing on his provisions and posterity.

We will respit him a while till he comes to be a Judge, and then we will give an example of both to­gether.

CHAP. 2. The good Physician.

HE trusteth not the single witnesse of the water if better testimony may be had. Maxime 1 For reasons drawn from the urine alone are as brittle as the urinall. Sometimes the water runneth in such post-hast through the sick mans body, it can give no account of any thing memorable in the passage, though the most judicious eye examine it. Yea the sick man may be in the state of death, and yet life appear in his state.

Coming to his patient he perswades him to put his trust in God the fountain of health. 2 The neglect hereof hath caused the bad successe of the best Physicians: for God will ma­nifest that though skill comes mediately from him to be gotten by mans pains, successe comes from him immediately to be disposed at his pleasure.

He [...]ansells not his new experiments on the bodies of his pa­tients; 3 letting loose mad receipts into the sick mans body, to try how well Nature in him will fight against them, whilest himself stands by and sees the battel, ex­cept it be in desperate cases when death must be ex­pell'd by death.

To poore people he prescribes cheap but wholesome medicines:4 [Page 54] not removing the consumption out of their bodies in­to their purses; nor sending them to the East Indies for drugs, when they can reach better out of their gardens.

5 Lest his Apothecary should oversee, he oversees his Apotheca­ry. For though many of that profession be both able and honest, yet some out of ignorance or haste may mistake: witnesse one of Bloys, Stephens A­pology fol He­rodotus, lib. 1. cap. 16. who being to serve a Doctours bill, in stead of Optimi (short written) read Opii, and had sent the patient asleep to his grave, if the Doctours watchfulnesse had not prevented him; worse are those who make wilfull errours, giving one thing for another. A prodigall who had spent his estate was pleased to jeer himself, boasting that he had cosened those who had bought his means; They gave me (said he) good new money, and I sold them my Great-great-grandfathers old land. But this cosenage is too too true in many Apothecaries, selling to sick folk for new money antiquated drugs, and making dying mens Physick of dead ingredients.

6 He brings not news with a false spie that the coast is clear till death surprises the sick man. I know Physicians love to make the best of their patients estate. First 'tis impro­per that Adjutores vitae should be Nuncii mortis. Se­condly, none, with their good will, will tell bad news. Thirdly, their fee may be the worse for't. Fourthly, 'tis a confessing that their art is conquer'd. Fifthly, it will poyson their patients heart with grief, and make it break before the time. However they may so order it, that the party may be inform'd of his dangerous condition, that he be not outed of this world before he be provided for another.

7 When he can keep life no longer in, he makes a fair & easie pas­sage for it to go out. He giveth his attendance for the fa­cilitating and asswaging of the pains and agonies of death. Yet generally 'tis death to a Physician to be with a dying man.

[Page 55] Vnworthy pretenders to Physick are rather foils then stains to the Profession. 8 Such a one was that counterfeit, who called himself The Baron of Stowes Sur­vey of London. pag. 55. Blackamore, and feigned he was sent from the Emperour to our young King Henry the sixth, to be his principall Physician: but his forgery being discovered, he was apprehended, and executed in the Tower of London, Anno 1426. and such the world daily swarms with. Well did the Poets feigne Aesculapius and Circe, brother and sister, and both children of the Sunne: for in all times in the opinion of the multitude, witches, old women, and impostours have had a competition with Physicians. And commonly the most ignorant are the most con­fident in their undertakings, and will not stick to tell you what disease the gall of a dove is good to cure. He took himself to be no mean Doctour, who being guilty of no Greek, and being demanded why it was called an Hectick fever; because (saith he) of an hecking cough which ever attendeth that disease. And here it will not be amisse to describe the life of the famous Quack­salver Paracelsus, both because it is not ordinarily to be met with, and that men may see what a monster ma­ny make a miracle of learning, and propound him their pattern in their practice.

CHAP. 3. The life of PARACELSUS.

PHilip Theophrastus Bombastus of Hoenhaim, or Paracelsus, born as he saith himself in the wilder­nesse of Helvetia, Anno 1493. of the noble and ancient family of the Hoenhaims. But Thomas Erastus ma­king strict enquiry after his pedigree found none of his name or kinred in that place. Yet it is fit so great a Chymist should make himself to be of noble ex­traction: And let us believe him to be of high de­scent, [Page 57] as perchance born on some mountain in Swit­zerland.

As for his Education, he himself In praefatione Chiru [...]giae magnae. boasts that he li­ved in most Universities of Europe; surely rather as a traveller then a student, and a vagrant then a traveller. Yea some will not allow him so much, and Sennertus de [...]hymicorum consensu, cap. 4. pag. 35. one who hath exactly measured the length of his life, though crowding his pretended travells very close, finds not room enough for them. But 'tis too ridicu­lous what a Bickerus in Hermete redi­vivo. Scholar of his relates, that he lived ten years in Arabia to get learning, and conversed in Greece with the Athenian Philosophers. Whereas in that age Arabia the Happy was accursed with Bar­barisme, and Athens grown a stranger to her self; both which places being then subjected to the Turks, the very ruines of all learning were ruin'd there. Thus we see how he better knew to act his part, then to lay his Scene, and had not Chronologie enough to tell the clock of time, when and where to place his lies to make them like truth.

The first five & twenty years of his age he lived very civilly; being thirty years old he came to Basill, just at the alteration of Religion, when many Papists were expell'd the University, and places rather wanted Pro­fessours, then Professours places. Here by the favour of Oecolampadius he was admitted to reade Physick, & for two years behaved himself fairly, till this accident caused his departure. A rich Bezoldus consideratione vitae & mort. p. 76. ex An­draea Iocisio. Canon of Basill being sick promised Paracelsus an hundred florens to reco­ver him, which being restored to his health he denied to pay. Paracelsus sues him, is cast in his suit, the Ma­gistrate adjudging him onely an ordinary fee, because the cure was done presently with a few pills. The Physician enraged hereat talked treason against the State in all his discourses, till the nimblenesse of his tongue forc'd the nimblenesse of his feet, and he was fain to fly into Alsatia. Here keeping company with [Page 58] the Gentry of the countrey, he gave himself over to all licentiousnesse: His body was the sea wherein the tide of drunkennesse was ever ebbing and flowing; for by putting his finger in his throat he used to spew out his drink and drunkennesse together, and from that instant date himself sober to return to his cups again. Every moneth he had a new sute, not for pride but necessity; his apparel serving both for wearing and bedding: and having given his clothes many vomits, he gave them to the poore. Being Codrus over night, he would be Croesus in the morning, flush of money as if he carried the invisible Indies in his pocket: some suspected the devil was his pursebearer, and that he carried a spirit in the pomel of his sword his constant companion, whilest others maintain that by the heat of the furnace he could ripen any metall into gold.

All the diet he prescribed his patients was this, to eat what, and how often, they thought fitting them­selves, and yet he did most strange cures. Like the quicksilver (he so much dealt with) he would never be fixt in one place, or live any where longer then a twelvemoneth: for some observe that by that time the maladies reverted again, which he formerly cured. He gave so strong physick as summoned Nature with all her force to expell the present disease, but the rem­nant dregs thereof afterwards reinforcing themselves did assault Nature tired out with the violence of her former task, and easily subdued it.

His Scholars brag that the fragments of his learn­ing would feast all the Philosophers in the world, boasting that the gout, the disgrace of Physick, was the honour of Paracelsus, who by curing it removed that scandall from his profession: whereas others say he had little Learning, and lesse Latine. When any asked him the name of an herb he knew not, he would tell them there was no Beroldus ut priùs, pag. 77. use thereof in Physick; [Page 59] and yet this man would undertake not onely to cure men, but to cure the Art of curing men, and reform Physick it self.

As for his religion, it would as well pose himself as others to tell what it was. He boasted that shortly he would order Luther and the Pope, as well as he had done Galen and Hippocrates. He was never seen to pray, and seldome came to Church. He was not one­ly skilled in naturall Magick (the utmost bounds whereof border on the suburbs of hell) but is charged to converse constantly with familiars. Guilty he was of all vices but wantonnesse; and I find an Oporinus in Epist. de Pa­racel [...]o. honest man his Compurgatour, that he was not given to women; perchance he drank himself into wanton­nesse and past it, quenching the fire of his lust by pi­ling fuell too hard and fast upon it.

Boasting that he could make a man immortall, he himself died at fourty seven years in the City of Saltz­burg. His Scholars say he was poysoned through the envy (that dark shadow ever waiting on a shining merit) and malice of his adversaries. However his body should have been so fenced with antidotes, that the battery of no poyson might make a breach there­in; except we impute it more to his neglect then want of skill, and that rather his own security then his ene­mies malice brought him to his grave. But it may be he was willing to die, counting a twelvemoneths time enough to stay in one place, and fourty seven years long enough to live in one world. We may more ad­mire that so beastly a drunkard lived so long, then that so skilfull a man died so soon. In a word, He boasted of more then he could do, did more cures seemingly then really, more cures really then lawfully; of more parts then learning, of more fame then parts; a better Physician then a man, and a better Chirurgeon then Physician.

CHAP. 4. The Controversiall Divine.

HE is Truths Champion to defend her against all adversaries, Atheists, Hereticks, Schismaticks, and Erroneous persons whatsoever. His sufficiency appears in Opposing, Answering, Moderating, and Writing.

Maxime 1 He engageth both his judgement, and affections in opposing of falsehood. Not like countrey Fencers, who play onely to make sport, but like Duellers indeed, at it for life and limbe; chiefly if the question be of large pro­spect, and great concernings, he is zealous in the quar­rell. Yet some, though their judgement weigh down on one side, the beam of their affections stands so even, they care not which part prevails.

2 In opposing a truth, he dissembles himself her foe, to be her better friend. Wherefore he counts himself the greatest conquerour when Truth hath taken him captive. With Joseph having sufficiently sifted the matter in a disguise, he discovereth himself, Gen. 45.4. I am Ioseph your bro­ther, and then throws away his visard. Dishonest they, who though the debt be satisfied will never give up the bond, but continue wrangling, when the ob­jection is answered.

3 He abstains from all foul and railing language. What? make the Muses, yea the Graces scolds? Such purulent spittle argues exulcerated lungs. Why should there be so much railing about the body of Christ? when there was none about the body of Moses in the Act kept betwixt the devil and Michael the Archan­gel.

4 He tyrannizeth not over a weak and undermatch'd Adversa­ry; but seeks rather to cover his weaknesse if he be a modest man. When a Professour pressed an Answer­er [Page 61] (a better Christian then a Clerk) with an hard ar­gument, Reverende Professor (said he) ingenue confiteor me non posse respondere huic argumento. To whom the Pro­fessour, Recte respondes.

In answering he states the question, and expoundeth the terms thereof. 5 Otherwise the disputants shall end, where they ought to have begun, in differences about words, and be Barbarians each to other, speaking in a Lan­guage neither understand. If the Question also be of Historicall cognizanse, he shews the pedigree thereof, who first brew'd it, who first broch'd it, and sends the wandring Errour with a pasport home to the place of its birth.

In taking away an objection he not onely puts by the thrust, 6 but breaks the weapon. Some rather escape then defeat an argument, and though by such an evasion they may shut the mouth of the Opponent, yet may they open the difficulty wider in the hearts of the hearers. But our Answerer either fairly resolves the doubt; or else shews the falsenesse of the argument, by beggering the Opponent to maintain such a fruitfull generation of absurdities, as his argument hath begotten; or lastly returns and retorts it back upon him again. The first way unties the knot; the second cuts it a­sunder; the third whips the Opponent with the knot himself tyed. Sure 'tis more honour to be a clear Answerer, then a cunning Opposer, because the latter takes advantage of mans ignorance, which is ten times more then his knowledge.

What his answers want in suddennesse they have in solidity. 7 Indeed the speedy answer addes lustre to the dispu­tation, and honour to the disputant; yet he makes good payment, who though he cannot presently throw the money out of his pocket, yet will pay it, if but going home to unlock his chest. Some that are not for speedy may be for sounder performance. When Melanchthon at the disputation of Ratisbon was [Page 62] pressed with a shrewd argument by Ecchius, I will answer thee, said he, to morrow. Nay, said Ecchius, do it now or it's nothing worth. Yea, said Melanchthon, I seek the Truth, and not mine own Credit, and therefore it will be as good if I answer thee to Melchior A­dam. in vitis Germ. Theolog. p. 339. mor­row by Gods assistance.

8 In moderating he sides with the Answerer, if the Answerer sides with the truth. But if he be conceited, & opinioned of his own sufficiency, he lets him swound before he gives him any hot water. If a Paradox-monger, loving to hold strange yea dangerous Opinions, he counts it charity to suffer such a one to be beaten without mer­cy, that he may be weaned from his wilfulnesse. For the main, he is so a staff to the Answerer, that he makes him stand on his own legs.

9 In writing, his Latine is pure, so farre as the subject will allow. For those who are to climbe the Alpes are not to ex­pect a smooth and even way. True it is that School­men, perceiving that fallacy had too much covert un­der the nap of flourishing Language, used thred­bare Latine on purpose, and cared not to trespasse on Grammar, and tread down the fences thereof to avoid the circuit of words, and to go the nearest way to expresse their conceits. But our Divine though he useth barbarous School-terms, which like standers are fixt to the controversie, yet in his moveable Latine, passages, and digressions his style is pure and elegant.

10 He affects clearnesse and plainnesse in all his writings. Some mens heads are like the world before God said unto it, Fiat lux. These dark-lanterns may shine to them­selves, and understand their own conceits, but no bo­dy else can have light from them. Thus Matthias Fa­rinator Professour at Vienna, assisted with some other learned men, as the Times then went, was thirty years making a book of applying Plato's, Aristotle's, and Galen's rules in Philosophy, to Christ and his Pro­phets, and 'tis call'd Mercator Atlas in the descrip. of Au­stria. Lumen animae; quo tamen nihil est [Page 63] caliginosius, labore magno, sed ridiculo, & inani. But this ob­scurity is worst when affected, when they do as Per­sius, of whom Scalig. de Arte poet. lib. 6. c. 6. one saith, Legi voluit quae scripsit, intelligi noluit quae legerentur. Some affect this darknesse, that they may be accounted profound, whereas one is not bound to believe that all the water is deep that is muddy.

He is not curious in searching matters of no moment. 11 Ca­ptain Martin Cambdens Elisab. anno. 1576. Forbisher fetcht from the farthest nor­thern Countries a ships lading of minerall stones (as he thought) which afterwards were cast out to mend the high wayes. Thus are they served, and misse their hopes, who long seeking to extract hidden mysteries out of nice questions, leave them off, as uselesse at last. Antoninus Pius, for his desire to search to the least dif­ferences, was called Cumini sector, the Carver of cu­mine seed. One need not be so accurate: for as soon shall one scowr the spots out of the moon, as all ig­norance out of man. When Eunomius the Heretick vaunted that he knew God and his divinity, S. Epist. 168. quae est ad Eu­nomiun. Basil gravells him in 21 questions about the body of an ant or pismire: so dark is mans understanding. I wonder therefore at the boldnesse of some, who as if they were Lord Mashalls of the Angels place them in ranks and files. Let us not believe them here, but ra­ther go to heaven to confute them.

He neither multiplies needlesse, nor compounds necessary Con­troversies. 12 Sure they light on a labour in vain, who seek to make a bridge of reconciliation over the [...] betwixt Papists and Protestants; for though we go 99 steps, they (I mean their Church) will not come one to give us a meeting. And as for the offers of Cla­ra's and private men (besides that they seem to be more of the nature of baits then gifts) they may make large profers, without any Commission to treat, and so the Romish Church not bound to pay their pro­mises. In Giraldus Camb. in descr. of Wales. Merionethshire in Wales there are high [Page 64] mountains, whose hanging tops come so close toge­ther that shepherds on the tops of severall hills may audibly talk together, yet will it be a dayes journey for their bodies to meet, so vast is the hallownesse of the vallies betwixt them. Thus upon sound search shall we find a grand distance and remotenesse betwixt Po­pish and Protestant tenents to reconcile them, which at the first view may seem near, and tending to an ac­comodation.

13 He is resolute and stable in fundamentall points of Religion. These are his fixed poles, and axletree about which he moves, whilest they stand unmoveable. Some sail so long on the Sea of controversies, toss'd up and down, to and fro, Pro and Con, that the very ground to them seems to move, and their judgements grow scepticall and unstable in the most settled points of Divinity. When he cometh to Preach, especially if to a plain Auditory, with the Paracelsians he extracts an oyl out of the driest and hardest bodies, and knowing that knotty timber is unfit to build with, he edifies people with easie and profitable matter.

CHAP. 5. The life of D^r. VVHITAKER.

WIlliam Whitaker born at Holm in the Coun­ty of Lancaster of good parentage, especially by his mothers side, allied to two worshipfull fami­lies. His reverend unckle, Alexander Nowell, Dean of S. Pauls (the first fruits of the English Confessours in the dayes of Queen Marie, who after her death first return'd into England from beyond the Seas) took him young from his parents, sent him first to Pauls [Page 66] School, thence to Trinity Colledge in Cambridge; where he so profited in his studies, that he gave great promises of his future perfection.

I passe by his youthfull exercises, never striving for the garland, but he wonne and wore it away. His prime appearing to the world, was when he stood for the Professours place against two Competitours, in age farre his superiours. But the seven Electours in the Universitie who were to choose the Emperour of the Schools, preferring a golden head before silver hairs, conferr'd the place on Whitaker; and the strict form of their Election hath no room for corruption. He so well acquitted himself in the place that he an­swered expectation, the strongest opponent in all di­sputes and lectures, and by degrees taught envie to ad­mire him.

By this time the Papists began to assault him, and the Truth. First Campian, one fitter for a Trumpeter then a Souldier, whose best ability was that he could boast in good Latine, being excellent at the flat hand of Rhetorick (which rather gives pats then blows) but he could not bend his fist to dispute. Whitaker both in writing and disputing did teach him, that it was easier to make then maintain a challenge against our Church; and in like manner he handled both Du­raeus, and Sanders, who successively undertook the same cause, solidly confuting their arguments.

But these Teazers, rather to rouze then pinch the Game, onely made Whitaker find his spirits. The fiercest dog is behind even Bellarmine himself, a great scholar, and who wanted nothing but a good cause to defend, and generally writing ingeniously, using some­times slenting, seldome down-right railing. Whitaker gave him all fair quarter, stating the question betwixt them, yielding all which the other in reason could ask, and agreeing on terms to fall out with him, plaid fairly but fiercely on him, till the other forsook the field.

[Page 67]Bellarmine had no mind to reinforce his routed ar­guments, but rather consigned over that service to a new Generall, Stapleton an English man: He was born the same Pitz [...]us. De ill [...]i Angl. scrip. Atat. 16. pag. 796. yeare and moneth wherein S^r. Tho­mas More was beheaded, an observation little lesse then mysticall with the Papists, as if God had substi­tuted him to grow up in the room of the other for the support of the Catholick cause. If Whitaker in an­swering him put more gall then usuall into his ink, Stapleton (whose mouth was as foul as his cause) first infected him with bitternesse: and none will blame a man for arming his hands with hard and rough gloves, who is to meddle with bryers and bram­bles.

Thus they baited him constantly with fresh dogs: None that ran at him once desired a second course at him; and as Davenant in Praefat. De Iu­d [...]c & N [...]rma [...]idei. one observes, Cum nullo hoste unquam consti­xit, quem non fudit & fugavit.

He filled the Chair with a gracefull presence, so that one needed not to do with him as In epist. ad Spalalmum. Luther did with Melanchthon when he first heard him reade, abstract the opinion and sight of his stature and person, lest the meannesse thereof should cause an undervaluing of him: for our Whitakers person carried with it an ex­cellent port. His style was manly for the strength, mai­denly for the modesty, and elegant for the phrase there­of; shewing his skill in spinning a fine thred out of course wool, for such is controversiall matter. He had by his second wife, a modest woman, eight children. It being true of him also, what is said of the famous Lawyer Thuanus, obit. doct. vir. anno 1558. Andreas Tiraquillus, singulis annis singulos libros & liberos Reipublicae dedit.

My Father hath told me, that he often wished that he might lose so much Learning as he had gotten in after-supper studies, on condition he might gain so much strength as he had lost thereby. Indeed his bo­dy was strongly built for the naturall temper, and well [Page 68] repair'd by his temperate diet and recreations; but first he foundred the foundation of this house by immo­derate study, and at last the roof was set on fire by a hot disease.

The unhappy controversie was then started, Whe­ther justifying faith may be lost. And this thorny question would not suffer our Nightingale to sleep. He was sent for up by Arch-bishop Whitgift to the conference at Lambeth, after which returning home, unseasonable riding, late studying, and night-watching brought him to a burning-fever, to which his body was naturally disposed, as appeared by the mastery of rednesse in his complexion. Thus lost he the health of his body, in maintaining, That the health of the soul could not be lost. All agreed that he should be let bloud; which might then easily have been done, but was deferred by the fault of some about him, till it was too late. Thus, when God intends to cut a mans life off, his dearest friends by dangerous involuntarie mis­takes shall bring the knife. He died in the 47. yeare of his age, Anno Dom. 1595. and in S. Johns Colledge (whereof he was Master) was solemnly interred, with the grief of the University, and whole Church of God.

CHAP. 6. The true Church Antiquary.

HE is a traveller into former times, whence he hath learnt their language and fashions. If he meets with an old manuscript, which hath the mark worn out of its mouth, and hath lost the date, yet he can tell the age thereof either by the phrase or cha­racter.

He baits at middle Antiquity, Maxime 1. but lodges not till he comes at that which is ancient indeed. Some scoure off the rust of old inscriptions into their own souls, cankering them­selves with superstition, having read so often Orate pro anima, that at last they fall a praying for the departed; and they more lament the ruine of Monasteryes, then the decay and ruine of Monks lives, degenerating from their ancient piety and painfulnesse. Indeed a little skill in Antiquity inclines a man to Popery; but depth in that study brings him about again to our re­ligion. A Nobleman who had heard of the extreme age of one dwelling not farre off, made a journey to visit him, and finding an aged person sitting in the chimney-corner, addressed himself unto him with admiration of his age, till his mistake was rectified: for, Oh S^r, (said the young-old man) I am not he whom you seek for, but his sonne; my father is farther off in the field. The same errour is daily cōmitted by the Romish Church, adoring the reverend brow and gray hairs of some ancient Ceremonyes, perchance but of some seven or eight hundred years standing in the Church, and mis­take these for their fathers, of farre greater age in the Primitive times.

He desires to imitate the ancient Fathers, 2 as well in their Piety, as in their Postures. Not onely conforming his hands and knees, but chiefly his heart to their [Page 70] pattern. O the holinesse of their living and pain­fulnesse of their preaching! how full were they of mortified thoughts, and heavenly meditations! Let us not make the ceremoniall part of their lives one­ly Canonicall, and the morall part thereof altoge­ther Apocrypha, imitating their devotion not in the finenesse of the stuff, but onely in the fashion of the making.

3 He carefully marks the declination of the Church from the Primitive purity. Observing how sometimes humble devotion was contented to lie down, whilest proud superstition got on her back. Yea not onely Frederick the Emperour, but many a godly Father some hundreds of years before held the Pope's stirrop, and by their well-meaning simplicity gave occasion to his future greatnesse. He takes notice how their Rhetorical hyper­boles were afterwards accounted the just measure of dogmaticall truths; How plain people took them at their word in their funerall apostrophes to the dead; How praying for the departed brought the fuell, un­der which after-ages kindled the fire of Purgatory; How one Ceremony begat another, there being no bounds in will-worship, wherewith one may sooner be wearied then satisfied; the inventours of new Ce­remonyes endeavouring to supply in number, what their conceits want in solidity; How mens souls being in the full speed and career of the Historicall use of Pictures could not stop short, but must lash out into superstition, vailing their bonnets to Rome in civill courtesie, when making honourable mention thereof, are interpreted by modern Papists to have done it in adoration of the idole of the Popes infalli­bility. All these things he ponders in his heart, obser­ving both the times and places, when and where they happened.

4 He is not zealous for the introducing of old uselesse Ceremo­nies. The mischief is, some that are most violent to [Page 71] bring such in, are most negligent to preach the cauti­ons in using them; and simple people, like Children in eating of fish, swallow bones and all to their danger of choking. Besides, what is observed of horse-hairs, that lying nine dayes in water they turn to snakes; so some Ceremonies though dead at first, in con­tinuance of time quicken, get stings, and may do much mischief, especially if in such an age wherein the meddling of some have justly awaked the jealousie of all. When many Popish tricks are abroad in the countrey; if then men meet with a Ceremony which is a stranger, especially if it can give but a bad account of it self, no wonder if the watch take it up for one on suspicion.

He is not peremptory but conjecturall in doubtfull mat­ters. 5 Not forcing others to his own opinion, but leaving them to their own libertie; not filling up all with his own conjectures to leave no room for other men: nor tramples he on their credits, if in them he finds slips and mistakes. For here our souls have but one eye (the Apostle saith, we know in part) be not proud if that chance to come athwart thy seeing side, which meets with the blind side of another.

He thankfully acknowledgeth those by whom he hath profited. 6 Base natured they, who when they have quenched their own thirst, stop up, at least muddy, the foun­tain. But our Antiquary, if he be not the first Founder of a commendable conceit, contents himself to be a Benefactour to it in clearing and adorning it.

He affects not phancy-full singularity in his behaviour:7 Nor cares he to have a proper mark in writing of words, to disguise some peculiar letter from the ordinary cha­racter. Others, for fear travellers should take no no­tice that skill in Antiquity dwells in such an head, hang out an antique hat for the signe, or use some [Page 72] obsolete garb in their garments, gestures, or dis­course.

8 He doth not so adore the Ancients as to despise the Modern. Grant them but dwarfs, yet stand they on giants shoulders, and may see the further. Sure, as stout champions of Truth follow in the rere, as ever march'd in the front. Besides, as Sr. Fran. Ba [...]on Ad­vance. of learn. p. 46. one excel­lently observes, Antiquitas seculi juventus mundi. These times are the ancient times, when the world is ancient; and not those which we count ancient ordine retrogrado, by a computation backwards from our selves.

CHAP. 7. The generall Artist.

I Know the generall cavill against generall learning is this, that aliquis in omnibus est nullus in singulis. He that sips of many arts, drinks of none. However we must know, that all learning, which is but one grand Sci­ence, hath so homogeneall a body, that the parts there­of do with a mutuall service relate to, and communi­cate strength and lustre each to other. Our Artist knowing language to be the key of learning, thus begins.

Maxime 1 His tongue being but one by nature he gets cloven by art and industry. Before the confusion of Babel, all the world was one continent in language; since divided into severall tongues, as severall ilands. Grammer is the ship, by benefit whereof we passe from one to another, in the learned languages generally spoken in no countrey. His mother-tongue was like the dull musick of a monochord, which by study he turns into the harmony of severall instru­ments.

2 He first gaineth skill in the Latine and Greek tongues. On [Page 73] the credit of the former alone, he may trade in dis­course over all Christendome: But the Greek, though not so generally spoken, is known with no lesse pro­fit, and more pleasure. The joynts of her compounded words are so naturally oyled, that they run nimbly on the tongue; which makes them though long never tedious, because significant. Besides, it is full and stately in sound: onely it pities our Artist to see the vowels therein rackt in pronouncing them, hanging oftentimes one way by their native force, and haled another by their accents which countermand them.

Hence he proceeds to the Hebrew, 3 the mother-tongue of the world. More pains then quicknesse of wit is required to get it, and with daily exercise he continues it. Apo­stacy herein is usuall to fall totally from the language by a little neglect. As for the Arabick, and other Orien­tall languages, he rather makes sallies and incursions into them, then any solemn sitting down before them.

Then he applies his study to Logick, 4 and Ethicks. The latter makes a mans soul mannerly & wise; but as for Logick, that is the armory of reason, furnished with all offen­sive and defensive weapons. There are Syllogismes, long swords; Enthymems, short daggers; Dilemma's, two-edged swords that cut on both sides; Sorites, chain-shot: And for the defensive, Distinctions, which are shields; Retortions, which are targets with a pike in the midst of them, both to defend and op­pose. From hence he raiseth his studies to the know­ledge of Physicks, the great hall of Nature, and Meta­physicks the closet thereof; and is carefull not to wade therein so farre, till by subtle distinguishing of notions he confounds himself.

He is skilfull in Rhetorick, 5 which gives a speech colour, as Lo­gick doth favour, and both together beauty. Though some condemne Rhetorick as the mother of lies, speaking more then the truth in Hyperboles, lesse in her Miosis, [Page 74] otherwise in her metaphors, contrary in her ironies; yet is there excellent use of all these, when disposed of with judgement. Nor is he a stranger to Poetry, which is musick in words; nor to Musick, which is poetry in sound: both excellent sauce, but they have liv'd and died poore, that made them their meat.

6 Mathematicks he moderately studieth to his great contentment. Using it as ballast for his soul, yet to fix it not to stall it; nor suffers he it to be so unmannerly as to justle out other arts. As for judiciall Astrology (which hath the least judgement in it) this vagrant hath been whipt out of all learned corporations. If our Artist lodgeth her in the out-rooms of his soul for a night or two, it is rather to heare then believe her rela­tions.

7 Hence he makes his progresse into the study of History. Ne­stor, who lived three ages, was accounted the wisest man in the world. But the Historian may make himself wise by living as many ages as have past since the begin­ning of the world. His books enable him to maintain discourse, who besides the stock of his own experience may spend on the common purse of his reading. This directs him in his life, so that he makes the shipwracks of others sea-marks to himself; yea accidents which others start from for their strangenes, he welcomes as his wonted acquaintance, having found presidents for them formerly. Without History a mans soul is pur­blind, seeing onely the things which almost touch his eyes.

8 He is well seen in Chronology, without which History is but an heap of tales. If by the Laws of the land he is counted a Naturall, who hath not wit enough to tell twenty, or to tell his Fits Herbert de nat. brev. de Idiota inqui­ren. age; he shall not passe with me for wise in learning, who cannot tell the age of the world, and count hundreds of years: I mean not so critically, as to solve all doubts arising thence; but that he may be able to give some tolerable account thereof. He is also ac­quainted [Page 75] with Cosmography, treating of the world in whole joynts; with Chorography, shredding it into countries; and with Topography, mincing it into par­ticular places.

Thus taking these Sciences in their generall latitude, he hath finished the round circle or golden ring of the arts; onely he keeps a place for the diamond to be set in, I mean for that predominant profession of Law, Physick, Divinity, or State-policie, which he intends for his principall Calling hereafter.

CHAP. 8. The life of JULIUS SCALIGER.

I Know my choice herein is liable to much excep­tion. Some will make me the pattern of ignorance, for making this Scaliger the pattern of the generall Ar­tist, whose own sonne Joseph might have been his fa­ther in many arts. But all things considered, the choice will appear well advised, even in such variety of examples. Yet let him know that undertakes to pick out the best ear amongst an acre of wheat, that [Page 77] he shall leave as good if not a better behind him, then that which he chooseth.

He was born Anno 1484. in Italie, at the Castle of Ripa upon lacus Benacus, now called Lago di Garda, of the illustrious and noble family of the Scaligers, Princes, for many hundreds of years, of Verona, till at last the Venetians outed them of their ancient inheri­tance. Being about eleven years old, he was brought to the Court of Maximilian Emperour of Germany, where for seventeen years together he was taught learn­ing, and military discipline. I passe by his valiant per­formances atchieved by him, save that this one action of his is so great and strong, it cannot be kept in silence, but will be recorded.

In the cruel battel at Ravenna betwixt the Empe­rour and the French, he not onely bravely fetch'd off the dead bodies of Benedictus and Titus his father and brother, but also with his own hands rescued the Eagle (the standard Imperiall) which was taken by the ene­mies. For which his prowesse Maximilian knighted him, and with his own hands put on him the golden spurres, and chain, the badges of knight-hood.

Amidst these his Martiall employments he made many a clandestine match with the Muses, and whilest he expected the tides and returns of businesse, he fill'd up the empty places of leisure with his studies. Well did the Poets feigne Pallas Patronesse of arts and armes, there being ever good intelligence betwixt the two Professions, and as it were but a narrow cut to ferry over out of one into the other. At last Scaliger sounded a retreat to himself from the warres, and wholly applyed himself to his book, especially after his wandring life was fixed by marriage unto the beauti­full Andietta Lobeiaca, with whom he lived at Agin, near Montpeliar in France.

His Latine was twice refined, and most criticall, as appears by his own writings, and notes on other Au­thours. [Page 78] He was an accurate Grecian, yet began to stu­dy it, when well nigh fourty years old, when a mans tongue is too stiff to bow to words. What a torture was it to him who flowed with streams of matter then to learn words, yea letters, drop by drop? But nothing was unconquerable to his pains, who had a golden wit in an iron body. Let his book of Subtilties wit­nesse his profound skill in Logick, and Naturall Philo­sophy.

His skill in Physick was as great, as his practice therein was happy; in so much that he did many strange and admirable cures. Heare how a Stephanus Boetius Regius Senator Burdi­golae ad Vidum Brassacum Prae­sidem. noble and learned pen doth commend him:

As for his skill in Physiognomy, it was wonderfull. I know some will say, that cannot be read in mens faces which was never wrote there, and that he that seeks to find the disposition of mens souls in the fi­gures of their bodies, looks for letters on the backside [Page 79] of the book. Yet is it credibly In vita Iul. Scalig. p. 54. averred that he never look'd on his infant-sonne Audectus but with grief, as sorrow-struck with some sad signe of ill successe he saw in his face: which child at last was found stifled in bed with the embraces of his nurce being fast a­sleep.

In Mathematicks he was no Archimedes, though he shewed his skill therein with the best advantage, and stood therein on his tiptoes, that his learning might seem the taller.

But in Poetry his over-measure of skill might make up this defect, as is attested by his book de Arte Poetica. Yet his own Poems are harsh, and unsmooth, (as if he rather snorted then slept on Parnassus) and they sound better to the brain then the eare. Indeed his censure in Poetry was incomparable; but he was more happy in repairing of Poems then in building them from the ground, which speaks his judgement to be better then his invention.

What shall I speak of his skill in History? whose own actions were a sufficient History. He was excel­lently vers'd in the passages of the world, both mo­dern and ancient. Many modern languages, which departed from Babel in a confusion, met in his mouth in a method, being skilfull in the Sclavonick tongue, the Hungarian, Dutch, Italian, Spanish, and French.

But these his excellent parts were attended with pro­digious pride; and he had much of the humour of the Ottomans in him, to kill all his brethren, and cry down all his equalls, which were corrivalls with him in the honour of arts, which was his principall quar­rell with Cardan. Great was his spight at Erasmus, the morning-starre of learning, and one by whom Julius himself had profited, though afterwards he sought to put out that candle whereat he had lighted his own. In the bickering betwixt them, Erasmus pluckt Scali­ger [Page 80] by the long locks of his immoderate boasting, and touched him to the quick (a proud man lies pat for a jeering mans hand to hit) yea Erasmus was a badger in his jeeres, where he did bite he would make his teeth meet. Nor came Scaliger behind him in rai­ling. However afterward Scaliger repented of his bit­ternesse, and before his death was Thuan. obit. Illustr. Anno. 1558. reconciled unto him.

Thus his learning, being in the circuit of arts, spread so wide, no wonder if it lay thinne in some places. His parts were nimble, that starting so late he overtook, yea overran his equalls: so that we may safely conclude that making abatement for his military avocations, and late applying himself to study, scarce any one is to be preferred before him for generality of humane learning. He died Anno 1558. in the 75. yeare of his age.

CHAP. 9. The faithfull Minister.

VVE suppose him not brought up by hand onely in his own countrey studies, but that he hath suckt of his Mother University, and throughly learnt the arts: Not as S. Camb. Brit. in Northamp­tonshire. Rumball, who is said to have spoken as soon as he was born, doth he preach as soon as he is Matriculated. Conceive him now a Graduate in arts, and entred into orders, according to the solemn form of the Church of England, and presented by some Patrone to a pastorall charge, or place equivalent, and then let us see how well he dischargeth his of­fice.

Maxime 1 He endeavours to get the generall love and good will of his parish. This he doth not so much to make a benefit of them, as a benefit for them, that his ministry may be more effectuall; otherwise he may preach his own heart out, before he preacheth any thing into theirs. [Page 81] The good conceit of the Physician is half a cure, and his practice will scarce be happy where his person is hated; yet he humours them not in his Doctrine to get their love: for such a spanniel is worse then a dumbe dog. He shall sooner get their good will by walking uprightly, then by crouching and creeping. If pious living and painfull labouring in his calling will not win their affections, he counts it gain to lose them. As for those which causelessely hate him, he pities and prayes for them: and such there will be; I should suspect his preaching had no salt in it, if no gald horse did winse

He is strict in ordering his conversation. As for those who clense blurres with blotted fingers,2 they make it the worse. It was said of one who preach'd very well, & liv'd very ill, That when he was out of the Pulpit, it was pity he should ever go into it, & when he was in the Pulpit, it was pity he should ever come out of it: But our Minister lives Sermons. And yet I deny not but dissolute men, like unskilfull horsemen which open a gate on the wrong side, may by the virtue of their office open heaven for others, and shut them­selves out.

His behaviour towards his people is grave and courteous. 3 Not too austere and retired; which is laid to the charge of good M^r Fox, Acts and Mon. in his life. Hooper the martyr, that his rigidnesse frighted people from consulting with him. Let your light (saith Christ) shine before men; whereas over reser­vednesse makes the brightest virtue burn dimme. E­specially he detesteth affected gravity (which is rather on men then in them) whereby some belie their regi­ster-book, antedate their age to seem farre older then they are, and plait and set their brows in an affected sadnesse. Whereas S Athanasius in ejus vita. Anthony the Monk might have been known among hundreds of his order by his cheerfull face, he having ever (though a most mortifi­ed man) a merry countenance.

He doth not clash Gods ordinances together about precedency. 4 Not making odious comparisons betwixt Prayer and [Page 82] Preaching, Preaching and Catechising, Publick prayer and Private, Premeditate prayer and Ex tempore. When at the taking of new Carthage in Spain two Souldiers contended about the Murall crown (due to him who first climbed the walls) so that the whole army was thereupon in danger of division, Plutarch in Scipio's. life, pag. 1807. Scipio the Gene­rall said, He knew that they both got up the wall to­gether, and so gave the Scaling crown to them both. Thus our Minister compounds all controversies be­twixt Gods ordinances, by praysing them all, practi­sing them all, and thanking God for them all. He counts the reading of Common-prayers to prepare him the better for preaching; and as one said, if he did first toll the bell on one side, it made it afterwards ring out the better in his Sermons.

5 He carefully Catechiseth his people in the elements of religion. Except he hath (a rare thing) a flock without lambs, all of old sheep; and yet even Luther did not scorn to professe himself Discipulum Catechismi, a scholar of the Ca­techisme. By this Catechising the Gospel first got ground of Popery▪ and let not our Religion now grown rich be ashamed of that which first gave it credit and set it up, lest the Jesuites beat us at our own weapon. Through the want of this Catechising many which are well skilled in some dark out-corners of Di­vinity have lost themselves in the beaten road there­of.

6 He will not offer to God of that which costs him nothing; but takes pains aforehand for his Sermons. Plutarch in the life of De­mosth. Demosthenes never made any oration on the sudden; yea being called upon he never rose up to speak, except he had well studied the matter: and he was wont to say, That he shewed how he honoured and reverenced the people of Athens because he was carefull what he spake unto them. Indeed if our Minister be surprised with a sudden occasion, he counts himself rather to be excused then commended, if premeditating onely the bones of his Sermon he [Page 83] clothes it with flesh ex tempore. As for those, whose long custome hath made preaching their nature, that they can discourse Sermons without study, he accounts their examples rather to be admired then imitated.

Having brought his Sermon into his head, he labours to bring it into his heart, 7 before he preaches it to his people. Surely that preaching which comes from the soul most works on the soul. Some have questioned ventriloquie, when men strangely speak out of their bellies, whether it can be done lawfully or no: might I coin the word cordiloquie, when men draw the do­ctrines out of their hearts, sure all would count this lawfull and commendable.8

He chiefly reproves the raigning sins of the time, and place he lives in. We may observe that our Saviour never inveighed against Idolatry, Usury, Sabbath-breaking amongst the Jews; not that these were not sins, but they were not practised so much in that age, wherein wickednesse was spun with a finer thred: and therefore Christ principally bent the drift of his preaching against spirituall Pride, Hypocrisie, and Traditions then predominant amongst the people. Also our Minister confuteth no old Heresies which time hath confuted; nor troubles his Auditory with such strange, hideous cases of Conscience, that it is more hard to find the case then the resolution. In pub­lick reproving of sinne, he ever whips the vice, and spares the person.

He doth not onely move the bread of life, and tosse it up and down in generalities, 9 but also breaks it into particular directions: drawing it down to cases of Conscience, that a man may be warranted in his particular actions, whether they be lawfull or not. And he teacheth people their lawfull liberty as well as their restraints and prohibiti­ons; for amongst men it is as ill taken to turn back favours, as to disobey commands.

The places of Scripture he quotes are pregnant and pertinent. 10 [Page 84] As for heaping up of many quotations, it smacks of a vain ostentation of memory. Besides, it is as impossi­ble that the hearer should profitably retain them all, as that the preacher hath seriously perused them all: yea, whilest the auditours stop their attention, and stoop down to gather an impertinent quotation, the Sermon runs on, and they lose more substantiall matter.

11 His similes and illustrations are alwayes familiar, never con­temptible. Indeed reasons are the pillars of the fabrick of a Sermon, but similitudes are the windows which give the best light. He avoids such stories whose mention may suggest bad thoughts to the auditours, and will not use a light comparison to make thereof a grave application, for fear lest his poyson go farther then his antidote.

12 He provideth not onely wholsome but plentifull food for his people. Almost incredible was the painfulnesse of Ba­ronius, the compiler of the voluminous Annals of the Church, who for thirty years together preached The words being somwhat ambiguous are thus, In audi­endis confessi­onibus, & ser­monibus ad populum ter in hebdomada quàtérve ha­bendis per tri­ginta & am­pliùs annos diligentissimâ assiduitate la­boravit, Spon­divus in vita Baronii, pag. 2. part. 7. three or foure times aweek to the people. As for our Minister, he preferreth rather to entertain his people with wholsome cold meat which was on the table before, then with that which is hot from the spit, raw and half roasted. Yet in repetition of the same Ser­mon, every edition hath a new addition, if not of new matter of new affections. Of whom, saith S. Paul, we have told you often, and now we tell you weeping.

13 He makes not that wearisome, which should ever be welcome. Wherefore his Sermons are of an ordinary length ex­cept on an extraordinary occasion. What a gift had John Mercator Atlas in the descrip. of Austria. Haselbach, Professour at Vienna, in tedious­nesse? who being to expound the Prophet Esay to his auditours read twenty one years on the first Chap­ter, and yet finished it not.

14 He counts the successe of his Ministry the greatest preferment. Yet herein God hath humbled many painfull pastours, [Page 85] in making them to be clouds to rain, not over Arabia the happy, but over the stonie or desert: so that they may complain with the Herdsman in the Poet,

Yet such Pastours may comfort themselves that great is their reward with God in heaven, who mea­sures it not by their successe but endeavours. Besides, though they see not, their people may feel benefit by their Ministry. Yea the preaching of the Word in some places is like the planting of woods, where though no profit is received for twenty years together, it comes afterwards. And grant, that God honours thee not to build his temple in thy parish, yet thou maist with David provide metall and materialls for Solomon thy successour to build it with.

To sick folks he comes sometimes before he is sent for, 15 as counting his vocation a sufficient calling. None of his flock shall want the extreme unction of Prayer and Counsell. Against the Communion especially he en­deavours that Janus his temple be shut in the whole parish, and that all be made friends.

He is never plaintiff in any suit but to be rights defendant. 16 If his dues be detained from him, he grieves more for his parishioners bad conscience then his own damage. He had rather suffer ten times in his profit, then once in his title, where not onely his person, but posterity is wronged: And then he proceeds fairly and speedily to a tryall, that he may not vex and weary others, but right himself. During his suit he neither breaks off nor slacks offices of courtesie to his adversary; yea though he loseth his suit, he will not also lose his cha­rity. Chiefly he is respectfull to his Patrone, that as [Page 86] he presented him freely to his living, so he constantly presents his Patrone in his prayers to God.

17 He is moderate in his tenets and opinions. Not that he gilds over lukewarmnesse in matters of moment with the ti­tle of discretion, but withall he is carefull not to entitle violence in indifferent and in concerning matters to be zeal. Indeed men of extraordinary tallnesse, (though otherwise little deserving) are made porters to lords, & those of unusuall littlenesse are made ladies dwarfs, whilest men of moderate stature may want masters. Thus many notorius for extremities may find fa­vourers to preferre them, whilest moderate men in the middle truth may want any to advance them. But what saith the Apostle? If in this life onely we had hope we are of all men the most miserable.

18 He is sociable and willing to do any courtesie for his neighbour Ministers. He willingly communicates his knowledge unto them. Surely the gifts and graces of Christians lay in common, till base envy made the first enclo­sure. He neither slighteth his inferiours; nor repineth at those who in parts and credit are above him. He loveth the company of his neighbour Ministers. Sure as ambergreece is nothing so sweet in it self, as when it is compounded with other things; so both godly and learned men are gainers by com­municating themselves to their neighbours.

19 He is carefull in the discreet ordering of his own family. A good Minister and a good father may well agree to­gether. When a certain Frenchman came to visit Pantaleon de Illustr. Germ. in vita Me­lanch. Melanchthon, he found him in his stove with one hand dandling his child in the swadling-clouts, and in the other hand holding a book and reading it. Our Minister also is as hospitable as his estate will permit, and makes every almes two by his cheerfull giving it. He loveth also to live in a well-repaired house, that he may serve God therein more cheerfully. A Clergieman who built his house from the [Page 87] ground wrote in it this counsell to his successour,

Lying on his deathbed he bequeaths to each of his parishioners his precepts and example for a legacie:20 and they in requitall erect every one a monument for him in their hearts. He is so farre from that base jealousie that his memory should be outshined by a brighter successour, and from that wicked desire that his people may find his worth by the worthlesnesse of him that succeeds, that he doth heartily pray to God to provide them a better Pastour after his decease. As for outward estate, he common­ly lives in too bare pasture to die fat▪ It is well if he hath gathered any flesh, being more in blessing then bulk.

CHAP. 10. The life of M^r PERKINS.

William Perkins, born at Marston nigh Co­ventry in Warwickshire, was afterwards brought up in Christ-Colledge in Cambridge, where he so well profited in his studies that he got the grounds of all liberall Arts, and in the 24. of Queen Elizabeth was chosen fellow of that Colledge, the same yeare wherein Doctour Andrew Willet (one of admi­rable industry) and Doctour Richard Clark (whose [Page 89] learned Sermons commend him to posterity) were elected into the same Society.

There goeth an uncontroll'd tradition, that Perkins, when a young scholar, was a great studier of Magick, occasioned perchance by his skill in Mathematicks. For ignorant people count all circles above their own sphere to be conjuring, and presently cry out those things are done by black art for which their dimme eyes can see no colour in reason. And in such cases, when they cannot flie up to heaven to make it a Mi­racle, they fetch it from hell to make it Magick, though it may lawfully be done by naturall causes. True it is he was very wild in his youth till God (the best Chymick who can fix quicksilver it self) gratiously reclaim'd him.

After his entrance into the Ministry, the first beam he sent forth shined to those which sat in darknesse and the shadow of death, I mean the prisoners in the castle of Cambridge, people (as generally in such places) living in England out of Christendome, wanting the means of their salvation, bound in their bodies, but too loose in their lives, yea often branded in their flesh, and seared in their consciences. Perkins prevailed so farre with their jaylour, that the prisoners were brought (fetter'd) to the Shire-house hard by, where he preached unto them every Lords day. Thus was the prison his parish, his own Charity his Pa­tron presenting him unto it, and his work was all his wages. Many an Onesimus here he begat, and as the instrument freed the prisoners from the captivity of sinne. When this began to be known, some of good quality of the neighbouring parishes became his au­ditours, and counted it their feast to feed out of the prisoners basket. Hence afterwards he became Preacher of S. Andrews parish in Cambridge, where he continued to the day of his death.

His Sermons were not so plain but that the piously [Page 90] learned did admire them, nor so learned but that the plain did understand them. What was said of Socrates, That he first humbled the towring specul [...]ions of Philosophers into practice and morality; so our Per­kins brought the schools into the Pulpit, and unshel­ling their controversies out of their hard school-terms, made thereof plain and wholsome meat for his people. For he had a capacious head with angles winding, and roomthy enough to lodge all controversiall in [...]asies; and, had not preaching diverted him from that way, he had no doubt attained to eminency therein. An excellent Chirurgeon he was at joynting of a broken soul, and at stating of a doubtfull conscience. And sure in Case-divinity Protestants are defective. For (save that a Smith or two of late have built them forges, and set up shop) we go down to our enemies to sharpen all our instruments, and are beholden to them for offensive and defensive weapons in Cases of Conscience.

He would pronounce the word Damne with such an emphasis as left a dolefull Echo in his auditours ears a good while after. And when Catechist of Christ-Colledge, in expounding the Commandments,S. W. M [...]. of S. C. C. applied them so home, able almost to make his hearers hearts fall down, and hairs to stand upright. But in his older age he altered his voice, and remitted much of his for­mer rigidnesse, often professing that to preach mercie was that proper office of the Ministers of the Go­spell.

Some octject that his Doctrine, referring all to an absolute decree, hamstrings all industry, and cuts off the sinews of mens endeavours towards salvation. For ascribing all to the wind of Gods spirit, (which bloweth where it listeth) he leaveth nothing to the oars of mans diligence, either to help or hinder to the attaining of happinesse, but rather opens a wide doore to licentious security. Were this the hardest objection [Page 91] against Perkins his doctrine, his own life was a suffi­cient answer thereunto, so pious, so spotlesse, that Ma­lice was afraid to bite at his credit, into which she knew her teeth could not enter.

H [...] had a rare felicity in speedy reading of books, and as it were but turning them over would give an exac [...] account of all considerables therein. So that as it were riding post thorow an Authour, he took strict no­tice [...] all passages, as if he had dwelt on them parti­cularly; perusing books so speedily, one would think he read nothing; so accurately, one would think he read all.

He was of a cheerfull nature and pleasant dispositi­on: Indeed to mere strangers he was reserved and close, suffering them to knock a good while before he would open himself unto them; but on the least ac­quaintance he was merry and very familiar.

Besides his assiduity in preaching he wrote many books, extant at this day. And pity it was, that he set not forth more of them himself; for though some of his Orphan works lighted on good Guardians, yet all were not so happy; and indeed no nurse for a child to the own mother.

He dyed in the 44. yeare of his age of a violent fit of the stone. It hath been reported that he dyed in the conflict of a troubled conscience; which admit were so, had been no wonder. For God sometimes seem­ingly leaves his Saints when they leave the world, plunging them on their death-beds in deep temptati­ons, and casting their souls down to hell, to rebound the higher to heaven. Besides, the devil is most busie on the last day of his Term; and a Tenant to be outed cares not what mischief he doth. But here was no such matter.S. W. ut priús. Indeed he alwayes cryed out Mercy Mercy: which some standers by misinterpreted for despair, as if he felt not Gods favour, because he call'd for it: whereas Mercy is a Grace which they hold the fastest, [Page 92] that most catch after it. 'Tis true that many on lesse reason have expressed more confidence of their future happinesse, and have delivered themselves in larger speeches concerning the same. But who could ex­pect a long oration from him, where every word was accented with pain in so sharp a disease.

His funeralls were solemnly and sumtuously per­form'd of the sole charges of Christ-Colledge, which challenged, as she gave him his breeding, to pay for his buriall; the University and Town lovingly con­tending which should expresse more sorrow thereat. Doctour Mountague, afterwards Bishop of Winche­ster, preached his Funerall-Sermon, and excellently discharg'd the place, taking for his Text, Moses my ser­vant is dead.

He was of a ruddy complexion, very fat and corpu­lent, lame of his right hand; and yet this Ehud with a lefthanded pen did stab the Romish Cause, and Hugh Hol­land in his Icones. as one saith,

He was born the first, and dyed the last yeare of Queen Elisabeth, so that his life streamed in equall length with her reigne, and they both had their foun­tains, and falls together.

I must not forget, how his books after his death were translated into most modern Christian lan­guages. For though he excellently improved his talent in the English tongue, yet forreiners thought it but wrapt up in a napkin, whilest folded in an unknown language. Wherefore some translated the main body of his works into French, Dutch, and Italian; and his books speak more tongues, then the Maker ever un­derstood. His Reformed Catholick was done into Spa­nish, and no Spaniard ever since durst take up that [Page 93] gantlet of defiance our Champion cast down: yea their Inquisition rather chose to answer it with tor­tures, then arguments.

CHAP. 11. The good Parishioner.

WE will onely describe his Church-reference; his Civill part hath and shall be met with under other Heads. Conceive him to live under such a faithfull Minister as before was character'd, as, either judging charitably that all Pastours are such, or wishing heartily that they were.

Though near to the Church he is not farre from God. Maxime 1 Like unto Justus, Acts 18.8. One that worshipped God, and his house joyned hard to the Synagogue. Otherwise if his distance from the church be great, his diligence is the greater to come thither in season.

He is timely at the beginning of Common prayer. 2 Yet as De sinibus boni & mali, lib. 2.Tullie Charged some dissolute people for being such sluggards that they never saw the sunne rising or setting, as being alwayes up after the one, and abed before the other; so some negligent people never heare prayers begun, or sermon ended: the Con­fession being past before they come, and the Blessing not come before they are passed away.

In sermon he sets himself to heare God in the Minister. 3 Therefore divesteth he himself of all prejudice, the jaundise in the eyes of the soul presenting colours false unto it. He hearkens very attentively: 'Tis a shame when the Church it self is Coemeterium, wherein the living sleep above ground as the dead do be­neath.

At every Point that concerns himself, 4 he turns down a leaf in his heart; and rejoyceth that Gods word hath peirc'd him, as hoping that whilest his soul smarts it heals. And as it is no manners for him that hath good ve­nison [Page 94] before him, to ask whence it came, but rather fairly to fall to it; so hearing an excellent Sermon, he never enquires whence the Preacher had it, or whether it was not before in print, but falls aboard to practise it.

5 He accuseth not his Minister of spight for particularizing him. It does not follow that the archer aimed, because the ar­row hit. Rather our Parishioner reasoneth thus; If my sinne be notorious, how could the Minister misse it? if secret, how could he hit it without Gods direction? But foolish hearers make even the bells of Aarons gar­ments to clink as they think. And a guilty conscience is like a whirlpool, drawing in all to it self which otherwise would passe by. One, causelessely disaffected to his Minister, complained that he in his last Sermon had personally inveighed against him, and accused him thereof to a grave religious Gentleman in the parish: Truly, said the Gentleman, I had thought in his Sermon he had meant me, for it touched my heart. This reba­ted the edge of the others anger.

6 His Tithes he payes willingly with cheerfulnesse. How ma­ny part with Gods portions grudgingly, or else pinch it in the paying. Fluctus De­cimus pro ma­ximo. Ovidio & Lucano. Decimum, the Tenth, amongst the Romanes was ever taken for what was best or biggest. It falls out otherwise in paying of Tithes, where the least and leanest are shifted off to make that num­ber.

7 He hides not himself from any Parish-office which seeks for him. If chosen Churchwarden, he is not busily-idle, rather to trouble then reform, presenting all things but those which he should. If Overseer of the poore, he is carefull the rates be made indifferent (whose inequality oftentimes is more burthensome then the summe) and well disposed of. He measures not peo­ples wants by their clamorous complaining, and dispenseth more to those that deserve then to them that onely need relief.

[Page 95] He is bountifull in contributing to the repair of Gods house. 8 For though he be not of their opinion, who would have the Churches under the Gospell conform'd to the magnificence of Solomons Temple (whose porch would serve us for a Church) and adorn them so gaudily, that devotion is more distracted then rai­sed, and mens souls rather dazeled, then lightened; yet he conceives it fitting that such sacred places should be handsomly and decently maintained: The rather because the climactericall yeare of many Churches from their first foundation, may seem to happen in our dayes; so old, that their ruine is threat­ned if not speedily repaired.

He is respectfull to his Ministers widow and posterity for his sake. 9 When the onely daughter of Peter Martyr was, through the riot and prodigality of her debauched husband, brought to extreme poverty, the Thuan obit. vir. doct. Anno. 1562.State of Zurick, out of gratefull remembrance of her Father, supported her with bountifull maintenance. My prayers shall be, that Ministers widows, and children may never stand in need of such relief, and may never want such relief when they stand in need.

CHAP. 12. The good Patron.

THat in the Primitive times (though I dare not say generally in all Churches) if not the sole choyce, at least the consent of the people was requi­red in appointing of Ministers, may partly appear out of Acts 14.2 [...]. [...] Scripture, more plainly out of Lib. 1. epist. 4Cyprian, and is confessed by reverend Defence of the Answer to the Admoniti­on. pag. 164. D^r. Whitgift. These po­pular elections were well discharged in those purer times, when men being scoured with constant per­secution had little leasure to rust with factions, and when there were no baits for Corruption; the places of Ministers being then of great pains and perill, [Page 96] & small profit. But dissension creeping in, in after-ages (the eyes of common people at the best but dimme through ignorance being wholly blinded with par­tiality) it may seem their right of election was either devolved to, or assumed of the Bishop of the Dioces, who Concil. Tole­tan. Anno 589. Can. 9. Synod. An­tiochen. Can. 24. and 2. Concil. Gan­grense Can. 7. and 8. onely was to appoint Curates in eve­ry parish. Afterwards to invite lay-men to build and endow Churches, the Bishops departed with their right to the lay Patrons according to the verse,

It being conceived reasonable that he who payed the Churches portion, should have the main stroke in providing her an husband. Then came Patronages to be annexed to Mannours, and by sale or descent to passe along with them; nor could any justly com­plain thereof, if all Patrons were like him we de­scribe.

Maxime 1 He counts the Living his to dispose, not to make profit of. He fears more to lapse his conscience, then his Li­ving, fears more the committing then the discovery of Simony.

2 A Benefice he sometimes giveth speedily, never rashly. Some are long in bestowing them out of state, because they love to have many suiters; others out of covetousnesse will not open their wares till all their chapmen are come together, pretending to take the more delibera­tion.

3 He is deaf to opportunity, if wanting desert. Yet is he not of the mind of Tamberlane the Scythian King, who never gave Office to any that sought for it: for desiring proceeds not alwayes from want of deserving; yea God himself likes well that his favours should be sued for. Our Patron chiefly respects piety, sufficiency, and promise of painfulnesse, whereby he makes his electi­on. If he can by the same deed provide for Gods house [Page 97] and his own familie, he counts it lawfull, but on no terms will preferre his dearest and nearest sonne or kinsman if unworthy.

He hates not onely direct simony, 4 or rather Gehazisme, by the string, but also that which goes about by the bow. Ancient Councels present us with severall forms hereof.Concil. Pa [...]ent. Anno 1312. Constit. 14. I find how the Patrons sonnes and nephews were wont to feed upon the Incumbent, and eat out the presentation in great banquets and dinners, till at last the Palentine Councel brought a voyder to such feasts, and made a canon against them. But the former ages were bung­lers to the cunning contrivance of the simony-engineers of our times. O my soul come thou not into their secrets. As if they cared not to go to hell, so be it were not the nearest way, but that they might fetch a farre com­passe round about. And yet father Vid. Videl. Comment. in Epist. Ignatii ad Tralienses. Campian must nreot carry it so clearly, who taxeth the Protestants for maintaining of [...]imony. We confesse it a personall vice amongst us, but not to be charged as a Church-sinne, which by penall Laws it doth both prohibit and punish. Did Rome herein look upon the dust behind her own doores, she would have but little cause to call her neighbour slut. What saith the Epi­gram?

He hates corruption not onely in himself, 5 but his servants. O­therwise it will do no good for the Master to throw bribes away, if the Men catch them up at the first re­bound, yea before ever they come to the ground. In the life of Queen Elizab. Anno Dom. 1596. Cambden can tell you what Lord-Keeper it was in the dayes of Queen Elizabeth, who though himself an upright man was hardly spoken of for the basenesse of his servants in the sale of Ecclesiasticall prefer­ments.

[Page 98] 6 When he hath freely bestowed a Living, he makes no boasts of it. To do this were a kind of spirituall simony, to ask and receive applause of others; as if the commonnesse of faulting herein made a right, and the rarity of gi­ving things freely merited ex condigno a generall com­mendation. He expects nothing from the Clerk he presented but his prayers to God for him, respectfull carriage towards him, and painfulnesse in his Calling, who having gotten his place freely may discharge it the more faithfully: whereas those will scarce afford to feed their sheep fat, who rent the pasture at too high a rate.

To conclude, let Patrons imitate this particular ex­ample of King William Rufus, who (though sacrile­gious in other acts) herein discharged a good consci­ence. Two Monks came to him to buy an Abbots place of him, seeking to outvie each other in offering great summes of money, whilest a third Monk stood by, and said nothing. To whom said the King, What wilt thou give for the place. Not a penny, answered he, for it is against my conscience; but here I stay to wait home on him whom your Royall pleasure shall de­signe Abbot. Then quoth the King, Thou of the three best deservest the place, and shalt have it, and so be­stowed it on him.

CHAP. 13. The good Landlord.

IS one that lets his land on a reasonable rate, so that the Tenant by employing his stock, and using his industry, may make an honest livelihood thereby, to maintain himself and his children.

His rent doth quicken his Tenant but not gall him. Maxime 1 Indeed 'tis observed, that where Landlords are very easy, the Tenants (but this is per Accidens, out of their own lazi­nesse) seldome thrive, contenting themselves to make up the just measure of their rent, and not labouring for any surplusage of estate. But our Landlord puts some metall into his Tenants industry, yet not grating him too much, lest the Tenant revenge the Landlords cruelty to him upon his land.

Yet he raiseth his rents (or fines equivalent) in some proporti­on to the present price of other commodities. 2 The plenty of money makes a seeming scarcity of all other things, and wares of all sorts do daily grow dear. If therefore our Landlord should let his rents stand still as his Grandfather left them, whilest other wares dayly go on in price, he must needs be cast farre behind in his estate.

What he sells or sets to his Tenant, 3 he suffers him quietly to enjoy according to his covenants. This is a great joy to a Te­nant, though he buyes dear to possesse without distur­bance. A strange example there was of Gods punish­ing a covetous Landlord at Holinshed p. 1224. Rye in Sussex, Anno 1570. He having a certain marish, wherein men on poles did dry their fishnets, received yearly of them a suf­ficient summe of money, till not content therewith he caused his servant to pluck up the poles, not suffering the fishermen to use them any longer, except they would compound at a greater rate. But it came to passe the same night that the sea breaking in [Page 100] covered the same marish with water, and so it still con­tinueth.

4 He detests and abhorres all inclosure with depopulation. And because this may seem a matter of importance, we will break it into severall propositions.

• 1 Inclosure may be made without depopulating. Infinites of examples shew this to be true. But depopula­tion hath cast a slander on inclosure, which be­cause often done with it, people suspect it cannot be done without it.
• 2 Inclosure made without depopulating is injurious to none. I mean if proportionable allotments be made to the poore for their commonage, and free & lease-holders have a considerable share with the lord of the mannour.
• 3 Inclosure without depopulating is beneficiall to private per­sons. Then have they most power and comfort to improve their own parts, and for the time, and manner thereof may mould it to their own con­veniencie. The Monarch of one acre will make more profit thereof then he that hath his share in fourty in common.
• 4 Inclosure without depopulating is profitable to the Common­wealth. If injurious to no private person, and pro­fitable to them all, it must needs be beneficiall to the Commonwealth, which is but the Summa totalis of sundry persons, as severall figures. Besides, if a Mathematician should count the wood in the hedges, to what a mighty forrest would it a­mount? This underwood serves for supplies to save timber from burning, otherwise our wooden walls in the water must have been sent to the fire. Adde to this the strength of an inclosed Countrey against a forrein invasion. Hedges and counter-hedges (having in number what they want in height and depth) serve for barracadoes, and will stick as birdlime in the wings of the horse, [Page 101] and scotch the wheeling about of the foot. Small resistance will make the enemy to earn every mile of ground as he marches. Object not, That in­closure destroyes tillage, the staff of a countrey, for it need not all be converted to pasturage. Cain and Abel may very well agree in the Commonwealth, the Plowman and Shepherd part the inclosures betwixt them.
• 5 Inclosure with depopulation is a canker to the Common­wealth. It needs no proof: wofull experience shews how it unhouses thousands of people, till desperate need thrusts them on the gallows. Long since had this land been sick of a plurisie of people, if not let blood in their Western Plantati­ons.
• 6 Inclosure with depopulation endammageth the parties them­selves. 'Tis a paradox and yet a truth, that reason shews such inclosures to be gainfull, and expe­rience proves them to be losse to the makers. It may be, because God being [...], a Lo­ver of man, mankind, and mens society, and ha­ving said to them, Multiply and increase, counts it an affront unto him, that men depopulate, and whereas bees daily swarm, men make the hives fewer. The margin shall direct you to the
  M^r Benthams Christian Constici, pag. 322.
  Au­thour that counts eleven mannours in North­hamptonshire thus inclosed: which towns have vomited out (to use his own expression) and un­burthened themselves of their former desolating and depopulating owners, and I think of their posterity.

He rejoyceth to see his Tenants thrive. 5 Yea he counts it a great honour to himself, when he perceiveth that God blesseth their endeavours, and that they come forward in the world. I close up all with this pleasant story. A Farmer rented a Grange generally reported to be haun­ted by Faries, and paid a shrewd rent for the same at [Page 102] each half years end. Now a Gentleman asked him how he durst be so hardy as to live in the house, and whether no Spirits did trouble him. Truth (said the Farmer) there be two Saints in heaven vex me more then all the devils in hell, namely the Virgin Mary, and Michael the Arch­angel; on which dayes he paid his rent.

CHAP. 14. The good Master of a Colledge.

THe Jews Anno 1348. were banished out of most countreys of Christendome, principally for poy­soning of springs and Munster de German. lib. 3. pag. 457. fountains. Grievous there­fore is their offense, who infect Colledges, the foun­tains of learning and religion; and it concerneth the Church and State, that the Heads of such houses be rightly qualified, such men as we come to chara­cter.

Maxime 1 His learning if beneath eminency is farre above contempt. Sometimes ordinary scholars make extraordinary good Masters. every one who can play well on Apollo's harp cannot skilfully drive his chariot, there being a peculiar mystery of Government. Yea as a lit­tle allay makes gold to work the better, so (per­chance) some dulnesse in a man makes him fitter to manage secular affairs; and those who have climbed up Parnassus but half way better behold worldly busi­nesse (as lying low and nearer to their sight) then such as have climbed up to the top of the mount.

2 He not onely keeps the Statutes (in his study) but observes them: for the maintaining of them will maintain him, if he be questioned. He gives them their true dimen­sions, not racking them for one, and shrinking them for another, but making his conscience his daily Visi­tour. He that breaks the Statutes, and thinks to rule better by his own discretion, makes many gaps in the hedge, and then stands to stop one of them with a [Page 103] stake in his hand. Besides, thus to confound the will of the dead Founders, is the ready way to make living mens charitie (like S^r Hugh Willoughby in discover­ing the Northern passage) to be frozen to death, and will dishearten all future Benefactours.

He is principall Porter, 3 and chief Chappell-monitour. For where the Master keeps his chamber alwayes, the scholars will keep theirs seldome, yea perchance may make all the walls of the Colledge to be gate. He seeks to avoid the inconvenience when the gates do rather divide then confine the scholars, when the Col­ledge is distinguished (as France into Cis & Transalpina) into the part on this, and on the otherside of the walls. As for out-lodgings (like galleries, necessary evils in populous Churches) he rather tolerates then approves them.

In his Elections he respecteth merit, 4 not onely as the condition but as the cause thereof. Not like Leofricus Abbot of S. Albans, who would scarce admit any into his Covent though well deserving, except he was a Math. Paris. in 23. Abbat. S. Alban. pag. 42. Gentleman born. He more respects literature in a scholar, then great mens letters for him. A learned Master of a Colledge in Cambridge (since made a reverend Bishop, and, to the great grief of good men and great losse of Gods Church, lately deceased) refused a Man­date for choosing of a worthlesse man fellow. And when it was expected, that at the least he should have been outed of his Mastership for this his contempt, King James highly commended him, and encouraged him ever after to follow his own conscience, when the like occasion should be given him.

He winds up the Tenants to make good musick, 5 but not to break them. Sure Colledge-lands were never given to fat the Tenants and sterve the scholars, but that both might comfortably subsist. Yea generally I heare the Muses commended for the best Landladies, and a Col­ledge-lease is accounted but as the worst kind of free­hold.

[Page 104] 6 He is observant to do all due right to Benefactours. If not piety, policy would dictate this unto him. And though he respects not Benefactours kinsmen, when at their first admission they count themselves born heirs apparent to all preferment which the house can heap on them, and therefore grow lazy & idle; yet he counts their alliance, seconded with mediocrity of desert, a strong title to Colledge-advancement.

7 He counts it lawfull to enrich himself, but in subordination to the Colledge good. Not like Varus, Governour of Syria, who came poore into the countrey, and found it rich, but departed thence rich, and left the countrey poore. Methinks 'tis an excellent commendation which Trinity Colledge in Cambridge in her records be­stows on Doctour Still once Master thereof. Se ferebat Patremfamilias providum, [...], nec Collegio gravis fuit aut onerosus.

8 He disdains to nourish dissension amongst the members of his house. Let Machiavills Maxime, Divide & regnabis, if offering to enter into a Colledge-gate, sink thorow the grate, and fall down with the durt. For besides that the fomenting of such discords agrees not with a good conscience, each party will watch advantages, and Pupils will often be made to suffer for their Tutours quarrells: Studium partium will be magna pars studiorum, and the Colledge have more rents then revenues.

9 He scorneth the plot, to make onely dunces Fellows, to the end he may himself command in chief. As thinking that they who know nothing, will do any thing, and so he shall be a figure amongst cyphers, a bee amongst drones. Yet oftentimes such Masters are justly met with, and they find by experience, that the dullest horses are not easiest to be reined. But our Master en­deavours so to order his elections, that every Scholar may be fit to make a Fellow, and every Fellow a Ma­ster.

CHAP. 14. The life of D^r. METCALF.

NIcholas Metcalf Doctour of Divinity, extracted out of an ancient and numerous family of Gentry in Yorkshire, was Archdeacon of Rochester, & Chaplain to John Fisher the Bishop thereof; by whom this our Doctour was employed to issue forth the monies for the building of S. Johns Colledge in Cam­bridge. For Margaret Countesse of Richmond and Derby intending to graft S. Johns Colledge into the old stock of S. Johns Hospitall, referr'd all to the Bi­shop of Rochester, and he used Metcalf as an agent in all proceedings which did concern that Foundati­on: which will inferre him to be both a wise and an honest man.

Some make him to be but meanly Ascham. Schoolmaster, 2. Book, fol. 47. learned; and Lively in his Chron. of Persi­an Monarch. p. 196. one telleth us a long storie how a Sophister put a falla­cie upon him, à sensu diviso ad sensum compositum, and yet the Doctours dimme eyes could not discern it. But such trifles were beneath him; and what wonder is it if a Generall long used in governing an armie, hath for­gotten his school-play, and Fencers rules, to put by e­very thrust?

Doubtlesse, had not his learning been sufficient, Bishop Fisher, a great clerk himself, would not have placed him to govern the Colledge. But we know that some count all others but dry scholars, whose learning run­neth in a different channell from their own: and it is possible, that the great distance betwixt men in matter of Religion might hinder the new learning in one to see the old learning in the other.

But grant that Metcalf, with Themistocles, could not fiddle, yet he could make a little city a great one: though dull in himself, he could whet others by his encouragement. He found the Colledge spending [Page 106] scarce two hundred marks by the yeare, he left it spend­ing a Ascham. in loco priùs cita­to. thousand marks and more. For he not onely procured and settled many donations, and by-founda­tions (as we term them) of Fellowships, and Scho­larships, founded by other; but was a Benefactour himself, Pro certis ornamentis & structuris in Capella, & pro aedificatione sex Camerarum à tergo Coquinae, &c. as it is evi­denced in the Colledge books. He counted the Col­ledge his own home, and therefore cared not what cost he bestowed on it: not like those Masters, who ma­king their Colledges as steps to higher advancement will trample on them to raise up themselves, and using their wings to flie up to their own honour, cannot af­ford to spread them to brood their Colledge. But the thriving of the nourcery, is the best argument to prove the skill and care of the nource. See what store of worthy men the house in his time did yield:

• William Cecill, Lord Burly,
• S^r. John Cheek,
• Walter Haddon.

• Ralph Bain, Bishop of Coventrie and Lichfield
• John Christopherson, Bishop of Chichester,
• Robert Horn, Bishop of Winton,
• James Pilkinton, Bishop of Duresme,
• John Tailour, Bishop of Lincoln,
• Thomas Watson. Bishop of Lincoln.

• Roger Ascham,
• George
  Pi [...]zaeus de Scriptor. An­gli. pag. 773.
  Bullock,
• Roger
  Baleus de Scriptor. An­glicanis.
  Hutchinson,
• Alban Langdale,
• John Seaton.

• Hugh Fitz-Herbert,
• William Jreland,
• Laurence Pilkinton,
• —Tomson,
• Henry Wright.

[Page 107]With very many more. For though I dare not say that all these were old enough to bear fruit in Metcalfs time, yet sure I am by him they were inoculated, and in his dayes admitted into the Colledge.

Yet for all these his deserts Metcalf in his old age was expell'd the Colledge, and driven out when he could scarce go. A new generation grew up (advan­ced by him) whose active spirits stumbled at his gra­vity (young seamen do count ballast needlesse yea burthensome in a ship) and endeavoured his removall. It appears not what particular fault they laid to his charge. Some think that the Bishop of Rochester his good lord being put to death, occasioned his ruine, Fishers misfortune being Metcalfs highest misdemea­nour. He sunk with his Patron, and when his sunne was set it was presently night with him: for according to the Spanish proverb, Yrà la s [...]ga con el calderon. where goes the bucket, there goes the rope, where the principall miscarries, all the depen­dants fall with him.

Others conceive it was for his partiality in prefer­ring Northern men, as if in his compasse there were no points but such onely as looked to the North, ad­vancing alone his own countrey-men, and more re­specting their need then deserts. Indeed long 1446. Ma­nuscrip Hutch­ [...]. Coll. R [...]gal. before, I find William Millington first Provost of Kings Col­ledge put out of his place, for his partiality in electing Yorkshire men.

But herein Metcalf is sufficiently justified: for he found Charity hottest in the cold countrey, Northern men were most Ascham. in loco citato. partiall (saith one) in giving lands to the Colledge, for the furtherance of learning. Good rea­son therefore Northern Scholars should be most watered there, where Northern Benefactours rained most.

Well, good old Metcalf must forsake the House. Methinks the blushing bricks seem asham'd of their ingratitudes, and each doore, window, and case­ment [Page 108] in the Colledge, was a mouth to plead for him.

But what shall we say? Mark generally the grand deservers in States, and you shall find them lose their lustre before they end their life. The world, out of covetousnesse to save charges to pay them their wages, quarrelling with them, as if an over-merit were an offence. And whereas some impute this to the malignant influence of the heavens, I ascribe it rather to a pestilent vapour out of the earth; I mean, That rather men then starres are to be blamed for it.

He was twenty years Master, and on the 4 day of June 1537. went out of his office, and it seems dyed soon after: his Epitaph is fastned on a piece of brasse on the wall, in the Colledge-Chappell. We must not for­get that all who were great doers in his expulsion, were great sufferers afterwards, and dyed all in great Omnes qui Metcalfi exclu­dendi autores exstiterunt, multis adversae fortunae pro­cellis (sive di­vinâ ultione seu fato suo) jactati, de gra­du dejecti & deturbati, i [...] ­glorii mortem obierunt ex­emplo memo­rabili, Caius lib. 1. Hist. Cantab [...]. pag. 75, & 76. miserie. There is difference betwixt prying into Gods secrets, and being stark blind: Yea I question whether we are not bound to look where God points by so memorable a judgement, shewing that those branches most justly whithered which pluck'd up their own root.

CHAP. 16. The good Schoolmaster.

THere is scarce any profession in the Common­wealth more necessary, which is so slightly per­formed. The reasons whereof I conceive to be these: first, young scholars make this calling their refuge, yea perchance before they have taken any degree in the University, commence Schoolmasters in the countrey, as if nothing else were required to set up this professi­on but onely a rod and a ferula. Secondly, others who are able use it onely as a passage to better preferment, to patch the rents in their present fortune, till they can provide a new one, and betake themselves to some more gainfull calling. Thirdly, they are disheartned from doing their best with the miserable reward which in some places they receive, being Masters to the children, and slaves to their parents. Fourthly, be­ing grown rich, they grow negligent, and scorn to touch the school, but by the proxie of an Usher. But see how well our Schoolmaster behaves himself.

His genius inclines him with delight to this profession. Maxime 1 Some men had as lieve be schoolboyes as Schoolma­sters, to be tyed to the school as Coopers Dictionary, and Scapula's Lexicon are chained to the desk therein; and though great scholars, and skilfull in other arts, are bunglers in this: But God of his goodnesse hath fitted severall men for severall callings, that the necessi­ties of Church, and State, in all conditions may be provided for. So that he who beholds the fabrick thereof may say, God hewed out this stone, and ap­pointed it to lie in this very place, for it would fit none other so well, and here it doth most excellent. And thus God mouldeth some for a Schoolmasters life, un­dertaking it with desire and delight, and discharging it with dexterity and happy successe.

[Page 110] 2 He studieth his scholars natures as carefully as they their books; and ranks their dispositions into severall forms. And though it may seem difficult for him in a great school to descend to all particulars, yet experienced Schoolmasters may quickly make a Grammar of boyes natures, and reduce them all (saving some few exceptions) to these generall rules.

• 1 Those that are ingenious and industrious. The conjunction of two such Planets in a youth pre­sage much good unto him. To such a lad a frown may be a whipping, and a whipping a death; yea where their Master whips them once, shame whips them all the week after. Such na­tures he useth with all gentlenesse.
• 2 Those that are ingenious and idle. These think with the hare in the fable, that running with snails (so they count the rest of their school-fel­lows) they shall come soon enough to the Post, though sleeping a good while before their start­ing. Oh, a good rod would finely take them nap­ping.
• 3 Those that are dull and diligent. Wines the stronger they be the more lees they have when they are new. Many boyes are muddy-headed till they be clarified with age, and such afterwards prove the best. Bristoll diamonds are both bright, and squared and pointed by Nature, and yet are soft and worthlesse; whereas orient ones in India are rough and rugged naturally. Hard rugged and dull natures of youth acquit them­selves afterwards the jewells of the countrey, and therefore their dulnesse at first is to be born with, if they be diligent. That Schoolmaster de­serves to be beaten himself, who beats Nature in a boy for a fault. And I question whether all the whipping in the world can make their parts, which are naturally sluggish, rise one minute before the houre Nature hath appointed.
• [Page 111]4 Those that are invincibly dull and negligent also. Correction may reform the latter, not amend the former. All the whetting in the world can never set a rasours edge on that which hath no steel in it. Such boyes he consigneth over to other professions. Ship­wrights and boatmakers will choose those crooked pieces of timber, which other carpenters refuse. Those may make excellent merchants and mechanicks which will not serve for Scho­lars.

He is able, 3 diligent, and methodicall in his teaching; not leading them rather in a circle then forwards. He minces his precepts for children to swallow, hanging clogs on the nimblenesse of his own soul, that his Scholars may go along with him.

He is, 4 and will be known to be an absolute Monarch in his school. If cockering Mothers proffer him money to pur­chase their sonnes an exemption from his rod (to live as it were in a peculiar, out of their Masters jurisdicti­on) with disdain he refuseth it, and scorns the late custome in some places of commuting whipping into money, and ransoming boyes from the rod at a set price. If he hath a stubborn youth, correction-proof, he debaseth not his authority by contesting with him, but fairly if he can puts him away before his obstina­cy hath infected others.

He is moderate in inflicting deserv'd correction. 5 Many a Shoolmaster better answereth the name of [...] then [...], rather tearing his scholars flesh with whipping, then giving them good education. No wonder if his scholars hate the Muses, being presented unto them in the shapes of fiends and furies. Junius complains de insolenti In his life, of his own wri­ting. carnificina of his Schoolmaster, by whom conscindebatur flagris septies aut octies in dies sin­gulos. Yea heare the lamentable verses of poore Tusser in his own life:

Such an Orbilius marres more Scholars then he makes: Their Tyranny hath caused many tongues to stammer, which spake plain by nature, and whose stuttering at first was nothing else but fears quavering on their speech at their Masters presence. And whose mauling them about their heads hath dull'd those who in quicknesse exceeded their Master.

6 He makes his school free to him, who sues to him in forma pauperis. And surely Learning is the greatest alms that can be given. But he is a beast, who because the poore Scholar cannot pay him his wages, payes the Scholar in his whipping. Rather are diligent lads to be encou­raged with all excitements to Learning. This minds me of what I have heard concerning M^r. Bust, that worthy late Schoolmaster of Eaton, who would never suffer any wandring begging Scholar (such as justly the Statute hath ranked in the forefront of Rogues) to come into his school, but would thrust him out with earnestnesse (however privately charitable unto him) lest his school-boyes should be disheartned from their books, by seeing some Scholars after their studying in the University preferr'd to beggery.

7 He spoyls not a good school to make thereof a bad Colledge, therein to teach his Scholars Logick. For besides that Logick may have an action of trespasse against Gram­mar for encroaching on her liberties, Syllogismes are Solecismes taught in the school, and oftentimes they are forc'd afterwards in the University to unlearn the fumbling skill they had before.

[Page 113] Out of his school he is no whit pedanticall in carriage or dis­course;8 contenting himself to be rich in Latine, though he doth not gingle with it in every company wherein he comes.

To conclude, Let this amongst other motives make Schoolmasters carefull in their place, that the eminen­cies of their Scholars have commended the memories of their Schoolmasters to posterity, who otherwise in obscurity had altogether been forgotten. Who had ever heard of R. Grant. in vit. Ascham. pag. 629. Bond in Lancashire but for the breeding of learned Ascham his Scholar? or of [...]shton in the life of Whitaker, pag. 29 Hartgrave in Brundly school, in the same Coun­ty, but because he was the first did teach worthy Doctour Whitaker. Nor do I honour the memory of Mulcaster for any thing so much, as for his Scholar, that gulf of learning, Bishop Andrews. This made the Athenians, the day before the great feast of Theseus their founder, to sacrifice a ramme to the me­mory of Plutar. in vit. Thes [...]i. Conidas his Schoolmaster that first instru­cted him.

CHAP. 17. The Good Merchant

IS one who by his trading claspeth the iland to the continent, and one countrey to another. An excel­lent gardiner, who makes England bear wine, and oyl, and spices; yea herein goes beyond Nature in causing that Omnis fert omnia tellus. He wrongs neither himself, nor the Commonwealth, nor private chap­men which buy commodities of him. As for his be­haviour towards the Commonwealth, it farre surpasses my skill to give any Rules thereof; onely this I know, that to export things of necessity, and to bring in for­rein needlesse toyes, makes a rich Merchant, and a poore Kingdome: for the State loseth her radicall moysture, and gets little better then sweat in exchange, [Page 114] except the necessaries which are exported be exceeding plentifull, which then though necessary in their own nature become superfluous through their abundance. We will content our selves to give some generall ad­vertisements concerning his behaviour towards his chapmen, whom he useth well in the quantity, quali­ty, and price of the commodities he sells them.

Maxime 1. He wrongs not the buyer in Number, Weight, or Measure. These are the Land-marks of all trading, which must not be removed: for such cosenage were worse then o­pen felony. First, because they rob a man of his purse, & never bid him stand. Secondly, because highway-thieves defie, but these pretend justice. Thirdly, as much as lies in their power, they endeavour to make God accessary to their cosenage, deceiving by pretending his weights. For God is the principall clark of the market, All the Prov. 16.11. weights of the bag are his work.

2 He never warrants any ware for good but what is so indeed. Otherwise he is a thief, and may be a murtherer, if sel­ling such things as are apply'd inwardly. Besides, in such a case he counts himself guilty if he selleth such wares as are bad, though without his knowledge, if a­vouching them for good; because he may, professeth, & is bound to be Master in his own mystery, and there­fore in conscience must recompence the buyers losse, except he gives him an Item to buy it at his own ad­venture.

3 He either tells the faults in his ware, or abates proportionably in the price he demands: for then the low value shews the viciousnesse of it. Yet commonly when Merchants depart with their commodities, we heare (as in funerall orations) all the virtues but none of the faults thereof.

4 He never demands out of distance of the price he intends to take: If not alwayes within the touch, yet within the reach of what he means to sell for. Now we must know there be foure severall prices of vendible things. First, the Price of the market, which ebbes and flows [Page 115] according to the plenty or scarcity of coyn, commodi­ties, and chapmen. Secondly, the Price of friendship, which perchance is more giving then selling, and therefore not so proper at this time. Thirdly, the Price of fancie, as twenty pounds or more for a dog or hauk, when no such inherent worth can naturally be in them, but by the buyers and sellers fancie reflecting on them. Yet I believe the money may be lawfully taken. First, because the seller sometimes on those terms is as loth to forgo it, as the buyer is willing to have it. And I know no standard herein whereby mens affections may be measured. Secondly, it being a matter of pleasure, and men able and willing, let them pay for it, Volenti non fit injuria. Lastly, there is the Price of cosenage, which our Merchant from his heart detests and abhorres.

He makes not advantage of his chapmans ignorance, 5 chiefly if referring himself to his honesty: where the sellers conscience is all the buyers skill, who makes him both seller and judge, so that he doth not so much ask as order what he must pay. When one told old Bishop Latimer that the Cutler had cosened him, in making him pay two­pence for a knife not (in those dayes) worth a peny; No, quoth Latimer, he cosen'd not me but his own conscience. On the other side S. Lib. 13. de Trinitat. c. 3. Augustine tells us of a seller, who out of ignorance asked for a book farre lesse then it was worth, and the buyer (conceive himself to be the man if you please) of his own accord gave him the full value thereof.

He makes not the buyer pay the shot for his prodigality;6 as when the Merchant through his own ignorance or ill husbandry hath bought dear, he will not bring in his unnecessary expences on the buyers score: and in such a case he is bound to sell cheaper then he bought.

Selling by retail he may justifie the taking of greater gain:7 be­cause of his care, pains, and cost of fetching those [Page 116] wares from the fountain, and in parcelling and divi­ding them. Yet because retailers trade commonly with those who have least skill what they buy, and com­monly sell to the poorer sort of people, they must be carefull not to grate on their necessity.

But how long shall I be retailing out rules to this Merchant? It would employ a Casuist an apprentiship of years: take our Saviours whole-sale rule, Whatsoever ye would have men do unto you, do you unto them; for this is the Low, and the Prophets.

CHAP. 18. The good Yeoman

IS a Gentleman in Ore, whom the next age may see refined; and is the wax capable of a gentile im­pression, when the Prince shall stamp it. Wise Solon (who accounted Herodotus lib. 1. pag. 12 Tellus the Athenian the most happy man for living privately on his own lands) would surely have pronounced the English Yeomanry, a for­tunate condition, living in the temperate Zone, be­twixt greatnesse and want, an estate of people almost peculiar to England. France and Italy are like a die, which hath no points betwixt sink and ace, Nobility and Pesantry. Their walls though high, must needs be hollow, wanting filling-stones. Indeed Germany hath her Boores, like our Yeomen, but by a tyranni­call appropriation of Nobility to some few ancient fa­milies, their Yeomen are excluded from ever rising higher to clarifie their bloods. In England the Tem­ple of Honour is bolted against none, who have passed through the Temple of Virtue: nor is a capacity to be gentile denyed to our Yeoman, who thus behaves himself.

Maxime 1 He wears russet clothes, but makes golden payment, having tinne in his buttons, and silver in his pocket. If he chance to appear in clothes above his rank, it is to [Page 117] grace some great man with his service, and then he blusheth at his own bravery. Otherwise he is the surest landmark, whence forreiners may take aim of the an­cient English customes; the Gentry more floting after forrein fashions.

In his house he is bountifull both to strangers, 2 and poore people. Some hold, when Hospitality dyed in England, she gave her last groan amongst the Yeomen of Kent. And still at our Yeomans table you shall have as many joints as dishes: No meat disguis'd with strange sau­ces; no straggling joynt of a sheep in the midst of a pa­sture of grasse, beset with sallads on every side, but so­lid substantiall food; no serviters (more nimble with their hands then the guests with their teeth) take away meat, before stomachs are taken away. Here you have that which in it self is good, made better by the store of it, and best by the welcome to it.

He hath a great stroke in making a Knight of the shire. 3 Good reason, for he makes a whole line in the subsidie-book, where whatsoever he is rated he payes without any regret, not caring how much his purse is let blood, so it be done by the advise of the physicians of the State.

He seldome goes farre abroad, 4 and his credit stretcheth further then his travell. He goes not to London, but se defenden­do, to save himself of a fine, being returned of a Jurie, where seeing the King once, he prayes for him ever af­terwards.

In his own countrey he is a main man in Iuries. 5 Where if the Judge please to open his eyes in matter of law, he needs not to be led by the nose in matters of fact. He is very observant of the Judges item, when it follows the truths inprimis; otherwise (though not mutinous in a Jurie) he cares not whom he displeaseth so he plea­seth his own conscience.

He improveth his land to a double value by his good husbandry. 6 Some grounds that wept with water, or frown'd with [Page 118] thorns, by draining the one, and clearing the other, he makes both to laugh and sing with corn. By marle and limestones burnt he bettereth his ground, and his industry worketh miracles, by turning stones into bread. Conquest and good husbandry both inlarge the Kings Dominions: The one by the sword, ma­king the acres more in number; the other by the plough, making the same acres more in value. Solomon saith, The King himself is maintained by husbandry. Pythis Plutarch. de virtut. mulie­rum, exemplo ultimo. a King having discovered rich mines in his king­dome, employed all his people in digging of them, whence tilling was wholly neglected, insomuch as a great famine ensued. His Queen, sensible of the cala­mities of the countrey, invited the King her husband to dinner, as he came home hungry from overseeing his workmen in the mines. She so contrived it, that the bread and meat were most artificially made of gold; and the King was much delighted with the conceit thereof, till at last he called for reall meat to sa­tisfie his hunger. Nay, said the Queen, if you employ all your subjects in your mines, you must expect to feed upon gold, for nothing else can your kingdome afford.

7 In time of famine he is the Ioseph of the countrey, and keeps the poore from sterving. Then he tameth his stacks of corn, which not his covetousnesse but providence hath re­serv'd for time of need, and to his poore neighbours abateth somewhat of the high price of the market. The neighbour gentry court him for his acquaintance, which he either modestly waveth, or thankfully accept­eth, but no way greedily desireth. He insults not on the ruines of a decayed Gentleman, but pities and relieves him: and as he is called Goodman, he desires to answer to the name, and to be so indeed.

8 In warre, though he serveth on foot, he is ever mounted on an high spirit: as being a slave to none, and a subject one­ly to his own Prince. Innocence and independance make a brave spirit: Whereas otherwise one must [Page 119] ask his leave to be valiant on whom he depends. Therefore if a State run up all to Noblemen and Gen­tlemen, so that the husbandmen be onely mere la­bourers, or cottagers, (which Bacons Hen­ry. 7. pag. 74. one calls but hous'd beggers) it may have good Cavalry, but never good bands of foot; so that their armies will be like those birds call'd Apodes, without feet, alwayes onely flying on their wings of horse. Wherefore to make good In­fantry, it requireth men bred, not in a servile or indi­gent fashion, but in some free and plentifull manner. Wisely therefore did that knowing Prince, King Hen­ry the seventh, provide laws for the increase of his Yeomanry, that his kingdome should not be like to Coppice-woods, where the staddles being left too thick, all runs to bushes and briers, and there's little clean underwood. For enacting, that houses used to husbandry should be kept up with a competent pro­portion of land, he did secretly sow Hydra's teeth, whereupon (according to the Poets fiction) should rise up armed men for the service of this king­dome.

Chap. 19. The Handicrafts-man.

HE is a necessary member in a Common-wealth: For though Nature, which hath armed most o­ther creatures, sent man naked into the world, yet in giving him hands and wit to use them, in effect she gave him Shells, Scales, Paws, Claws, Horns, Tusks, with all offensive and defensive weapons of Beasts, Fish and Fowl, which by the help of his hands in imitati­on he may provide for himself, and herein the skill of our Artisan doth consist.

His trade is such whereby he provides things necessary for man­kind. Maxime 1. What S. 1. Cor. 12. Paul saith of the naturall, is also true [Page 120] of the politick body, those members of the body are much more necessary which seem most feeble. Mean trades for profit, are most necessary in the State; and a house may better want a gallery then a kitchin. The Philistins knew this when they massacred all the smiths in Israel (who might worse be spared then all the userers therein) and whose hammers nail the Com­monwealth together, being necessary both in peace and warre.

2 Or else his trade contributeth to mans lawfull pleasure. God is not so hard a master, but that he alloweth his ser­vants sauce (besides hunger) to eat with their meat.

3 But in no case will he be of such a trade which is a mere Pander to mans lust; and onely serves their wantonnesse (which is pleasure runne stark mad) and foolish curiosity. Yet are there too many extant of such professions, which, one would think, should stand in dayly fear lest the world should turn wise, and so all their trades be ca­shierd, but that (be it spoken to their shame) 'tis as safe a tenure to hold a livelyhood by mens ryot, as by their necessity.

4 The wares he makes shew good to the eye, but prove better in the use. For he knows if he sets his mark (the Tower-stamp of his credit) on any bad wares, he sets a deeper brand on his own conscience. Nothing hath more debased the credit of our English cloth beyond the seas, then the deceitfulnesse in making them, since the Fox hath crept under the fliece of the Sheep.

5 By his ingenuousnesse he leaves his art better then he found it. Herein the Hollanders are excellent, where children get their living, when but newly they have gotten their life, by their industrie. Indeed Nature may seem to have made those Netherlanders the younger brethren of mankind, allowing them little land, and that also standing in dayly fear of a double deluge, of the sea [Page 121] and the Spaniard: but such is their painfulnesse and ingenuity, hating lazinesse as much as they love liberty, that what commodities grow not on their Countrey by nature they graft on it by art, and have wonderfully improved all making of Manufactures, Stuffes, Clocks, Watches: these latter at first were made so great and heavy, it was rather a burden then an ornament to wear them, though since watches have been made as light and little, as many that were them make of their time.

He is wiling to communicate his skill to posterity. 6 An in­vention though found is lost if not imparted. But as it is reported of some old toads, that before their death they suck up the gelly in their own heads (which otherwise would be hardned into a pretious stone) out of spight, that men should receive no benifit there­by; so some envious Artisans will have their cunning die with them, that none may be the better for it, and had rather all mankind should lose, then any man gain by them.

He seldome attaineth to any very great estate:7 except his trade hath some outlets and excursions into wholesale and merchandize; otherwise mere Artificers cannot heap up much wealth. It is difficult for gleaners, with­out stealing whole sheaves, to fill a barn. His chief wealth consisteth in enough, and that he can live com­fortably, and leave his children the inheritance of their education.

Yet he is a grand Benefactour to the Commonwealth. 8 En­gland in former ages, like a dainty dame, partly out of state, but more out of lazinesse, would not suckle the fruit of her own body, to make the best to battle and improve her own commodities, but put them out to nurse to the Netherlanders, who were well paid for their pains. In those dayes the Sword and the Plough so took up all mens imployments that clothing was whollie neglected, and scarce any other webs to be [Page 122] found in houses, then what the spiders did make. But since she hath seen and mended her errour, making the best use of her own wooll; and indeed the riches of a kingdome doth consist in driving the home-com­modities thereof as far as they will go, working them to their very perfection, imploying more handicrafts thereby. The sheep feeds more with his fliece then his flesh, doing the one but once, but the other once a yeare, many families subsisting by the working there­of. Let not meaner persons be displeased with reading those verses wherewith Queen Elizabeth her self was so highly affected, when in the one and twentieth yeare of her Hollingshead. pag. 1290.reigne she came in progresse to Norwich, wherein a child, representing the state of the City, spake to her Highnesse as followeth,

We have cause to hope that as we have seen the ci­ties Dornicks and Arras brought over into England, so posterity may see all Flaunders brought hither, I mean that their works shall be here imitated, and that either our land shall be taught to bear forrein commo­dities, or our people taught to forbear the using of them.

I should now come to give the description of the Day-Labourer (of whom we have onely a dearth in a plentifull harvest) but seeing his character is so co-incident with the hired servant, it may well be spa­red. And now wee'l rise from the hand to the arm, and come to describe the Souldier.

CHAP. 19. The good Souldier.

A Souldier is one of a lawfull, necessary, com­mendable, and honourable profession; yea God himself may seem to be one free of the com­pany of Souldiers, in that he styleth himself, A man of warre. Now though many hate Souldiers as the twigs of the rod Warre, wherewith God scourgeth wanton countreys into repentance, yet is their calling so needfull, that were not some Soul­diers we must be all Souldiers, dayly imployed to defend our own, the world would grow so licenti­ous.

He keepeth a clear and quiet conscience in his breast, Maxime 1 which o­therwise will gnaw out the roots of all valour. For vicious Soul­diers [Page 120] are compassed with enemies on all sides, their foes without them, and an ambush within them of fleshly lusts, which, as S. Peter saith, fight against the soul. None fitter to go to warre, then those who have made their peace with God in Christ; for such a mans soul is an impregnable fort: It cannot be scaled with lad­ders, for it reacheth up to heaven; nor be broken by batteries, for it is walled with brasse; nor undermined by pioners, for he is founded on a rock; nor betrayed by treason, for faith it self keeps it; nor be burnt by granadoes, for he can quench the fiery darts of the de­vil; nor be forced by famine, for a good conscience is a con­tinuall feast.

2 He chiefly avoids those sinnes, to which Souldiers are tax­ed as most subject. Namely common swearing, which impayreth ones credit by degrees, and maketh all his promises not to be trusted; for he who for no profit will sinne against God, for small profit will trespasse against his neighbour; drinking, whoring. When valiant Zisca, near Pilsen in Bohemia, fought against his enemies, he commanded the women which followed his army, to cast their kerchiefs and partlets on the ground, wherein their enemies being entangled by their spurres (for though horsmen, they were forced to alight, and fight on foot, through the roughnesse of the place) were slain before they could Fox Acts and Monum pag. 646. unloose their feet. A deep morall may be gathered hence, and women have often been the nets to catch and ensnare the souls of many Martiall men.

3 He counts his Princes lawfull command to be his sufficient warrant to fight. In a defensive warre, when his countrey is In publicos hostes omnis homo miles, Tertull. Apol. cap. 2. hostilely invaded, 'tis pity but his neck should hang in suspence with his con­science that doubts to fight; in offensive warre, though the case be harder, the common Souldier is not to dispute, but do Amesius. Cas. Conscien. lib. 5. cap. 33. his Princes command. Other­wise [Page 121] Princes, before they leavie an army of Souldiers, must first leavy an army of Casuists and Confessours to satisfie each scrupulous Souldier in point of right to the warre; and the most cowardly will be the most conscientious, to multiply doubts eternally. Besides, causes of warre are so complicated and perplex'd, so many things falling in the prosecution, as may alter the originall state thereof, and private Souldiers have neither calling nor ability to dive into such mysteries. But if the conscience of a Counsellour or Commander in chief remonstrates in himself the unlawfulnesse of this warre, he is bound humbly to represent to his Prince his reasons against it.

He esteemeth all hardship easy through hopes of victory. 4 Moneys are the sinews of war, yet if these sinews should chance to be shrunk, and pay casually fall short, he takes a fit of this convulsion patiently; he is con­tented though in cold weather his hands must be their own fire, and warm themselves with working; though he be better armed against their enemies then the weather, and his corslet wholler then his clothes; though he hath more Fasts and Vigills in his almanack then the Romish Church did ever enjoyn: he pati­ently endureth drougth for desire of honour, and one thirst quencheth another. In a word, though much indebted to his own back and belly, and unable to pay them, yet he hath credit with himself, and confi­dently runnes on ticket with himself, hoping the next victory will discharge all scores with advan­tage.

He looks at and also through his wages, 5 at Gods glory, and his countreys good. He counts his pay an honourable addition, but no valuable compensation for his pains: for what proportion is there betwixt foure shillings a­week, and adventuring his life? I cannot see how their calling can be lawfull, who for greater wages will fight on any side against their own King and cause; [Page 122] yea as false witnesses were hired against our blessed Mat. 28.15. Saviour (money will make the mouths of men plead against their Maker) so were the Giants now in the world, who, as the Poets feigned, made warre against God himself, and should they offer great pay, they would not want mercenary Souldiers to assist them.

6 He attends with all readinesse on the commands of his Gene­rall; rendring up his own judgement in obedience to the will and pleasure of his Leader, and by an implicite faith believing all is best which he enjoyneth; lest other­wise he be served as the French Souldier was in Scot­land some eighty years since, who first mounted the bulwark of a fort besieged, whereupon ensued the gaining of the fort: but Marescal de Hollman in his book of the Embassadour. Thermes, the French Generall, first knighted him, and then hanged him within an houre after, because he had done it without commandment.

7 He will not in a bravery expose himself to needlesse perill. 'Tis madnesse to holloe in the ears of sleeping tem­ptation, to awaken it against ones self, or to go out of his calling to find a danger: But if a danger meets him (as he walks in his vocation) he neither stands still, starts aside, nor steps backward, but either goes over it with valour, or under it with patience. All single Du­els he detesteth, as having first no command in Gods Word; yea this arbitrary deciding causes by the sword subverts the fundamentall Laws of the Scripture: Se­condly, no example in Gods Word, that of David and Goliah moving in an higher Sphere, as extraor­dinary: Thirdly, it tempts God to work a Miracle for mans pleasure, and to invert the course of nature, whereby otherwise the stronger will beat the weaker: Fourthly, each Dueller challengeth his King as unable or unwilling legally to right him, and therefore he usurps the office himself: Fifthly, if slaying, he ha­zards his neck to the halter; if slain, in heat of malice, [Page 123] without repentance, he adventures his soul to the de­vil.

Object. But there are some intricate cases (as in Titles of land) which cannot otherwise be deci­ded. Seeing therefore that in such difficulties, the right in question cannot be delivered by the mid­wifery of any judiciall proceedings, then it must (with Julius Caesar in his mothers belly) be cut out and be determined by the sword.

Answ. Such a right may better be lost, then to light a candle from hell to find it out, if the Judges cannot find a middle way to part in betwixt them. Besides, in such a case Duells are no medium proportionatum to find out the truth, as never ap­pointed by God to that purpose. Nor doth it follow that he hath the best in right, who hath the best in fight; for he that reads the lawfulnesse of actions by their events, holds the wrong end of the book upwards.

Object. But suppose an army of thirty thousand In­fidells ready to fight against ten thousand Chri­stians, yet so that at last the Infidells are content­ed to try the day upon the valour of a single Champion; whether in such a case may not a Christian undertake to combat with him, the ra­ther because the treble oddes before is the reby re­duced to terms of equalitie, and so the victory made more probable.

Answ. The victory was more probable before; be­cause it is more likely God will blesse his own means, then means of mans appointing: and it is his prerogative to give victory, as well by few as by many. Probability of conquest is not to be measured by the eye of humane reason, contrary to the square of Gods Word. Besides, I question whether it be lawfull for a Christian army to de­rive their right of fighting Gods battels to any [Page 124] single man. For the title every man hath to pro­mote Gods glory, is so invested and inherent in his own particular person, that he cannot passe it over to another. None may appear in Gods ser­vice by an Atturney; and when Religion is at the stake, there must be no lookers on (except impo­tent people, who also help by their prayers) and every one is bound to lay his shoulders to the work. Lastly, would to God no Duels might be fought till this case came into question. But how many dayly fall out upon a more false, slight, and flitting ground, then the sands of Callis whereon they fight: especially, seeing there is an honour­able Court appointed, or some other equivalent way, for taking up such quarrells, and allowing reparations to the party injured.

Object. But Reputation is so spirituall a thing it is inestimable, and Honour falls not under valuati­on: Besides, to complain to the civil Magistrate sheweth no manhood, but is like a childs crying to his father, when he is onely beaten by his e­quall; and my enemies forc'd acknowledgement of his fault (enjoyn'd him by the Court) shews rather his submission to the laws then to me. But if I can civilize his rudenesse by my sword, and chastize him into submission, then he sings his penitentiall song in the true tune, and it comes naturally indeed.

Answ. Honourable persons in that Court are the most competent Judges of Honour, and though Credit be as tender as the apple of the eye, yet such curious oculists can cure a blemish therein. And why, I pray, is it more disgrace to repair to the Magistrate for redresse in Reputation, then to have recourse to him in actions of trespasse? The pretence of a forced submission is nothing, all submissions having aliquid violentum in them; and [Page 125] even the Evangelicall repentance of Gods ser­vants hath a mixture of legall terrour frighting them thereto.

Object. But Gownmen speak out of an antipathy they bear to fighting: should we be rul'd by them, we must break all our swords into pen­knifes; and Lawyers, to inlarge their gains, send prohibitions to remove suits from the Camps to their Courts: Divines are not to be consulted with herein, as ignorant of the principles of Ho­nour.

Answ. Indeed Honour is a word of course in the talk of roring boyes, and pure enough in it self, ex­cept their mouths soil it by often using of it: But indeed God is the fountain of Honour, Gods Word the Charter of Honour, and godly men the best Judges of it; nor is it any stain of cow­ardlinesse for one to fear hell and damnati­on.

We may therefore conclude that the laws of Duel­ling, as the laws of drinking, had their originall from the devil; and therefore the declining of needlesse quarrels in our Souldier, no abatement of Honour. I commend his discretion and valour, who walking in London-streetes met a gallant, who cryed to him a pretty distance beforehand, I will have the wall? Yea (an­swered he) and take the house too, if you can but agree with the Landlord. But when God, and his Prince, calls for him, our Souldier

Had rather die ten times then once survive his credit. 8 Though life be sweet, it shall not flatter the pallat of his soul, as with the sweetnesse of life to make him swallow down the bitternesse of an eternall disgrace: He begrutcheth not to get to his side a probability of victory by the certainty of his own death, and flieth from nothing so much as from the mention of flying. And though some say he is a mad-man that will pur­chase [Page 126] Honour so dearly with his bloud, as that he can­not live to enjoy what he hath bought; our Souldier knows that he shall possesse the reward of his valour with God in heaven, and also making the world his executor, leave to it the rich inheritance of his memo­ry.

9 Yet in some cases he counts it no disgrace to yield, where it is impossible to conquer; as when swarms of enemies crowd about him, so that he shall rather be stifled then wounded to death: In such a case if quarter be offer­ed him, he may take it with more honour then the other can give it; and if he throws up his desperate game, he may happily winne the next, whereas if he playeth it out to the last, he shall certainly lose it and himself. But if he be to fall into the hand of a barba­rous enemy, whose giving him quarter is but repri­ving him for a more ignominious death, he had rather disburse his life at the present, then to take day to fall into the hands of such remorslesse creditours.

10 He makes none the object of his cruelty, which cannot be the object of his fear. Lyons they say (except forc'd with hunger) will not prey on women and children, Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. 8. cap. 16. though I would wish none to try the truth hereof: the truly va­liant will not hurt women or infants, nor will they be cruell to old men. What conquest is it to strike him up, who stands but on one leg, and hath the other foot in the grave? But arrant cowards (such as would con­quer victory it self, if it should stand in their way as they flie) count themselves never evenly match'd, ex­cept they have threefold oddes on their side, and esteem their enemie never disarmed till they be dead. Such love to shew a nature steep'd in gall of passion, and display the ignoble tyrany of prevailing dastards: these being thus valiant against no resistance, will make no resistance when they meet with true valour.

11 He counts it murther to kill any in cold bloud. Indeed in ta­king Cities by assault (especially when Souldiers [Page 127] have suffered long in an hard siege) it is pardonable what present passion doth with a sudden thrust; but a premeditated back-blow in cold bloud is base. Some excuse there is for bloud enraged, and no wonder if that scaldeth which boyleth: but when men shall call a consultation in their soul, and issue thence a de­liberate act, the more advised the deed is, the lesse ad­vised it is, when men raise their own passions, and are not raised by them; specially if fair quarter be first granted; an alms which he who gives to day may crave to morrow; yea, he that hath the hilt in his hand in the morning, may have the point at his throat ere night.

He doth not barbarously abuse the bodies of his dead enemies. 12 We find that Hercules was the Plutarch. in vita Thes [...], Pagin. 1 [...]. first (the most valiant are ever most mercifull) that ever suffered his enemies to carry away their dead bodies, after they had been put to the sword. Belike before his time they cruelly cut the corps in pieces, or cast them to the wild beasts.

In time of plenty he provides for want hereafter. 13 Yet gene­rally Souldiers (as if they counted one Treasurer in an army were enough) so hate covetousnesse that they cannot affect providence for the future, and come home with more marks in their bodies then pence in their pockets.

He is willing and joyfull to imbrace peace on good conditions. 14 The procreation of peace, and not the satisfying of mens lusts and liberties, is the end of warre. Yet how many, having warre for their possession, desire a perpe­tuity thereof! Wiser men then King Henry the eights fool use to cry in fair weather, whose harvest being onely in storms, they themselves desire to raise them; wherefore fearing peace will starve, whom warre hath fatted, and to render themselves the more usefull they prolong discord to the utmost, and could wish when swords are once drawn that all scabbards might be cut asunder.

[Page 128] 15 He is as quiet and painfull in peace, as couragious in warre. If he hath not gotten already enough whereon com­fortably to subsist, he rebetakes himself to his former calling he had before the warre began: the weilding of his sword hath not made him unweildie to do any other work, and put his bones out of joynt to take pains. Hence comes it to passe, that some take by-courses on the high-wayes, and death, whom they honourably sought for in the field, meets them in a worse place.

But we leave our Souldier, seeking by his virtues to ascend from a private place, by the degrees of Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain, Colonell, till he comes to be a Ge­nerall, and then in the next book, God willing, you shall have his example.

CHAP. 20. The good Sea-Captain.

HIs Military part is concurrent with that of the Souldier already described: He differs onely in some Sea-properties, which we will now set down. Conceive him now in a Man of warre, with his letters of mart, well arm'd victuall'd and appointed, and see how he acquits himself.

Maxime 1 The more power he hath, the more carefull he is not to abuse it. Indeed a Sea-captain is a King in the Iland of a ship, supreme Judge, above appeal, in causes civill and cri­minall, and is seldome brought to an account in Courts of Justice on land, for injuries done to his own men at sea.

2 He is carefull in observing of the Lords day. He hath a watch in his heart though no bells in a steeple to pro­claim that day by ringing to prayers. S^r Francis Drake Manuscr. of Mr. Fortescu, who went with him. in three years sailing about the world lost one whole day, which was scarce considerable in so long time. 'Tis to be feared some Captains at sea lose a [Page 129] day every week, one in seven, neglecting the Sab­bath.

He is as pious and thankfull when a tempest is past, 3 as devout when 'tis present: not clamorous to receive mercies, and tongue-tied to return thanks. Many mariners are calm in a storm▪ and storm in a calm, blustring with oathes. In a tempest it comes to their turn to be religious, whose piety is but a fit of the wind, and when that's allayed, their devotion is ended.

Escaping many dangers makes him not presumptuous to run into them. 4 Not like those Sea-men who (as if their hearts were made of those rocks they have often sayled by) are so alwayes in death they never think of it. These in their navigations observe that it is farre hotter under the Tropicks in the coming to the Line, then un­der the Line it self, & in like manner they conceive that the fear & phancy in preparing for death is more terri­ble then death it self, which makes them by degrees desperately to contemne it.

In taking a prize he most prizeth the mens lives whom he takes; 5 though some of them may chance to be Negroes or Savages. 'Tis the custome of some to cast them over [...]bord, and there's an end of them: for the dumbe fishes will tell no tales. But the murder is not so soon drown'd as the men. What, is a brother by the half bloud no kinne? a Savage hath God to his father by creation, though not the Church to his mother, and God will revenge his innocent bloud. But our Captain counts the image of God neverthelesse his image cut in ebony as if done in ivory, and in the blackest Moores he sees the representation of the King of hea­ven.

In dividing the gains he wrongs none who took pains to get them. 6 Not shifting off his poore mariners with nothing, or giving them onely the garbage of the prize, and keeping all the flesh to himself. In time of peace he quietly returns home, and turns not to the trade of [Page 130] Pirates, who are the worst sea-vermine, and the devils water-rats.

7 His voyages are not onely for profit, but some for honour and knowledge; to make discoveries of new countreys, imi­tating the worthy Peter Columbus. Before his time the world was cut off at the middle; Hercules Pillars (which indeed are the navell) being made the feet, and utmost bounds of the continent, till his successefull in­dustry inlarged it.

Our Sea-captain is likewise ambitious to perfect what the other began. He counts it a disgrace, seeing all mankind is one familie, sundry countreys but se­verall rooms, that we who dwell in the parlour (so he counts Europe) should not know the out-lodgings of the same house, and the world be scarce acquainted with it self before it be dissolved from it self at the day of judgement.

8 He daily sees, and duly considers Gods wonders in the deep. Tell me, ye Naturalists, who sounded the first march and retreat to the Tide, Hither shalt thou come, and no fur­ther? why doth not the water recover his right over the earth, being higher in nature? whence came the salt, and who first boyled it, which made so much brine? when the winds are not onely wild in a storm, but even stark mad in an herricano, who is it that re­stores them again to their wits, and brings them asleep in a calm? who made the mighty whales, who swim in a sea of water, and have a sea of oyl swimming in them? who first taught the water to imitate the crea­tures on land? so that the sea is the stable of horse-fishes, the stall of kine-fishes, the stye of hog-fishes, the kennell of dog-fishes, and in all things the sea the ape of the land. Whence growes the amber-greece [Page 131] in the Sea? which is not so hard to find where it is, as to know what it is. Was not God the first ship-wright? and all vessels on the water descended from the loyns (or ribs rather) of Noahs ark; or else who durst be so bold with a few crooked boards nayled to­gether, a stick standing upright, and a rag tied to it, to adventure into the ocean? what loadstone first touched the loadstone? or how first fell it in love with the North, rather affecting that cold climate, then the pleasant East, or fruitfull South, or West? how comes that stone to know more then men, and find the way to the land in a mist? In most of these men take sanctu­ary at Occulta qualitas, and complain that the room is dark, when their eyes are blind. Indeed they are Gods Wonders; and that Seaman the greatest Wonder of all for his blockishnesse, who seeing them dayly neither takes notice of them, admires at them, nor is thankfull for them.

CHAP. 21. The life of Sir FRANCIS DRAKE.

FRancis Drake was born nighS^r. Francis Drake his ne­phew in the de­script. of his third voyage, Epistle to the Reader. south Tavestock in Devonshire, and brought up in Kent; God di­viding the honour betwixt two Counties, that the one might have his birth, and the other his educa­tion. His Father, being a Minister, fled into Kent for fear of the Six Articles, wherein the sting of Po­pery still remained in England, though the teeth thereof were knock'd out, and the Popes Supremacy [Page 133] abolished. Coming into Kent, he bound his sonne Francis apprentice to the Master of a small bark, which traded into France, and Zealand, where he underwent a hard service; and pains with patience in his youth did knit the joynts of his soul, and made them more solid and compacted. His Master dying unmarried, in reward of his industry, bequeath'd his bark unto him for a Legacie.

For some time he continued his Masters profession: But the Narrow Seas were a prison for so large a spirit, born for greater undertakings. He soon grew weary of his bark, which would scarce go alone but as it crept along by the shore: wherefore selling it, he unfortunately ventured most of his estate with Captain John Hawkins into the West Indies,1567. whose goods were taken by the Spaniards at S. John de Ulva, and he himself scarce escaped with life. The King of Spain being so tender in those parts, that the least touch doth wound him; and so jealous of the West Indies, his wife, that willingly he would have none look upon her, and therefore used them with the greater severity.

Drake was perswaded by the Minister of his ship that he might lawfully recover in value of the King of Spain, and repair his losses upon him any where else. The Case was clear in sea-divinity, and few are such Infidels, as not to believe doctrines which make for their own profit. Whereupon Drake, though a poore private man, hereafter undertook to revenge himself on so mighty a Monarch; who, as not contented that the Sun riseth and setteth in his do­minions, may seem to desire to make all his own where he shineth. And now let us see how a dwarf, standing on the Mount of Gods providence, may prove an overmatch for a giant.

After two or three severall Voyages to gain intelli­gence in the West Indies, and some prizes taken, at [Page 134] last he effectually set forward from Plimouth with two ships, the one of seventy, the other twenty five tunnes, and seventy three men and boyes in both. He made with all speed and secrecy to Nombre de Dios, as loth to put the Town to too much charge (which he knew they would willingly bestow) in providing beforehand for his entertainment; which City was then the granary of the West Indies, where­in the golden harvest brought from Panama was hoarded up till it could be conveyed into Spain. They came hard aboard the shore, and lay quiet all night intending to attempt the Town in the dawning of the day.

But he was forced to alter his resolution, and as­sault it sooner; for he heard his men muttering a­mongst themselves of the strength and greatnesse of the Town: and when mens heads are once fly-blown with buzzes of suspicion, the vermine multiply in­stantly, and one jealousie begets another. Wherefore he raised them from their nest before they had hatch'd their fears, and to put away those conceits, he per­swaded them it was day-dawning when the Moon rose, and instantly set on the Town, and wonne it being unwalled. In the Market-place the Spaniards saluted them with a volley of shot; Drake returned their greeting with a flight of arrows, the best and an­cient English complement, which drave their ene­mies away. Here Drake received a dangerous wound, though he valiantly conceal'd it a long time, knowing if his heart stooped, his mens would fall, and loth to leave off the action, wherein if so bright an oppor­tunity once setteth, it seldome riseth again. But at length his men forced him to return to his ship, that his wound might be dressed, and this unhappy acci­dent defeated the whole designe. Thus victory some­times slips thorow their fingers, who have caught it in their hands.

[Page 135]But his valour would not let him give over the pro­ject as long as there was either life or warmth in it: And therefore having received intelligence from the Negroes, called Symerons, of many mules-lading of gold and silver, which was to be brought from Pana­ma, he leaving competent numbers to man his ships went on land with the rest, and bestowed himself in the woods by the way as they were to passe, and so in­tercepted and carried away an infinite masse of gold. As for the silver which was not portable over the mountains, they digged holes in the ground and hid it therein.

There want not those who love to beat down the price of every honourable action, though they them­selves never mean to be chapmen. These cry up Drakes fortune herein to cry down his valour; as if this his performance were nothing, wherein a golden opportunity ran his head with his long forelock into Drakes hands beyond expectation. But certainly his resolution and unconquerable patience deserved much praise, to adventure on such a designe, which had in it just no more probability then what was enough to keep it from being impossible: yet I admire not so much at all the treasure he took, as at the rich and deep mine of Gods providence.

Having now full fraughted himself with wealth, and burnt at the House of Crosses above two hundred thousand pounds worth of Spanish Merchandise, he returned with honour and safety into England, and some 1577. De­cemb. 13. years after undertook that his famous voyage about the world, most accurately described by our English Authours: and yet a word or two thereof will not be amisse.

Setting forward from Plimouth, he bore up for Ca­boverd, where near to the Iland of S. Jago he took prisoner Nuno-da-Silva, an experienc'd Spanish pilot, whose direction he used in the coasts of Brasil and [Page 136] Magellan straits, and afterwards safely landed him at Guatulco in New Spain. Hence they took their course to the iland of Brava, and hereabouts they met with those tempestuous winds, whose onely praise is, that they continue not above an houre, in which time they change Manusc. of Geor. For [...]escue who went the voyage with S^r Fran. Drake. all the points of the compasse. Here they had great plenty of rain, poured (not as in other places, as it were out of sives, but) as out of spouts, so that a but of water falls down in a place: which not­withstanding is but a courteous injury in that hot cli­mate farre from land, and where otherwise fresh water cannot be provided: then cutting the Line, they saw the face of that heaven which earth hideth from us, but therein onely three Cambd. Eliza. Anno 1580. p. 323. starres of the first greatnesse, the rest few and small compared to our Hemisphere, as if God, on purpose, had set up the best and biggest candles in that room wherein his civilest guests are entertained.

Sayling the South of Brasile, he afterwards passed the August. 20. 1578. Magellan straits, and then entred Mare pacificum, came to the Southermost land at the height of 55 ½ la­titude; thence directing his course Northward, he pillaged many Spanish Towns, and took rich pri­zes of high value in the kingdomes of Chily, Peru, and New Spain. Then bending Eastwards, he coasted China, and the Moluccoes, where by the King of Ter­renate, a true Gentleman Pagan, he was most honour­ably entertain'd: The King told them, They and he were all of one religion in this respect, that they believed Manuscri. Geor. Fortescue not in Gods made of stocks and stones as did the Portugalls. He furnish'd them also with all necessaries that they wanted.

On the ninth of1579. January following, his ship, having a large wind and a smooth sea, ran a ground on a dan­gerous shole, and strook twice on it, knocking twice at the doore of death, which no doubt had opened the third time. Here they Hacluits voy­age, p. 741.3. vol.stuck from eight a clock at night [Page 137] till foure the next afternoon, having ground too much, and yet too little to land on, and water too much, and yet too little to sail in. Had God (who, as the wise­man saith, Prov. 30.4. holdeth the winds in his fist) but opened his little finger, and let out the smallest blast, they had undoubtedly been cast away; but there blew not any wind all the while. Then they concei­ving aright that the best way to lighten the ship, was first to ease it of the burthen of their sinnes by true re­pentance, humbled themselves by fasting under the hand of God: Afterwards they received the Commu­nion, dining on Christ in the Sacrament, expecting no other then to sup with him in heaven: Then they cast out of their ship six great pieces of ordinance, threw over-board as much wealth as would break the heart of a Miser to think on't, with much suger, and packs of spices, making a caudle of the sea round about: Then they betook themselves to their prayers, the best lever at such a dead lift indeed, and it plea­sed God that the wind, formerly their mortall enemy, became their friend, which changing from the Star­board to the Larboard of the ship, and rising by de­grees, cleared them off to the sea again, for which they returned unfeigned thanks to almighty God.

By the Cape of good hope and west of Africa he re­turned safe into England, and landed at Novemb. 3. 1580. Plimouth, (being almost the first of those that made a thorow-light through the world) having in his whole voyage, though a curious searcher after the time, lost one day through the variation of severall Climates. He feasted the Queen in his ship at Dartford, who Knighted him for his service: yet it grieved him not a little, that some prime Camb. Eliza. Anno ut priùs, pag. 127. Courtiers refused the gold he offer'd them, as gotten by piracy. Some of them would have been loth to have been told, that they had Aurum Tholosanum in their own purses. Some think that they did it to shew that their envious pride was above their covetousnesse, [Page 138] who of set purpose did blur the fair copy of his per­formance, because they would not take pains to write after it.

I passe by his next 1585. West Indian voyage, wherein he took the Cities of S. Jago, S. Domingo, Carthagena, and S. Augustine in Florida: as also his service perfor­med in 88, wherein he with many others helped to the waining of that half Moon, which sought to govern all the motion of our Sea. I hast to his last Voyage.

1595.Queen Elizabeth perceiving that the onely way to make the Spaniard a criple for ever, was to cut his Si­news of warre in the West Indies, [...]urnished S^r Francis Drake, and S^r John Hawkins with six of her own ships, besides 21 ships and Barks of their own provi­ding, containing in all 2500 Men and Boyes, for some service on America. But, alas, this voyage was marr'd before begun. For so great preparations being too big for a cover, the King of Spain knew of it, and sent a Caravall of adviso to the West Indies, so that they had intelligence Hacluits voyage, 3. vol. pag. 583. three weeks before the Fleet set forth of England, either to fortifie, or remove their treasure; whereas in other of Drakes Voyages not two of his own men knew whither he went; and managing such a designe is like carrying a Mine in warre, if it hath any vent, all is spoyled. Besides, Drake and Haw­kins being in joynt Commission hindred each other. The later took himself to be inferiour rather in successe then skill, and the action was unlike to prosper when neither would follow, and both could not handsomly go abreast. It vexed old Hawkins that his counsell was not followed, in present sayling to America, but that they spent time in vain in assaulting the Canaries; and the grief that his advice was slighted (say some) was the cause of his death. Others impute it to the sor­row he took, for the taking of his Bark called the Francis, which five Spanish Frigates had intercepted: But whē the same heart hath two mortall wounds given it together, 'tis hard to say which of them killeth.

[Page 139]Drake continued his course for Port-Rico, and ri­ding within the roade, a shot from the Castle entred the steerage of the ship, took away the stool from un­der him as he sate at supper, wounded S^r Nicholas Clifford and Brute Brown to death. Ah dear From the mouth of Henr. Drake Esquire there present, my dear and worthy parishi­oner lately de­ceased. Brute (said Drake) I could grieve for thee▪ but now is no time for me to let down my spirits. And indeed a Souldiers most proper bemoaning a friends death in warre is in re­venging it. And sure, as if grief had made the English furious, they soon after fired five Spanish ships of two hundred tunnes apiece, in despight of the Castle.

America is not unfitly resembled to an Houre-glasse, which hath a narrow neck of land (suppose it the hole where the sand passeth) betwixt the parts there­of, Mexicana & Pervana. Now the English had a de­signe to march by land over this Isthmus from Port-Rico to Panama, where the Spanish treasure was layd up. S^r Thomas Baskervile, Generall of the land­forces, undertook the service with seven hundred and fifty armed men. They marched through deep wayes, the Spaniards much annoying them with shot out of the woods. One fort in the passage they assaulted in vain, and heard that two others were built to stop them, besides Panama it self. They had so much of this breakfast, they thought they should surfet of a dinner and supper of the same. No hope of conquest, except with cloying the jaws of Death, and thrusting men on the mouth of the Canon. Wherefore fearing to find the Proverb true, That Gold may be bought too dear, they returned to their ships. Drake afterwards fired Nombre de Dios, and many other petty Towns (whose treasure the Spaniards had conveyed away) burning the empty casks, when their precious liquour was runne out before, and then prepared for their returning home.

Great was the difference betwixt the Indian cities [Page 140] now from what they were when Drake first haunted these coasts: At first the Spaniards here were safe and secure, counting their treasure sufficient to defend it self, the remotenesse thereof being the greatest (al­most onely) resistance, and the fetching of it more then the fighting for it. Whilest the King of Spain guarded the head and heart of his dominions in Eu­rope, he left his long legs in America open to blows, till finding them to smart, being beaten black and blew by the English, he learned to arm them at last, fortifying the most important of them to make them impregnable.

Now began S^r Francis his discontent to feed upon him. He conceived that expectation, a mercilesse usu­rer, computing each day since his departure exacted an interest and return of honour and profit propor­tionable to his great preparations, and transcending his former atchievements. He saw that all the good which he had done in this voyage, consisted in the evill he had done to the Spaniards afarre off, whereof he could present but small visible fruits in England. These apprehensions accompanying if not causing the disease of the flux wrought his sudden Ianuary 28. 1595. death. And sicknesse did not so much untie his clothes, as sorrow did rend at once the robe of his mortality a­sunder. He lived by the sea, died on it, and was buried in it. Thus an ex-tempore performance (scarce heard to be begun before we hear it is ended) comes off with better applause, or miscarries with lesse disgrace, then a long studied and openly premeditated action. Besides, we see how great spirits, having mounted to the highest pitch of performance, afterwards strain and break their credits in striving to go beyond it. Lastly, God oftentimes leaves the brightest men in an eclipse, to shew that they do but borrow their lustre from his reflection. We will not justifie all the actions of any man, though of a tamer profession then a [Page 141] Sea-Captain, in whom civility is often counted precisenesse. For the main, we say that this our Captain was a religious man towards God and his houses (generally sparing Churches where he came) chast in his life, just in his dealings, true of his word, and mercifull to those that were under him, hating nothing so much as idlenesse: And therefore lest his soul should rust in peace, at spare houres he brought fresh water to Plimouth. Carefull he was for posteri­ty (though men of his profession have as well an ebbe of riot, as a flote of fortune) and providently raised a worshipfull Family of his kinred. In a word, should those that speak against him fast till they fetch their bread where he did his, they would have a good sto­mach to eat it.

CHAP. 22. The good Herald.

HE is a Warden of the temple of Honour. Mu­tuall necessity made mortall enemies agree in these Officers; the lungs of Mars himself would be burnt to pieces having no respiration in a truce. He­ralds therefore were invented to proclaim peace or warre, deliver messages about summons of forts, ran­soming of captives, burying the dead, and the like.

He is grave and faithfull in discharging the service he is imploy­ed in. Maxime 1 The names which Homer gives the Grecian Cery­ces, excellently import their virtues in discharging their office: One was called Asphalio, such an one as made sure work; another Eurybates, cunning and subtle; a third Theotes, from his piety and godlinesse; a fourth Stentor, from his loud and audible pronoun­cing of messages. Therefore of every Heathen sacrifice the S^r. Hen. Spel­man Glossar. de verbo Herald. tongue was cut out, and given to the Heralds, to shew that liberty of speech in all places was allowed them.

[Page 142] 2 He imbitters not a distastfull message to a forrein Prince by his indiscretion in delivering it. Commendable was the gravity of Guien King of arms in France, and Thomas Bevolt Clarenceaux of England, sent by their severall Princes to defie Charles the Emperour. For after leave demanded and obtained to deliver the message with safe conduct to their persons, they de­livered the Emperour the lie in writing, and defying him were sent home safe with rewards. It fared worse with a foolish French Herald, sent from the Count of Orgell to challenge combat with the Count of Car­donna, Admiral of Arragon, where instead of wearing his Coat of Arms the Herald was attired in a long linen garment, painted with some dishonest actions, imputed to the said Count of Cardonna. But Ferdi­nand King of Arragon caused the Herald to be whipt naked through the streets Span. Hist. in the life of Fer­dinand. of Barcelona, as a punish­ment of his presumption. Thus his indescretion re­mitted him to the nature of an ordinary person, his Armour of proof of publick credence fell off, and he left naked to the stroke of justice, no longer a pub­lick Officer, but a private offender. Passe we now from his use in warre to his imployment in peace.

3 He is skilfull in the pedigrees and descents of all ancient Gentry. Otherwise, to be able onely to blazon a Coat doth no more make an Herald, then the reading the titles of Gally-pots makes a Physician. Bring our Herald to a Monument, ubi jacet epitaphium, and where the Arms on the Tombe are not onely crest-fallen, but their colours scarce to be discerned, and he will tell whose they be, if any certainty therein can be re­scued from the teeth of Time. But how shamefull was the ignorance of the French Andr. Favin (a Parisian Advocate) in his Theatre of Honour, 1. book 4. chap. pag. 35 Heralds some fourty years since, who at a solemn entertainment of Queen Mary of Florence, wife to King Henrie the fourth, did falsly devise and blazon both the Arms of Florence, and the Arms of the Daulphin of France, now King thereof.

[Page 143] He carefully preserveth the memories of extinguish'd Families, 4 of such Zelophehads, who dying left onely daugh­ters. He is more faithfull to many ancient Gentlemen then their own Heirs were, who sold their lands, and with them (as much as in them lay) their memories, which our Herald carefully treasureth up.

He restoreth many to their own rightfull Arms. 5 An Heir is a Phenix in a familie, there can be but one of them at the same time. Hence comes it often to passe, that younger brothers of gentile families live in low wayes, clouded often amongst the Yeomanry; and yet those under-boughs grow from the same root with the top-branches. It may happen afterwards that by in­dustry they may advance themselves to their former lustre; and good reason they should recover their an­cient ensignes of honour belonging unto them: For the river Anas in Spain, though running many miles under ground, when it comes up again is still the same river which it was before. And yet

He curbs their Vsurpation who unjustly entitle themselves to ancient Houses. 6 Hierophilus a Valer. Max. lib. 9. cap. 16. Ferrier in Rome pretend­ed himself to be nephew to C. Marius, who had seven times been Consul, and carried it in so high a strain that many believed him, and some companies in Rome accepted him for their Patron. Such want not amongst us, who in spight of the stock will engraff themselves into noble bloods, and thence derive their pedegree. Hence they new mould their names, taking from them, adding to them, melting out all the liquid letters, torturing mutes to make them speak, and ma­king vowels dumbe to bring it to a fallacious Homo­nomy at the last, that their names may be the same with those noble Houses they pretend to. By this trick (to forbear dangerous instances, if affinity of sound makes kinred) Lutulentus makes himself kinne to Luculentus, dirt to light, and Angustus to Augustus, some narrow-hearted Peasant, to some large-spirited [Page 144] Prince, except our good Herald marre their mart, and discover their forgery. For well he knows where in­deed the names are the same (though alter'd through variety of writing in severall ages, and disguis'd by the lisping of vulgar people, who miscall hard French Sir­names) and where the equivocation is untruly affected.

7 He assignes honourable Arms to such as raise themselves by de­serts. In all ages their must be as well a beginning of new Gentry, as an ending of ancient. And let not Linea, when farre extended in length, grow so proud as to scorn the first Punctum which gave it the originall. Our Herald knows also to cure the surfet of Coats, and un­surcharge them, and how to wash out stained colours, when the merits of Posterity have outworn the dis­graces of their Ancestours.

8 He will not for any profit favour wealthy unworthinesse. If a rich Clown (who deserves that all his shield should be the Base point) shall repair to the Herald-office, as to a drapers shop, wherein any Coat may be bought for money, he quickly finds himself deceived. No doubt if our Herald gives him a Coat, he gives him al­so a badge with it.

CHAP. 23. The life of M^r W. CAMBDEN.

WIlliam Cambden was born Anno 1550 in old Baily, in the City of London. His Father, Sampson Cambden, was descended of honest paren­tage in Staffordshire; but by his Mothers side he was extracted from the worshipfull family of the A quibus no­bis (absit in­vidia) genus maternum, Cambd. Brit. in Cumber. Cur­wens in Cumberland.

He was brought up first in Christ-Church, then in Pauls School in London, and at fifteen years of age [Page 146] went to Magdalen Colledge in Oxford, and thence to Ex Parenta­tione Degorii Wheat. Broadgates Hall, where he first made those short La­tine Graces, which the Servitours still use. From hence he was removed, and made student of Christ Church, where he profited to such eminency, that he was pre­ferred to be Master of Westminster School, a most fa­mous seminarie of learning.

For whereas before, of the two grand Schools of England, one sent all her Foundation-scholars to Cam­bridge, the other all to Oxford, the good Queen (as the Head equally favouring both Breasts of Learning and Religion) divided her Scholars here betwixt both Universities, which were enriched with many hope­full plants sent from hence, through Cambdens learn­ing, diligence, and clemency. Sure none need pity the beating of that Scholar, who would not learn with­out it under so meek a Master.

His deserts call'd him hence to higher employ­ments. The Queen first made him Richmond Herald, and then Clarenceaux King of Arms. We reade how Dionysius first King of Sicily turn'd afterwards a Schoolmaster in his old age. Behold here Dionysius inverted, one that was a Schoolmaster in his youth be­come a King (of Arms) in his riper years, which place none ever did or shall discharge with more integrity. He was a most exact Antiquary, witnesse his worthy work, which is a comment on three kingdomes; and never was so large a text more briefly, so dark a text more plainly expounded. Yea what a fair garment hath been made out of the very shreds and Remains of that greater Work?

It is most worthy observation with what diligence he inquired after ancient places, making Hue and Crie after many a City which was run away, and by cer­tain marks and tokens pursuing to find it; as by the situation on the Watlin Ermin streetRomane high-wayes, by just distance from other ancient cities, by some affinity of name, [Page 147] by tradition of the inhabitants, by Romane coyns dig­ged up, and by some appearance of ruines. A broken urn is a whole evidence, or an old gate still surviving, out of which the city is run out. Besides, commonly some new spruce town, not farre off, is grown out of the ashes thereof, which yet hath so much naturall af­fection, as dutifully to own those reverend ruines for her Mother.

By these and other means he arrived at admirable knowledge, and restored Britain to her self. And let none tax him for presumption in conjectures where the matter was doubtfull; for many probable con­jectures have stricken the fire, out of which Truths candle hath been lighted afterwards. Besides, con­jectures, like parcells of unknown ore, are sold but at low rates: If they prove some rich metall, the buyer is a great gainer; i [...] base, no looser, for he payes for it ac­cordingly.

His candour and sweet temper was highly to be commended, gratefully acknowledging those by whom he was assisted in the work (in such a case confession puts the difference betwixt stealing and bor­rowing) and surely so heavy a log needed more levers then one. He honourably mentioneth such as differ from him in opinion; not like those Antiquaries, who are so snarling one had as good dissent a mile as an hairs breadth from them.

Most of the English ancient Nobility and Gentry he hath unpartially observed. Some indeed object that he Hugh Hol­land in the life of the Earl of Leicester. claws and flatters the Grandees of his own age, extolling some families rather great then ancient, ma­king them to flow from a farre fountain because they had a great channell, especially if his private friends. But this cavil hath more of malice then truth: indeed 'tis pitty he should have a tongue, that hath not a word for a friend on just occasion; and justly might the stream of his commendations run broader, where meeting [Page 148] with a confluence of desert and friendship in the same party. For the main, his pen is sincere and unpartiall, and they who complain that Grantham steeple stands awry will not set a straiter by it.

Some say that in silencing many gentile families, he makes baulks of as good ground as any he ploweth up. But these again acquit him, when they consider that it is not onely difficult but impossible to anato­mize the English Gentry so exactly, as to shew where every smallest vein thereof runs. Besides, many Houses, conceived to be by him omitted, are rather rightly placed by him, not where they live, but whence they came. Lastly, we may perceive that he prepared ano­ther work on purpose for the English Gentry.

I say nothing of his learned Annalls of Queen Eliza­beth, industriously performed. His very enemies (if any) cannot but commend him. Sure he was as farre from loving These words he wrote in the beginning of his Testament, Christi soli­us meritis & satisfactione spem omnem salutis meae semper ni [...]i profiteor. Popery, as from hating Learning, though that aspersion be generall on Antiquaries; as if they could not honour hoary hairs, but presently them­selves must doat.

His liberality to Learning is sufficiently witnessed in his Founding of an History-Professour in Oxford, to which he gave the mannour of Bexley in Kent, worth in present a hundred and fourty pounds, but (some years expired) foure hundred pounds per Annum, so that he merited that distich,

The Military part of his office he had no need to imploy, passing it most under a peaceable Prince. But now having lived many years in honour and esteem, death at last, even contrarie to Ius Gentium, kill'd this worthy Herald, so that it seems, Mortality, the Law of Nature, is above the Law of Arms. He died Anno 1623. the ninth of November, in the seventie fourth yeare of his age.

CHAP. 24. The true Gentleman.

WE will consider him in his Birth, Breeding, and Behaviour.

He is extracted from ancient and worshipfull parentage. Maxime 1 When a Pepin is planted on a Pepin-stock, the fruit growing thence is called a Draitons Po­lio [...]bion, p. 298. Renate, a most delicious apple, as both by Sire and Damme well descended. Thus his bloud must needs be well purified who is gentilely born on both sides.2

If his birth be not, at leastwise his qualities are generous. What if he cannot with the Hevenninghams of Suf­folk count▪ [...]eavers su [...] ­mon. pag. 854.five and twenty Knights of his familie, or tell Idem. p. 818. sixteen Knights successively with the Tilneys of Norfolk, or with the Nauntons shew where their An­cestours had Idem p 758. seven hundred pound a yeare before or at the conquest; yet he hath endeavoured by his own deserts to ennoble himself. Thus Valour makes him sonne to Caesar, Learning entitles him kinsman to Tully, & Piety reports him nephew to godly Constan­tine. It graceth a Gentleman of low descent & high de­sert, when he will own the meannesse of his parentage. How ridiculous is it when many men brag, that their families are more ancient then the Moon, which all know are later then the starre which some seventy years since shined in Cassiopea. But if he be gene­rously born,3 see how his parents breed him.

He is not in his youth possest with the great hopes of his pos­session. No flatterer reads constantly in his ears a survey of the lands he is to inherit. This hath made many boyes thoughts swell so great they could never be kept in compasse afterwards. Onely his Parents acquaint him that he is the next undoubted Heir to correcti­on, if misbehaving himself; and he finds no more favour from his Schoolmaster then his School­master [Page 150] finds diligence in him, whose rod respects persons no more then bullets are partiall in a bat­tel.

4 At the Vniversity he is so studious as if he intended Learning for his profession. He knowes well that cunning is no burthen to carry, as paying neither portage by land▪ nor poundage by sea. Yea though to have land be a good First, yet to have learning is the surest Second, which may stand to it when the other may chance to be taken away.

5 At the Innes of Court he applyes himself to learn the Laws of the kingdome. Object not, Why should a Gentleman learn law, who if he needeth it may have it for his money, and if he hath never so much of his own, he must but give it away. For what a shame is it for a man of quality to be ignorant of Solon in our Athens, of Lycurgus in our Sparta? Besides, law will help him to keep his own, and besteed his neighbours. Say not, that there be enough which make this their set pra­ctice: for so there are also many masters of defence by their profession; and shall private men therefore learn no skill at their weapons.

As for the Hospitality, the Apparell, the Travelling, the Companie, the Recreations, the Marriage of Gen­tlemen, they are described in severall Chapters in the following Book. A word or two of his behaviour in the countrey.

6 He is courteous and affable to his neighbours. As the sword of the best tempered mettall is most flexible; so the truly generous are most pliant and courteous in their behaviour to their inferiours.

7 He delights to see himself, and his servants well mounted: therefore he loveth good Horsemanship. Let never a­ny forrein Rabshakeh send that brave to our Jerusa­lem, offering to lend her 2. Kings. 18.23. two thousand horses, if she be able for her part to set riders upon them. We know how Darius got the Persian Empire from the rest of his fellow [Page 151] Peeres, by the first neighing of his generous steed. It were no harm if in some needlesse suits of intricate precedencie betwixt equall Gentlemen, the priority were adjudged to him who keeps a stable of most ser­viceable horses.

He furnisheth and prepareth himself in peace against time of warre. 8 Lest it be too late to learn when his skill is to be used. He approves himself couragious when brought to the triall, as well remembring the custome which is used at the Creation of Knights of the Bath, wherein the Kings Master-Cook M. Selden in his titles of Honour, pag. 820. cometh forth, & presenteth his great knife to the new-made Knights, admonishing them to be faithfull and valiant, other­wise he threatens them that that very knife is prepared to cut off their spurres.

If the Commission of the Peace finds him out, 9 he faithfully dis­charges it. I say, Finds him out; for a publick Office is a guest which receives the best usage from them who never invited it. And though he declined the Place, the countrey knew to prize his worth, who would be ignorant of his own. He compounds many petty differences betwixt his neighbours, which are easier ended in his own Porch then in Westminster-hall: for many people think, if once they have fetched a war­rant from a Justice, they have given earnest to follow the suit, though otherwise the matter be so mean that the next nights sleep would have bound both parties to the peace, and made them as good friends as ever be­fore. Yet

He connives not at the smothering of punishable faults. 10 He hates that practice, as common as dangerous amongst countrey people, who having received again the goods which were stollen from them, partly out of foolish pity, and partly out of covetousnesse to save charges in prosecuting the law, let the thief escape unpunish­ed. Thus whilest private losses are repaired, the wounds to the Commonwealth (in the breach of the [Page 152] Laws) are left uncured: And thus petty Larceners are encouraged into Felons, and afterwards are hang'd for pounds, because never whipt for pence, who, if they had felt the cord, had never been brought to the hal­ter.

11 If chosen a Member of Parliament he is willing to do his Coun­trey service. If he be no Rhetorician to raise affections, (yea Barnabas was a Acts 14.12. greater speaker then S. Paul himself) he counts it great wisdome to be the good manager of Yea and Nay. The slow pace of his judge­ment is recompenced by the swift following of his af­fections, when his judgement is once soundly in­form'd. And here we leave him in consultation, wishing him with the rest of his honourable Society all happy successe.

CHAP. 1. Of Hospitality.

HOspitality is threefold: for ones familie; this is of Necessity: for strangers; this is Courtesie: for the poore; this is Cha­rity. Of the two latter.

To keep a disorderly house is the way to keep neither house nor lands. Maxime 1. For whilest they keep the greatest roaring, their state steals away in the greatest silence. Yet when many consume themselves with secret vices, then Hospitality bears the blame: whereas it is not the Meat but the Sauce, not the Sup­per but the Gaming after it, doth undoe them.

Measure not thy entertainment of a guest by his estate, but thine own. 2 Because he is a Lord, forget not that thou art but a Gentleman: otherwise if with feasting him thou breakest thy self, he will not cure thy rupture, and (perchance) rather deride then pitie thee.

When provision (as we say) groweth on the same, it is mira­culously multiplied. 3 In Northamptonshire all the rivers of the County are bred in it, besides those (Ouse and Charwell) it lendeth and sendeth into other shires: So the good Housekeeper hath a fountain of wheat in his field, mutton in his fold, &c. both to serve himself, [Page 154] and supply others. The expence of a feast will but breath him, which will tire another of the same estate who buyes all by the penny.

4 Mean mens palates are best pleased with fare rather plentifull then various, solid then dainty. Dainties will cost more, and content lesse, to those that are not Criticall enough to distinguish them.

5 Occasionall entertainment of men greater then thy self is better then solemn inviting them. Then short warning is thy large excuse: whereas otherwise, if thou dost not overdo thy estate, thou shalt underdo his expectation, for thy feast will be but his ordinary fare. A King of France was often pleased in his hunting wilfully to lose him­self, to find the house of a private Park-keeper; where going from the School of State-affairs, he was pleased to make a play-day to himself. He brought sauce (Hunger) with him, which made course meat dain­ties to his palate. At last the Park-keeper took heart, and solemnely invited the King to his house, who came with all his Court, so that all the mans meat was not a morsell for them: Well (said the Park-keeper) I will invite no more Kings; having learnt the difference be­tween Princes when they please to put on the visard of privacie, and when they will appear like themselves, both in their Person and Attendants.

6 Those are ripe for charitie which are withered by age or im­potencie. Especially if maimed in following their cal­ling; for such are Industries Martyrs, at least her Con­fessours. Adde to these those that with diligence fight against poverty, though neither conquer till death make it a drawn battel. Expect not, but prevent their craving of thee; for God forbid the heavens should never rain till the earth first opens her mouth, se­ing some grounds will sooner burn then chap.

7 The House of correction is the fittest Hospital for those Cripples, whose legs are lame through their own lazinesse. Surely King Edward the sixth was as truly charitable in granting [Page 155] Bridewell for the punishment of sturdy Rogues, as in giving S. Thomas Hospitall for the relief of the Poore. I have done with the subject, onely I desire rich men to awaken Hospitality, which Cambd. [...]s. Anno 1573. one saith since the yeare 1572 hath in a manner been laid asleep in the grave of Edward Earl of Darby.

CHAP. 2. Of Iesting.

HArmlesse mirth is the best cordiall against the consumption of the spirits: wherefore Jesting is not unlawfull if it trespasseth not in Quantity, Quality, or Season.

It is good to make a Iest, Maxime 1. but not to make a trade of Iesting. The Earl of Leicester, knowing that Queen Elizabeth was much delighted to see a Gentleman dance well, brought the Master of a dancing-school to dance before her: Pish (said the Queen) it is his profession, I will not see him. She liked it not where it was a Master-quality, but where it attended on other perfections. The same may we say of Jesting.

Iest not with the two-edged [...], Heb. 4.11. sword of Gods Word. 2 Will nothing please thee to wash thy hands in, but the Font? or to drink healths in, but the Church Chalice? And know the whole art is learnt at the first admission, and profane Jests will come without calling. If in the trou­blesome dayes of King Edward the fourth a Citizen in Cheap-side was executed as a traitour, for saying he would make his sonne heir to the Speed in Ed­ward the 4. Crown, though he onely meant his own house, having a Crown for the signe; more dangerous it is to wit-wanton it with the Majestie of God. Wherefore if without thine intention, and against thy will, by chancemedly thou hittest Scripture in ordinary discourse, yet fly to the city of refuge, and pray to God to forgive thee.

Wanton Iests make fools laugh, 3 and wise men frown. [Page 156] Seeing we are civilized English men, let us not be na­ked Salvages in our talk. Such rotten speeches are worst in withered age, when men runne after that sinne in their words which flieth from them in the deed.

4 Let not thy Iests like mummie be made of dead mens flesh. Abuse not any that are departed; for to wrong their memories is to robbe their ghosts of their winding-sheets.

5 Scoff not at the naturall defects of any which are not in their power to amend. Oh 'tis crueltie to beat a cripple with his own crutches. Neither flout any for his profession if honest though poore and painfull. Mock not a Cobler for his black thumbes.

6 He that relates another mans wicked Iest with delight, adopts it to be his own. Purge them therefore from their poyson. If the prophanenesse may be sever'd from the wit, it is like a Lamprey, take out the string in the back, it may make good meat: But if the staple conceit consists in prophanenesse, then it is a viper, all poyson, and meddle not with it.

7 He that will lose his friend for a Iest deserves to die a begger by the bargain. Yet some think their conceits, like mustard, not good except they bite. We reade that all those who were born in England the yeare after the beginning of the great mortality Tho. Wal­singam in eo­dem anno. 1349. wanted their foure Cheek-teeth. Such let thy Jests be, that they may not grind the credit of thy friend, and make not Jests so long till thou becomest one.

8 No time to break Iests when the heart-strings are about to be broken. No more shewing of wit when the head is to be cut off. Like that dying man, who, when the Priest coming to him to give him extreme unction, asked of him where his feet were, answered, at the end of my legs. But at such a time Jests are an unmannerly crepitus ingenii: And let those take heed who end here with De­mocritus, that they begin not with Heraclitus hereafter.

CHAP. 3. Of Self-praysing.

HE whose own worth doth speak need not speak his own worth. Maxime 1 Such boasting sounds proceed from em­ptinesse of desert: whereas the Conquerours in the O­lympian games did not put on the Laurells on their own heads, but waited till some other did it. Onely Anchorets that want company may crown themselves with their own commendations.

It sheweth more wit but no lesse vanity to commend ones self not in a strait line but by reflection. 2 Some sail to the port of their own praise by a side-wind: as when they dis­praise themselves, stripping themselves naked of what is their due, that the modesty of the beholders may cloth them with it again; or when they flatter another to his face, tossing the ball to him that he may throw it back again to them; or when they com­mend that quality, wherein themselves excell, in an­other man (though absent) whom all know farre their inferiour in that faculty; or lastly (to omit o­ther ambushes men set to surprise praise) when they send the children of their own brain to be nursed by another man, and commend their own works in a third person, but if chalenged by the company that they were Authours of them themselves, with their tongues they faintly deny it, and with their faces strongly affirm it.

Self-praising comes most naturally from a man when it comes most violently from him in his own defence. 3 For though mo­desty binds a mans tongue to the peace in this point, yet being assaulted in his credit he may stand upon his guard, and then he doth not so much praise as purge himself. One braved a Gentleman to his face that in skill and valour he came farre behind him; 'Tis true (said the other) for when I fought with you, you [Page 158] ran away before me. In such a case, it was well return'd, and without any just aspersion of pride.

4 He that falls into sin is a man; that grieves at it, is a saint; that boasteth of it, is a devil. Yet some glory in their shame, counting the stains of sin the best complexion for their souls. These men make me believe it may be true what Mandevil writes of the Isle of Somabarre, in the East Indies, that all the Nobility thereof brand their faces with a hot iron in token of honour.

5 He that boasts of sinnes never committed is a double devil. Many brag how many gardens of virginity they have defloured, who never came near the walls thereof, lying on those with whom they did never lie, and with slanderous tongues committing rapes on chaste womens reputations. Others (who would sooner creep into a scabbard then draw a sword) boast of their robberies, to usurp the esteem of valour: Where­as first let them be well whipt for their lying, and as they like that, let them come afterward and entitle themselves to the gallows.

CHAP. 4. Of Travelling.

IT is a good accomplishment to a man, if first the stock be well grown whereon Travell is graffed, and these rules observed Before, In, and After his going abroad.

Maxime 1. Travell not too early before thy judgement be risen; lest thou observest rather shews then substance, marking alone Pageants, Pictures, beautifull Buildings, &c.

2 Get the Language (in part) without which key thou shalt un­lock little of moment. It is a great advantage to be ones own interpreter. Object not that the French tongue learnt in England must be unlearnt again in France; for it is easier to adde then begin, and to pronounce then to speak.

[Page 159] Be well settled in thine own Religion, 3 lest, travelling out of England into Spain, thou goest out of Gods blessing into the warm Sunne. They that go over maids for their Religion, will be ravish'd at the sight of the first Popish Church they enter into. But if first thou be well grounded, their fooleries shall rivet thy faith the faster, and Travell shall give thee Confirmation in that Baptisme thou didst receive at home.

Know most of the rooms of thy native countrey before thou go­est over the threshold thereof. 4 Especially seeing England presents thee with so many observables. But late Wri­ters lack nothing but age, and home-wonders but distance to make them admired. 'Tis a tale what Antiqu. Iud. lib. 1. cap. 3. Jo­sephus writes of the two pillars set up by the sonnes of Seth in Syria, the one of brick, fire-proof; the other of stone, water-free, thereon engraving many heavenly matters to perpetuate learning in defiance of time. But it is truly moralized in our Universities, Cambridge (of Brick) and Oxford (of Stone) wherein Learning and Religion are preserved, and where the worst Col­ledge is more sight-worthy then the best Dutch Gym­nasium. First view these, and the rest home-rarities; not like those English, that can give a better account of Fountain-bleau then Hampton-Court, of the Spaw then Bath, of Anas in Spain then Mole in Surrey.

Travell not beyond the Alps. 5 M^r. In his preface to his School­master. Ascham did thank God that he was but nine dayes in Italie, wherein he saw in one citie (Venice) more liberty to sinne, then in London he ever heard of in nine years. That some of our Gentry have gone thither, and returned thence without infection, I more praise Gods providence then their adventure.

To travell from the sunne is uncomfortable. 6 Yet the nor­thern parts with much ice have some crystall, and want not their remarkables.

If thou wilt see much in a little, travell the Low coun­treys. 7 Holland is all Europe in an Amsterdam-print, [Page 160] for Minerva, Mars, and Mercurie, Learning, Warre, and Traffick.

8 Be wise in choosing Objects, diligent in marking, carefull in remembring of them: yet herein men much follow their own humours. One askt a Barber, who never before had been at the Court, what he saw there? Oh (said he) the King was excellently well trimm'd! Thus Merchants most mark forrein Havens, Exchanges, and Marts; Souldiers note Forts, Armories, and Magazines; Scho­lars listen after Libraries, Disputations, and Profes­sours; Statesmen observe Courts of justice, Counsells, &c. Every one is partiall in his own profession.

9 Labour to distill and unite into thy self the scatterd perfections of severall Nations. But (as it was said of one, who with more industry then judgement frequented a Colledge-Library, and commonly made use of the worst notes he met with in any Authours, that he weeded the Library) many weed forrein Countries, bringing home Dutch Drunkennes, Spanish Pride, French Wan­tonnesse and Italian Atheisme. As for the good herbs, Dutch Industry, Spanish Loyalty, French Cour­tesie, and Italian Frugality, these they leave behind them. Others bring home just nothing; and because they singled not themselves from their Countreymen, though some years beyond Sea, were never out of England.

10 Continue correspondency with some choyce forrein friend af­ter thy return. As some Professour or Secretary, who virtually is the whole University, or State. 'Tis but a dull Dutch fashion, their Albus Amicorum, to make a dictionary of their friends names: But a select­ed familiar in every Countrey is usefull, betwixt you there may be a Letter-exchange. Be sure to return as good wares as thou receivest, and acquaint him with the remarkables of thy own Countrey, and he will willingly continue the trade, finding it equally gain­full.

[Page 161] Let discourse rather be easily drawn, 11 then willingly flow from thee. That thou mayest not seem weak to hold, or de­sirous to vent news, but content to gratifie thy friends. Be sparing in reporting improbable truths, especially to the vulgar, who insteed of informing their judge­ments will suspect thy credit. Disdain their pevish pride who rail on their native land (whose worst fault is that it bred such ungratefull fools) and in all their discourses preferre forrein countreys, herein shewing themselves of kinne to the wild Irish in loving their Nurses better then their Mothers.

CHAP. 5. Of Company.

COmpanie is one of the greatest pleasures of the nature of man. Maxime 1. For the beams of joy are made hotter by re­flection, when related to another; and otherwise glad­nesse it self must grieve for want of one to expresse it­self to.

It is unnaturall for a man to court and hug solitarinesse. 2 It is observed, that the farthest Ilands in the world are so seated that there is none so remote but that from some shore of it another Iland or Continent may be discern­ed: As if hereby Nature invited countreys to a mu­tuall commerce one with another. Why then should any man affect to environ himself with so deep and great reservednesse, as not to communicate with the societie of others? And though we pity those who made solitarinesse their refuge in time of persecution, we must condemne such as chuse it in the Churches prosperity. For well may we count him not well in his wits, who will live alwayes under a bush, because others in a storm shelter themselves under it.

Yet a desert is better then a debauch'd companion. 3 For the wildnesse of the place is but uncheerfull, whilest the [Page 162] wildnesse of bad persons is also infectious. Better therefore ride alone then have a thiefs company. And such is a wicked man, who will rob thee of pretious time, if he doth no more mischief. The Nazarites who might drink no wine were also forbidden (Numb. 6.3.) to eat grapes, whereof wine is made. We must not onely avoid sinne it self, but also the causes and occasions thereof: amongst which bad company (the limetwigs of the devil) is the chiefest, especially, to catch those natures which like the good-fellow planet Mercury are most swayed by others.

4 If thou beest cast into bad company, like Hercules, thou must sleep with thy club in thine hand, and stand on thy guard. I mean if against thy will the tempest of an unexpected occasion drives thee amongst such rocks; then be thou like the river Cambd. Brit. in Merioneth. Dee in Merionethshire in Wales, which running through Pimble meere remains entire, and mingles not her streames with the waters of the lake. Though with them, be not of them; keep civil com­munion with them, but separate from their sinnes. And if against thy will thou fall'st amongst wicked men, know to thy comfort thou art still in thy calling, and therefore in Gods keeping, who on thy prayers will preserve thee.

5 The company he keeps is the comment, by help whereof men expound the most close and mysticall man; understanding him for one of the same religion, life, and manners with his associates. And though perchance he be not such an one, 'tis just he should be counted so for conversing with them. Augustus Cesar came thus to discern his two daughters inclinations: for being once at a pub­lick Shew, where much people was present, he Sucton. in August. Caes. obser­ved that the grave Senatours talked with Livia, but loose Youngsters and riotous persons with Julia.

9. He that eats cherries with Noblemen shall have his eyes spirted out with the stones. This outlandish Proverb hath in it an English truth, that they who constantly con­verse [Page 163] with men farre above their estates shall reap shame and losse thereby: If thou payest nothing, they will count thee a sucker, no branch; a wen, no mem­ber of their companie: If in payments thou keepest pace with them, their long strides will soon tire thy short legs. The Bevers in New England, when some ten of them together draw a stick to the building of their lodging, set the Wood in his description of New England. weakest Bevers to the lighter end of the log, and the strongest take the heaviest part thereof: whereas men often lay the greatest burthen on the weakest back; and great persons, to teach mean­er men to learn their distance, take pleasure to make them pay for their companie. I except such men, who having some excellent qualitie are gratis very welcome to their betters; such a one, though he payes not a pen­ny of the shot, spends enough in lending them his time and discourse.

To affect alwayes to be the best of the companie argues a base disposition. 7 Gold alwayes worn in the same purse with silver loses both of the colour and weight; and so to converse alwayes with inferiours degrades a man of his worth. Such there are that love to be the Lords of the companie, whilest the rest must be their Tenants: as if bound by their lease to approve, praise, and ad­mire, whatsoever they say. These knowing the low­nesse of their parts love to live with dwarfs, that they may seem proper men. To come amongst their equalls, they count it an abbridgement of their free­dome, but to be with their betters, they deem it flat sla­very.

It is excellent for one to have a Library of Scholars, 8 especially if they be plain to be read. I mean of a communicative na­ture, whose discourses are as full as fluent, and their judgements as right as their tongues ready: such mens talk shall be thy Lectures. To conclude, Good Com­pany is not onely profitable whilest a man lives, but sometimes when he is dead. For he that was buried [Page 194] with the bones of 2. Kings. 13.21. Elisha, by a Posthumous miracle of that Prophet, recovered his life by lodging with such a grave-fellow.

CHAP. 6. Of Apparell.

CLothes are for Necessity; warm cloths for Health; cleanly for Decency; lasting for Thrift; and rich for Magnificence. Now there may be a fault in their Number, if too various; Making, if too vain; Matter, if too costly; and Mind of the wearer, if he takes pride therein. We come therefore to some gene­rall directions.

Maxime 1 It's a chargeable vanity to be constantly clothed above ones purse, or place. I say Constantly; for perchance some­times it may be dispensed with. A Great man, who him­self was very plain in apparell, checkt a Gentleman for being over fine: who modestly answered, Your Lordship hath better clothes at home, and I have worse. But sure no plea can be made when this Luxury is grown to be ordinary. It was an arrogant act of Math. Paris in Ioan. Anno. 1201. Hubert Archbi­shop of Canterbury, who, when King John had given his Courtiers rich Liveries, to Ape the Lion, gave his servants the like, wherewith the King was not a little offended. But what shall we say to the riot of our age, wherein (as Peacocks are more gay then the Eagle himself) subjects are grown braver then their Sove­reigne?

2 'Tis beneath a wise man alwayes to wear clothes beneath men of his rank. True, there is a state sometimes in decent plainnesse. When a wealthy Lord at a great Solemnity had the plainest apparell, O (said one) if you had markt it well his sute had the richest pockets. Yet it argues no wis­dome, in clothes alwayes to stoop beneath his conditi­on. When Antisthenes saw Socrates in a torn coat, he shewed a hole thereof to the people; And loe [Page 195] (quoth he) through this I see Socrates his pride.

He shews a light gravity who loves to be an exception from a generall fashion. 3 For the received custome in the place where we live is the most competent judge of decen­cy; from which we must not appeal to our own opi­nion. When the French Courtiers mourning for their King Mont. 1. book. Chap. 4. Henrie the second had worn cloth a whole yeare, all silks became so vile in every mans eyes, that if any was seen to wear them, he was presently account­ed a Mechanick or Countrey-fellow.

It's a folly for one Proteus-like never to appear twice in one shape. 4 Had some of our Gallants been with the Deuterono. 29.5. Is­raelites in the wildernesse, when for fourty years their clothes waxed not old, they would have been vexed, though their clothes were whole, to have been so long in one fashion. Yet here I must confesse, I understand not what is reported of Fulgentius, that he used the same garment Winter and Summer, and never alter'd his Vincentius. Spec. lib. 20. cap. 105. clothes, etiam in Sacris peragendis.

He that is proud of the russling of his silks, like a mad man, 5 laughs at the ratling of his fetters. For indeed, Clothes ought to be our remembrancers of our lost innocency. Besides, why should any brag of what's but borrow­ed? Should the Estrige snatch off the Gallants feather, the Beaver his hat, the Goat his gloves, the Sheep his sute, the Silk-worm his stockings, and Neat his shoes (to strip him no farther then modesty will give leave) he would be left in a cold condition. And yet 'tis more pardonable to be proud, even of cleanly rags, then (as many are) of affected slovennesse. The one is proud of a molehill, the other of a dung­hill.

To conclude, Sumptuary laws in this land to re­duce apparell to a set standard of price, and fashion, according to the severall states of men, have long been wish'd, but are little to be hoped for. Some think pri­vate mens superfluity is a necessary evill in a State, [Page 166] the floting of fashions affording a standing maintenance to many thousands which otherwise would be at a losse for a livelihood, men maintaining more by their pride then by their charitie.

CHAP. 7. Of Building.

HE that alters an old house is tied as a translatour to the originall, and is confin'd to the phancie of the first builder. Such a man were unwise to pluck down good old building, to erect (perchance) worse new. But those that raise a new house from the ground are blame-worthy if they make it not handsome, seeing to them Method and Confusion are both at a rate. In building we must respect Situation, Contrivance, Receipt, Strength, and Beauty. Of Situation.

Maxime 1. Chiefly choose a wholesome aire. For aire is a dish one feeds on every minute, and therefore it need be good. Wherefore great men (who may build where they please, as poore men where they can) if herein they preferre their profit above their health, I referre them to their Physicians to make them pay for it accord­ingly.

2 Wood and water are two staple commodities where they may be had. The former I confesse hath made so much iron, that it must now be bought with the more silver, and grows daily dearer. But 'tis as well pleasant as profit­able to see a house cased with trees, like that of An­chises in Troy.

The worst is, where a place is bald of wood, no art can make it a periwig. As for water, begin with Pin­dars beginning, [...]. The fort of Camb. Brit. in Cambridge­shire. Gog­magog Hills nigh Cambridge is counted impreg­nable but for want of water, the mischief of ma­ny [Page 167] houses where servants must bring the well on their shoulders.

Next a pleasant prospect is to be respected. 3 A medly view (such as of water and land at Greenwich) best enter­tains the eyes, refreshing the wearied beholder with exchange of objects. Yet I know a more profitable prospect, where the owner can onely see his own land round about.

A fair entrance with an easie ascent gives a great grace to a building:4 where the Hall is a preferment out of the Court, the Parlour out of the Hall; not (as in some old buildings) where the doores are so low Pygmies must stoop, and the rooms so high that Giants may stand upright. But now we are come to Contrivance.

Let not thy common rooms be severall, 5 nor thy severall rooms be common. The Hall (which is a Pandocheum) ought to lie open, and so ought Passages and Stairs (provided that the whole house be not spent in paths) Chambers and Closets are to be private and retired.

Light (Gods eldest daughter) is a principall beauty in a building:6 yet it shines not alike from all parts of Hea­ven. An East-window welcomes the infant beams of the Sun, before they are of strength to do any harm, and is offensive to none but a sluggard. A South-win­dow in summer is a chimny with a fire in't, and needs the schreen of a curtain. In a West-window in summer time towards night, the Sun grows low and over fa­miliar with more light then delight. A North-win­dow is best for Butteries and Cellars, where the beere will be sower for the Suns smiling on it. Thorow-lights are best for rooms of entertainment, and win­dows on one side for dormitories. As for Receipt,

A house had better be too little for a day then too great for a yeare. 7 And it's easier borrowing of thy neighbour a brace of chambers for a night, then a bag of money for a twelvemonth. It is vain therefore to proportion the receipt to an extraordinary occasion, as those who [Page 168] by overbuilding their houses have dilapidated their lands, and their states have been press'd to death un­der the weight of their house. As for Strength,

8 Countrey-houses must be Substantives, able to stand of them­seves. Not like City-buildings supported by their neigh­bours on either side. By Strength we mean such as may resist Weather and Time, not Invasion, Castles being out of date in this peaceable age. As for the ma­king of motes round about, it is questionable whe­ther the fogs be not more unhealthfull, then the fish brings profit, or the water defence. Beauty remains behind as the last to be regarded, because houses are made to be lived in not lookt on.

9 Let not the Front look asquint on a stranger, but accost him right at his entrance. Uniformity also much pleaseth the eye; and 'tis observed that free-stone, like a fair com­plexion, soonest waxeth old, whilest brick keeps her beauty longest.

10 Let the office-houses observe the due distance from the man­sion-house. Those are too familiar which presume to be of the same pile with it. The same may be said of stables and barns; without which a house is like a city without outworks, it can never hold out long.

11 Gardens also are to attend in their place. When God (Ge­nesis 2.9) planted a garden Eastward, he made to grow out of the ground every tree pleasant to the sight, and good for food. Sure he knew better what was proper to a garden then those, who nowadayes therein only feed the eyes, and starve both tast and smell.

To conclude, in Building rather believe any man then an Artificer in his own art for matter of charges, not that they cannot but will not be faithfull. Should they tell thee all the cost at the first, it would blast a young Builder in the budding, and therefore they sooth thee up till it hath cost thee something to confute them. The spirit of Building first possessed people after the [Page 169] floud, which then caused the confusion of langua­ges, and since of the estate of many a man.

CHAP. 8. Of Anger.

ANger is one of the sinews of the soul; he that wants it hath a maimed mind, and with Jacob sinew-shrunk in the hollow of his thigh must needs halt. Nor is it good to converse with such as cannot be angry, and with the Caspian sea never ebbe nor flow. This Anger is either Heavenly, when one is of­fended for God: or Hellish, when offended with God and Goodnes: or Earthly, in temporall matters. Which Earthly Anger (whereof we treat) may also be Hellish, if for no cause, no great cause, too hot, or too long.

Be not angry with any without a cause. Maxime 1. If thou beest, thou must not onely, as the Proverb saith, be appeas'd with­out amends (having neither cost nor damage given thee) but, as our Saviour Matth 5.22. saith, be in danger of the judgement.

Be not mortally angry with any for a veniall fault. 2 He will make a strange combustion in the state of his soul, who at the landing of every cockboat sets the beacons on fire. To be angry for every toy debases the worth of thy anger; for he who will be angry for any thing, will be angry for nothing.

Let not thy anger be so hot, 3 but that the most torrid zone thereof may be habitable. Fright not people from thy pre­sence with the terrour of thy intolerable impatience. Some men like a tiled house are long before they take fire, but once on flame there is no coming near to quench them.

Take heed of doing irrevocable acts in thy passion. 4 As the revealing of secrets, which makes thee a bankrupt for society ever after: neither do such things which done once are done for ever, so that no bemoaning can [Page 170] amend them. Sampsons hair grew again, but not his eyes: Time may restore some losses, others are never to be repaird. Wherefore in thy rage make no Persian de­cree which cannot be revers'd or repeald; but rather Polonian laws which (they say) last but three dayes: Do not in an instant what an age cannot recompence.

5 Anger kept till the next morning, with Exod. 16.24. Manna, doth putrifie and corrupt. Save that Manna corrupted not at all, and anger most of all, kept the next Sabbath. S. Paul Ephes. 4.26. saith, Let not the Sunne go down on your wrath; to carry news to the Antipodes in another world of thy revengefull na­ture. Yet let us take the Apostles meaning, rather then his words, with all possible speed to depose our passi­on, not understanding him so literally that we may take leave to be angry till Sunset: then might our wrath lengthen with the dayes; and men in Greenland, where day lasts above a quarter of a yeare, have plenti­full scope of revenge. And as the English (by com­mand from William the Conquerer) alwayes raked up their fire, and put out their candles, when the Cowels In­terpreter out of Stows Annals. Cur­few-bell was rung; let us then also quench all sparks of anger and heat of passion.

6 He that keeps anger long in his bosome giveth place to the Ephes. 4.27. de­vil. And why should we make room for him, who will crowd in too fast of himself? Heat of passion makes our souls to chappe, and the devil creeps in at the cranies; yea a furious man in his fits may seem pos­sess'd with a devil, fomes, fumes, tears himself, is deaf, and dumbe in effect, to heare or speak reason: some­times wallows, stares, stamps, with fiery eyes and fla­ming cheeks. Had Narcissus himself seen his own face when he had been angry, he could never have fallen in love with himself.

CHAP. 9. Of Expecting Preferment.

THere are as many severall tenures of Expectation as of Possession, some nearer, some more remote, some grounded on strong, others on weaker reasons. (As for a groundlesse Expectation, it is a wilfull self-de­lusion. (We come to instructions how men should manage their hopes herein.

Hope not for impossibilities. Maxime 1. For though the object of hope be Futurum possibile, yet some are so mad as to feed their Expectation on things, though not in themselves, yet to them impossible, if we consider the weaknesse of the means whereby they seek to attain them. He needs to stand on tiptoes that hopes to touch the moon; and those who expect what in reason they cannot ex­pect, may expect.

Carefully survey what proportion the means thou hast bear to the end thou expectest. 2 Count not a Courtiers promise of course a specialty that he is bound to preferre thee: Seeing Complements oftentimes die in the speaking, why should thy hopes (grounded on them) live long­er then the hearing? perchance the text of his promise intended but common courtesies, which thy appre­hension expounds speedy and speciall favours. Others make up the weaknesse of their means with conceit of the strength of their deserts, foolishly thinking that their own merits will be the undoubted Patrons to present them to all void Benefices.

The heir apparent to the next preferment may be disinherited by an unexpected accident. 3 A Gentleman, servant to the Lord Admirall Howard, was suiter to a Lady above his deserts, grounding the confidence of his successe on his relation to so honourable a Lord; which Lord gave the Anchor as badge of his office, and therefore this suiter wrote in a window,

But his corrivall to the same Mistris coming into the same room wrote under,

Thus uselesse is the Anchor of hope (good for no­thing but to deceive those that relie on it) if the cable or small cords of means and causes whereon it de­pends fail and miscarry. Daily experience tenders too many examples. A Gentleman who gave a Basilisk for his Arms or Crest promised to make a young kinsman of his his heir, which kinsman to ingratiate him­self painted a Basilisk in his study, and beneath it these verses,

But this rich Gentleman dying frustrated his expecta­tion, and bequeathed all his estate to another, whereup­on the Epigram was thus altered,

4 Proportion thy expences to what thou hast in possession, not to thy expectancies. Otherwise he that feeds on wind must needs be griped with the Collick at last. And if the Ceremoniall law forbad the Jews to seeth a kid in the mothers milk, the law of good husbandry forbids us to eat a kid in the mothers belly, spending our preg­nant hopes before they be delivered.

[Page 173] Imbrue not thy soul in bloudy wishes of his death who parts thee and thy preferment. 5 A murther the more common, because one cannot be arraigned for it on earth. But those are charitable murtherers which wish them in heaven, not so much that they may have ease a [...] their journeys end, but because they must needs take death in the way.

In earthly matters expectation takes up more joy on trust, 6 then the fruition of the thing is able to discharge. The Lion is not so fierce as painted; nor are matters so fair as the pencill of the expectant limmes them out in his hopes. They forecount their wives fair, fruitfull, and rich, without any fault; their children witty, beautifull, and dutifull, without any frowardnesse: and as S. Basil held that roses in paradise before mans fall grew without pric­kles, they abstract the pleasures of things from the trou­bles annexed to them, which when they come to en­joy, they must take both together. Surely a good un­look'd for is a virgin happinesse; whereas tho [...]e who obtain what long they have gazed on in expectation, onely marry what themselves have defloured be­fore.

When our hopes break let our patience hold:7 relying on Gods providence without murmuring, who often pro­vides for men above what we can think or desire. When Robert Godwin in his Catal. of Archbishops of York. Holgate could not peaceably enjoy his small living in Lincolneshire, because of the litigious­nesse of a neighbouring Knight, coming to London to right himself he came into the favour of King Henrie the eighth, and got by degrees the Archbishoprick of York. Thus God sometimes defeats our hopes, or disturbs our possession of lesser favours, thereby to be­stow on his servants better blessings, if not here, here­after.

CHAP. 10. Of Memory.

IT is the treasure-house of the mind, wherein the monuments thereof are kept and preserved. Plato makes it the mother of the Muses. Metaphys. lib. 1 cap. 1. Aristotle sets it one degree further, making Experience the mother of Arts, Memory the parent of Experience. Philosophers place it in the rere of the head; and it seems the mine of Me­mory lies there, because there naturally men dig for it, scratching it when they are at a losse. This again is twofold: one, the simple retention of things; the other, a regaining them when forgotten.

Maxime 1 Brute creatures equall, if not exceed, men in a bare retentive Memory. Through how many labyrinths of woods, without other clue of threed then naturall instinct, doth the hunted hare return to her muce? How doth the little bee, flying into severall meadows and gardens, sipping of many cups, yet never intoxicated, through an ocean (as I may say) of air, steddily steer her self home, without help of card or compasse. But these cannot play an aftergame, and recover what they have forgotten, which is done by the mediation of dis­course.

2 Artificiall memory is rather a trick then an art, and more for the gain of the teacher then profit of the learners. Like the tossing of a pike, which is no part of the postures and motions thereof, and is rather for ostentation then use, to shew the strength and nimblenesse of the arm, and is often used by wandring Souldiers as an introducti­on to beg. Understand it of the artificiall rules which at this day are delivered by Memory-mountebanks; for sure an art thereof may be made (wherein as yet the world is defective) and that no more destructive to naturall Memory then spectacles are to eyes, which girls in Holland wear from 12 years of age. But till [Page 175] this be found out, let us observe these plain rules.

First soundly infix in thy mind what thou desirest to remem­ber. 3 What wonder is it if agitation of businesse jog that out of thy head, which was there rather tack'd then fastned? whereas those notions which get in by violenta possessio will abide there till ejectio firma, sick­nesse or extreme age, dispossesse them. It is best knocking in the nail overnight, and clinching it the next morning.

Overburthen not thy Memory to make so faithfull a servant a slave. 4 Remember Atlas was weary. Have as much rea­son as a Camell, to rise when thou hast thy full load. Memory, like a purse, if it be over full that it cannot shut, all will drop out of it: Take heed of a glutton­ous curiositie to feed on many things, lest the greedi­nesse of the appetite of thy Memory spoyl the dige­stion thereof. Beza's case was peculiar and memorable; being above fourescore years of age he perfectly could say by heart any Greek Chapter in Thuan. obit. doct. virorum. pag. 384. S. Pauls Epistles, or any thing else which he had learnt long before, but forgot whatsoever was newly told him; his Me­mory like an inne retaining old guests, but having no room to entertain new.

Spoyl not thy Memory with thine own jealousie, 5 nor make it bad by suspecting it. How canst thou find that true which thou wilt not trust? S. Augustine tells us of his friend Sim­plicius, who being ask'd, could tell all Virgills verses backward and forward, and yet the same party, Testatus est Deum, nescis­se se hoc; esse ante illud expe­rimentum, Au­gust. Tom. 7. lib. de anima & ejus orig. cap. 7. vowed to God, that he knew not that he could do it till they did try him. Sure there is conceal'd strength in mens Memories, which they take no notice of.

Marshall thy notions into a handsome method. 6 One will car­rie twice more weight trust and pack'd up in bundles, then when it lies untowardly flapping and hanging about his shoulders. Things orderly fardled up under heads are most portable.

Adventure not all thy learning in one bottom, 7 but divide it [Page 176] betwixt thy Memory and thy Note-books. He that with Bias carries all his learning about him in his head will ut­terly be beggerd and bankrupt, if a violent disease, a mercilesse thief, should rob and strip him. I know some have a Common-place against Common-place-books, and yet perchance will privately make use of what publickly they declaim against. A Common-place-book contains many Notions in garison, whence the owner may draw out an army into the field on competent warning.

8 Moderate diet and good aire preserve Memory; but what aire is best I dare not define, when such great ones differ. Plato, Aristotle, Tully. Some say a pure and subtle aire is best, ano­ther commends a thick and foggy aire. For the Singulari valent memo­riâ quo urbs crassiore frua­tur acre, Mer­cat. Atlas in Tussia. Pi­sans sited in the fennes and marish of Arnus have ex­cellent memories, as if the foggy aire were a cap for their heads.

9 Thankfulnesse to God for it continues the Memory: where­as some proud people have been visited with such oblivion, that they have forgotten their own names. Staupitius Tutour to Luther, and a godly man, in a vain ostentation of his memory repeated Christs Ge­nealogie (Matth. 1.) by heart in his Sermon, but be­ing out about the Captivity of Babylon, I see (saith Melchior Adamus in vi­ta Staupitii, pag. 20. he) God resisteth the proud, and so betook himself to his book. Abuse not thy Memory to be Sinnes Register, nor make advantage thereof for wickednesse. Excel­lently De civ. Dei lib. 7. cap. 3. Augustine, Quidam vero pessimi memoria sunt mi­rabili, qui tanto pejores sunt, quanto minus possunt, quae male cogitant, oblivisci.

CHAP. 11. Of Phancie.

IT is an inward Sense of the soul, for a while retain­ing and examining things brought in thither by the Common sense. It is the most boundles and restlesse faculty of the soul: for whilest the Understanding and the Will are kept as it were in Libera Custodia to their objects of Verum & Bonum, the Phancie is free from all engagements: it digs without spade, sails without ship, flies without wings, builds without charges, fights without bloudshed, in a moment striding from the centre to the circumference of the world, by a kind of omnipotencie creating and annihilating things in an instant; and things divorced in Nature are married in Phancie as in a lawlesse place. It is also most restlesse: whilest the Senses are bound, and Reason in a manner asleep, Phancie like a sentinell walks the round, ever working, never wearied. The chief diseases of the Phancie are, either that they are too wild and high-soaring, or else too low and groveling, or else too de­sultory and overvoluble. Of the first.

If thy Phancie be but a little too rank, Maxime 1 age it self will correct it. To lift too high is no fault in a young horse, be­cause with travelling he will mend it for his own ease. Thus lofty Phancies in young men will come down of themselves, and in processe of time the overplus will shrink to be but even measure. But if this will not do it, then observe these rules.

Take part alwayes with thy Iudgement against thy Phancie in any thing wherein they shall dissent. 2 If thou suspectest thy conceits too luxuriant, herein account thy suspicion a legall conviction, and damne whatsoever thou doubt­est of. Warily Tullie, Bene monent, qui vetant quicquam fa­cere, de quo dubitas, aequum sit an iniquum.

Take the advise of a faithfull friend, 3 and submit thy inventions [Page 178] to his censure. When thou pennest an oration, let him have the power of Index expurgatorius, to expunge what he pleaseth; and do not thou like a fond mother crie if the child of thy brain be corrected for playing the wanton. Mark the arguments and reasons of his alterations, why that phrase least proper, this passage more cautious and advised, and after a while thou shalt perform the place in thine own person, and not go out of thy self for a censurer. If thy Phancie be too low and humble,

4 Let thy judgement be King but not Tyrant over it, to con­demne harmlesse yea commendable conceits. Some for fear their orations should giggle will not let them smile. Give it also liberty to rove, for it will not be extrava­gant. There is no danger that weak folks if they walk abroad will straggle farre, as wanting strength.

5 Acquaint thy self with reading Poets, for there Phancie is in her throne; and in time the sparks of the Authours wit will catch hold on the Reader, and inflame him with love, liking, and desire of imitation. I confesse there is more required to teach one to write then to see a coppy: however there is a secret force of fascination in reading Poems to raise and provoke Phancie. If thy Phancie be over voluble, then

6 Whip this vagrant home to the first object whereon it should be settled. Indeed nimblenesse is the perfection of this faculty, but levity the bane of it. Great is the difference betwixt a swift horse, and a skittish, that will stand on no ground. Such is the ubiquitary Phancie, which will keep long residence on no one subject, but is so courteous to strangers that it ever welcomes that con­ceit most which comes last; and new species supplant the old ones, before seriously considered. If this be the fault of thy Phancie, I say whip it home to the first object, whereon it should be settled. This do as often as occasion requires, and by degrees the fugitive servant will learn to abide by his work without running a­way.

[Page 179] Acquaint thy self by degrees with hard and knotty studies, 7 as School-divinity, which will clog thy overnimble Phancie. True, at the first it will be as welcome to thee as a prison, and their very solutions will seem knots unto thee. But take not too much at once, lest thy brain turn edge. Taste it first as a potion for Phy­sick, and by degrees thou shalt drink it as beer for thirst: Practice will make it pleasant. Mathematicks are also good for this purpose: If beginning to try a Conclusion, thou must make an end, lest thou losest thy pains that are past, and must proceed seriously and exactly. I meddle not with those Bedlam-phancies, all whose conceits are antiques, but leave them for the Physician to purge with hellebore.

To clothe low-creeping matter with high-flown language is not fine Phancie, 8 but flat foolerie. It rather loads then raises a Wren, to fasten the feathers of an Estridge to her wings. Some mens speeches are like the high mountains in Ireland, having a durty bog in the top of them; the very ridge of them in high words having nothing of worth, but what rather stalls then delights the Audi­tour.

Fine Phancies in manufactures invent engines rather pret­ty then usefull; 9 and commonly one trade is too narrow for them. They are better to project new wayes then to prosecute old, and are rather skilfull in many myste­ries then thriving in one. They affect not voluminous inventions, wherein many years must constantly be spent to perfect them, except there be in them variety of pleasant employment.

Imagination (the work of the Phancie) hath produc'd reall effects. 10 Many serious and sad examples hereof may be produced: I will onely insist on a merry one. A Gen­tleman having led a company of children beyond their usuall journey, they began to be weary, and joynt­ly cried to him to carry them; which because of their multitude he could not do, but told them he would [Page 180] provide them horses to ride on. Then cutting little wands out of the hedge as nagges for them, and a great stake as a gelding for himself, thus mounted Phancie put mettall into their legs, and they came cheerfully home.

11 Phancie runs most furiously when a guilty Conscience drives it. One that owed much money, and had many Credi­tours, as he walked London-streets in the evening, a tenterhook catch'd his cloak. At whose suit? said he, conceiving some Bailiff had arrested him. Thus guilty Consciences are afraid where no fear is, and count eve­ry creature they meet a Serjeant sent from God to pu­nish them.

CHAP. 12. Of Naturall Fools.

THey have the cases of men, and little else of them besides speech and laughter. And indeed it may seem strange that Risibile being the propertie of man a­lone, they who have least of man should have most thereof, laughing without cause or measure.

Maxime 1 Generally Nature hangs out a signe of simplicity in the face of a Fool; and there is enough in his countenance for an Hue and Crie to take him on suspicion: or else it is stamped on the figure of his body; their heads sometimes so little, that there is no room for wit; sometimes so long, that there is no wit for so much room.

2 Yet some by their faces may passe currant enough till they cry themselves down by their speaking. Thus men know the bell is crackt, when they heare it toll'd; yet some that have stood out the assault of two or three questions, and have answered pretty rationally, have afterwards of their own accord betrayed and yielded themselves to be fools.

3 The oathes and railing of Fools is oftentimes no fault of theirs but their teachers. The Hebrew word Barac signifies to [Page 181] blesse, and to curse; and 'tis the speakers pleasure if he use it in the worst acception. Fools of themselves are equally capable to pray and to swear; they there­fore have the greatest sinne who by their example or otherwise teach them so to do.

One may get wisdome by looking on a Fool. 4 In beholding him, think how much thou art beholden to him that suffered thee not to be like him: Onely Gods pleasure put a difference betwixt you. And consider that a Fool and a Wiseman are alike both in the starting-place, their birth, and at the post, their death; onely they differ in the race of their lives.

It is unnaturall to laugh at a Naturall. 5 How can the ob­ject of thy pity be the subject of thy pastime? I con­fesse sometimes the strangenesse, and, as I may say, witty simplicity of their actions may extort a smile from a serious man, who at the same time may smile at them and sorrow for them. But it is one thing to laugh at them in transitu, a snap and away, and an­other to make a set meal in jeering them, and as the Philistines to send for Sampson to make them sport.

To make a trade of laughing at a Fool is the highway to be­come one. 6 Tullie confesseth that whilest he laughed at one Epist. lib. 2. Epist. 9. Hircus a very ridiculous man, dum illum rideo pene factus sum ille: And one telleth us of Gallus Vibius, a man first of great eloquence, and afterwards of great madnesse, which seized not on him so much by ac­cident as his own affectation, so long Dum insa­nos imitatur, quod assimu­labat ad vivum redegit, Rho­diginus Antiq. lib. 11. c. 13. mimically imitating mad men that he became one.

Many have been the wise speeches of fools, 7 though not so many as the foolish speeches of wise men. Now the wise speeches of these silly souls proceed from one of these reasons: Either because talking much, and shooting often, they must needs hit the mark sometimes, though not by aim, by hap: Or else because a Fools mediocriter is op­time; Sense from his mouth, a Sentence; and a tole­rable [Page 182] speech cri'd up for an Apothegme: Or lastly, because God may sometimes illuminate them, and (especially towards their death) admit them to the possession of some part of reason. A poore begger in Paris being very hungry stayed so long in a Cooks shop, who was dishing up of meat, till his stomach was satisfied with the onely smell thereof. The cho­lerick covetous Cook demanded of him to pay for his breakfast. The pooreman denyed it, and the con­troversie was referr'd to the deciding of the next man that should passe by, which chanced to be the most no­torious Idiot in the whole City. He on the relation of the matter determined that the poore mans money should be put betwixt two empty dishes, and the Cook should be recompenced with the gingling of the poore mans money, as he was satisfied with the onely smell of the Cooks meat. And this is affirmed by Io. And. Pa­nor. Barba. & alii indè ad no­stram. Hiero. Franc. in lib. furios. de reg. juris ff. Boer. decis. 23 n 58. Mantic. de conject. ult. v. lib. 2. Tit. 5. n. 8. Corset. sing. verbi Te­stamentum. credible Writers, as no fable but an undoubted fact. More waggish was that of a rich landed Fool, whom a Courtier had begg'd, and carried about to wait on him. He coming with his master to a Gentlemans house where the picture of a Fool was wrought in a fair suit of arras, cut the picture out with a penknife. And being chidden for so doing, You have more cause (said he) to thank me, for if my master had seen the picture of the Fool, he would have begg'd the hangings of the King as he did my lands. When the standers by com­forted a Naturall which lay on his death-bed, and told him that foure proper fellows should carry his body to the Church: Yea (quoth he) but I had rather by half go thither my self; and then prayed to God at his last gasp not to require more of him then he gave him.

As for a Changeling, which is not one child changed for another, but one child on a sudden much changed from it self; and for a Jester, which some count a necessary evil in a Court (an office which none but he that hath wit can perform, and [Page 183] and none but he that wants wit will perform) I con­ceive them not to belong to the present subject.

CHAP. 13. Of Recreations.

REcreation is a second Creation, when wearinesse hath almost annihilated ones spirits. It is the breathing of the soul, which otherwise would be sti­fled with continuall businesse. We may trespasse in them, if using such as are forbidden by the Lawyer, as against the statutes; Physician, as against health; Divine, as against conscience.

Be well satisfied in thy Conscience of the lawfulnesse of the recreation thou usest. Maxime 1 Some fight against Cockfighting, and bait Bull and Bearbaiting, because man is not to be a common Barretour to set the creatures at discord; and seeing Antipathy betwixt creatures was kindled by mans sinne, what pleasure can he take to see it burn? Others are of the contrary opinion, and that Christiani­ty gives us a placard to use these sports; and that mans Charter of dominion over the creatures enables him to employ them as well for pleasure as necessity. In these, as in all other doubtfull recreations, be well assu­red first of the legality of them. He that sinnes against his Conscience sinnes with a witnesse.

Spill not the morning (the quintessence of the day) in recrea­tions. 2 For sleep it self is a recreation; adde not therefore sauce to sauce; and he cannot properly have any title to be refresh'd, who was not first faint. Pastime, like wine, is poyson in the morning. It is then good hus­bandry to sow the head, which hath lain fallow all night, with some serious work. Chiefly intrench not on the Lords day to use unlawfull sports; this were to spare thine own flock, and to sheere Gods lambe.

Let thy recreations be ingenious, 3 and bear proportion with thine age. If thou saist with Paul, When I was a child I did [Page 184] as a child, say also with him, But when I was a man I put a­way childish things. Wear also the childs coat, if thou usest his sports.

4 Take heed of boisterous and overviolent exercises. Ringing oftentimes hath made good musick on the bells, and put mens bodies out of tune, so that by overheating themselves they have rung their own passing-bell.

5 Yet the ruder sort of people scarce count any thing a sport which is not loud and violent. The Muscovite women esteem none loving husbands except they beat their wives. 'Tis no pastime with country Clowns that cracks not pates, breaks not shins, bruises not limbes, tumbles and tosses not all the body. They think themselves not warm in their geeres, till they are all on fire; and count it but dry sport, till they swim in their own sweat. Yet I conceive the Physicians rule in exercises, Ad ruborem but non ad sudorem, is too scant measure.

6 Refresh that part of thy self which is most wearied. If thy life be sedentary, exercise thy body; if stirring and active, recreate thy mind. But take heed of cousening thy mind, in setting it to do a double task under pretence of giving it a play-day, as in the labyrinth of Chesse, and other tedious and studious Games.

7 Yet recreations distastfull to some dispositions rellish best to others. Fishing with an angle is to some rather a tor­ture then a pleasure, to stand an houre as mute as the fish they mean to take: yet herewithall In his life writ by Mr. Ashton. Doctour Whitaker was much delighted. When some Noble­men had gotten William Cecill Lord Burleigh and Treasurer of England to ride with them a hunting, & the sport began to be cold; What call you this, said the Treasurer? Oh now said they the dogs are at a fault. Yea quoth the Treasurer, take me again in such a fault, and Ile give you leave to punish me. Thus as soon may the same meat please all palats, as the same sport suit with all dispositions.

8 Running, Leaping, and Dancing, the descants on the plain [Page 185] song of walking, are all excellent exercises. And yet those are the best recreations which besides refreshing enable, at least dispose, men to some other good ends. Bowling teaches mens hands and eyes Mathematicks, and the rules of Proportion: Swimming hath sav'd many a mans life, when himself hath been both the wares, and the ship: Tilting and Fencing is warre without anger; and manly sports are the Grammer of Military performance.

But above all Shooting is a noble recreation, 9 and an half Li­berall art. A rich man told a poore man that he walked to get a stomach for his meat: And I, said the poore man, walk to get meat for my stomach. Now Shooting would have fitted both their turns; it provides food when men are hungry, and helps digestion when they are full. King Edward the sixth (though he drew no strong bow) shot very well, and when once John Dudley Duke of Northumberland commended him for hitting the mark; You shot better (quoth the King) when you shot off my good uncle Protectours head. But our age sees his Successour exceeding him in that art, whose eye like his judgement is clear and quick to discover the mark, and his hands as just in Shooting as in dealing aright.

Some sports being granted to be lawfull, 10 more propend to be ill then well used. Such I count Stage-playes, when made alwayes the Actours work, and often the Spectatours recreation. Plin. nat. Hist. lib. 35. cap. 10. Zeuxis the curious picturer painted a boy holding a dish full of grapes in his hand, done so live­ly that the birds being deceived flew to peck the grapes. But Zeuxis in an ingenious choller was angry with his own workmanship. Had I (said he) made the boy as lively as the grapes the birds would have been afraid to touch them. Thus two things are set forth to us in Stage-playes: some grave sentences, prudent counsells, and punishment of vitious examples; and with these de­sperate oathes, lustfull talk, and riotous acts are so per­sonated [Page 186] to the life, that wantons are tickled with de­light, and feed their palats upon them. It seems the goodnesse is not portrayed out with equall accents of livelinesse as the wicked things are: otherwise men would be deterr'd from vitious courses, with seeing the wofull successe which follows them. But the main is, wanton speeches on stages are the devils ordinance to beget badnesse; but I question whether the pious speeches spoken there be Gods ordinance to increase goodnesse, as wanting both his institution and bene­diction.

11 Choak not thy soul with immoderate pouring in the cordiall of pleasures. The Creation lasted but six dayes of the first week: Prophane they whose Recreation lasts seven dayes every week. Rather abbridge thy self of thy law­full liberty herein; it being a wary rule which S. Lib. 5. moral. & Homil. 35. supra Evang. Gregory gives us, Solus in illicitis non cadit, qui se ali­quando & à licitis caute restringit. And then Recreati­ons shall both strengthen labour, and sweeten rest, and we may expect Gods blessing and protecti­on on us in following them, as well as in doing our work: For he that faith grace for his meat, in it prayes also to God to blesse his sauce unto him. As for those that will not take lawfull plea­sure, I am afraid they will take unlawfull pleasure, and by lacing themselves too hard grow awry on one side.

CHAP. 14. Of Tombes.

TOmbes are the clothes of the dead: a Grave is but a plain suit, and a rich Monument is one embroy­der'd. Most moderate men have been carefull for the decent interment of their corps. Few of the fond mind of Arbogastus an Irish Saint, and Bishop of Spires in Germany, who would be buried near the Warraeus de Scriptor. Hiber. pag. 26. Gallows in imitation of our Saviour, whose grave was in mount Calvary near the place of execution.

'Tis a provident way to make ones Tombe in ones life-time;Maxime 1 both hereby to prevent the negligence of heirs, and to mind him of his mortality. Georgi [...]. lib. 4. Virgil tells us that when bees swarm in the aire, and two armies meeting toge­ther fight as it were a set battel with great violence, cast but a little dust upon them and they will be quiet,

Thus the most ambitious motions and thoughts of mans mind are quickly quell'd when dust is thrown on him, whereof his fore-prepared Sepulchre is an ex­cellent remembrancer.

Yet some seem to have built their Tombes, 2 therein to bury their thoughts of dying, never thinking thereof, but embracing the world with greater greedinesse. A Gentleman made choice of a fair stone, and intending the same for his Grave-stone, caused it to be pitched up in a field a pretty distance from his house, and used often to shoot at it for his exercise. Yea but (said a wag that stood by) you would be loath Sir to hit the mark: And so are many unwilling to die who notwithstanding have e­rected their Monuments.

[Page 188] 3 Tombes ought in some sort to be proportioned not to the wealth but deserts of the party interred. Yet may we see some rich man of mean worth loaden under a tombe big enough for a Prince to bear. There were Officers appointed in the Lucian. [...]. Grecian Games, who alwayes by publick autho­rity did pluck down the Statues erected to the Victours, if they exceeded the true symmetrie and proportion of their bodies. We need such nowadayes to order Mo­numents to mens merits, chiefly to reform such depo­pulating Tombes as have no good fellowship with them, but engrosse all the room, leaving neither seats for the living, nor graves for the dead. It was a wise and thrifty law which Hector Boeth in the life of King Reutha. Reutha King of Scotland made, That Noblemen should have so many pillars, or long pointed stones set on their sepulchres, as they had slain enemies in the warres. If this order were also enlarged to those who in peace had excellently deser­ved of the Church or Commonwealth, it might well be revived.

4 Overcostly Tombes are onely baits for Sacriledge. Thus Sa­criledge hath beheaded that peerelesse Prince King Henrie the fift, the body of whose Statue on his Tombe in Westminster was covered over with silver plate guilded, and his head ofI. Speed in the end of Henry the 5. massy silver; both which now are stollen away: Yea hungry palats will feed on courser meat. I had rather In the de­script▪ of Lon­don, Broad­street-ward, pag. 184. M^r Stow then I should tell you of a Nobleman who sold the monu­ments of Noblemen, in S. Augustines Church in Broadstreet, for an hundred pound, which cost many thousands, and in the place thereof made fair stabling for horses; as if Christ who was born in a stable should be brought into it the second time. It was not without cause in the Civill Law that a wife might be divorc'd, from her husband, if she could prove him to be one that had Si nimirum sepulchrorum dissolutorem esse probave­rit, Kirkman. de suner. Ro­man. lib. 3. c. 26. ex cod. de repudiis. broken the Sepulchres of the dead: For it was presum'd he must needs be a tyrannicall husband to his wife, who had not so much mercy as to spare the ashes of the departed.

[Page 189] The shortest, 5 plainest, & truest Epitaphs are best. I say, the Shortest; for when a Passenger sees a Chronicle writ­ten on a Tombe, he takes it on trust, some Great man lies there buried, without taking pains to examine who he is. M^r Cambden in his Remains presents us with examples of Great men that had little as, Fui Caius. Scaligeri quod r [...]liquum est. Depositum Cardinalis Poli, &c. Epi­taphs. And when once I ask'd a witty Gentleman, an honoured friend of mine, what Epitaph was fittest to be written on M^r Cambdens Tombe. Let it be, said he,

I say also the Plainest; for except the sense lie above ground, few will trouble themselves to dig for't. Last­ly, it must be True: Not as as in some Monuments, where the red veins in the marble may seem to blush at the falshoods written on it. He was a witty man that first taught a stone to speak, but he was a wicked man that taught it first to lie.

To want a Grave is the cruelty of the living, 6 not the misery of the dead. An English Gentleman not long since did lie on his death-bed in Spain, and the Jesuites did flock about him to pervert him to their Religion. All was in vain. Their last argument was, If you will not turn Romane Catholick, then your body shall be unburi­ed. Then (answered he) I'le stink, and so turned his head and dyed. Thus love, if not to the dead, to the living will make him, if not a grave, a hole: and it was the Beggers Epitaph,

A good Memory is the best Monument. 7 Others are subject to Casualty and Time, and we know that the Py­ramids themselves doting with age have forgotten the names of their Founders. To conclude, Let us be carefull to provide rest for our souls, and our bodies will provide rest for themselves. And let us not be herein like unto Gentlewomen, which care not to [Page 190] keep the inside of the orenge, but candy and preserve onely the outside thereof.

CHAP. 15. Of Deformitie.

DEformitie is either Naturall, Voluntary, or Ad­ventitious, being either caused by Gods unseen Providence (by men nicknamed, Chance) or by mans Cruelty. We will take them in order.

Maxime 1 If thou beest not so handsome as thou wouldest have been thank God thou art no more unhandsome then thou art. 'Tis his mercie thou art not the mark for passengers fingers to point at, an Heteroclite in Nature, with some member defective or redundant. Be glad that thy clay-cot­tage hath all the necessary rooms thereto belonging, though the outside be not so fairly playstered as some others.

2 Yet is it lawfull and commendable by Art to correct the defects and deformities of Nature. Ericthonius being a goodly man from the girdle upwards, but, as the Poets feigne, having downwards the body of a Servius in illud Virgilii lib. 3. Georg Primus Eric­thonius, &c. Ser­pent (moralize him to have had some defect in his feet) first invented charets, wherein he so sate that the upper parts of him might be seen, and the rest of his body concealed. Little heed is to be given to his Sanders de schism. Anglic. lib. 1. pag. 17. lying pen, who maketh Anna Bollen, Mother to Queen Elizabeth, the first finder out and wearer of Ruffes, to cover a wen she had in her neck. Yet the matter's not much, such an addition of Art being with­out any fraud or deceit.

Mock not at those who are misshapen by Nature. There is the same reason of the poore and of the deformed; he that despiseth them despiseth God that made them. A poore man is a picture of Gods own ma­king, but set in a plain frame, not guilded: a de­formed man is also his workmanship, but not drawn [Page 191] with even lines and lively colours: The former, not for want of wealth, as the latter not for want of skill, but both for the pleasure of the maker. As for [...]. 7. Polit. cap. 16.Aristotle, who would have parents expose their defor­med children to the wide world without caring for them, his opinion herein, not onely deform'd but most monstrous, deserves rather to be exposed to the scorn and contempt of all men.

Some people handsome by Nature have wilfully deformed themselves. 4 Such as wear Bacchus his colours in their faces, arising not from having, but being, bad li­vers. When the woman (the first of Kings, the 3. and 21.) considered the child that was laid by her, Behold, said she, it was not my sonne which I did bear. Should God survey the faces of many men and wo­men, he would not own and acknowledge them for those which he created: many are so altered in colour, and some in sex, women to men, and men to women in their monstrous fashions, so that they who behold them cannot by the evidence of their apparell give up their verdict of what sex they are. It is most safe to call the users of these hermaphro­diticall fashions, Francisses, and Philips, names agree­ing to both sexes.

Confessours which wear the badges of truth are thereby made the more beautifull; 5 though deformed in time of Persecution for Christs sake through mens malice. This made Constantine the Great to Russin. lib. 1. cap. 4. kisse the hole in the face of Paphnutius, out of which the Ty­rant Maximinus had bored his eye for the profession of the faith, the good Emperour making much of the socket even when the candle was put out. Next these, wounds in warre are most honour­able: Halting is the stateliest march of a Souldier; and 'tis a brave sight to see the flesh of an Anci­ent as torn as his Colours. He that mocks at the marks of valour in a Souldiers face, is likely to live [Page 192] to have the brands of justice on his own shoul­ders.

6 Nature oftentimes recompenceth deform'd bodies with excel­lent wits. Witnesse Aesop, then whose Fables children cannot reade an easier, nor men a wiser book; for all latter Morallists do but write comments upon them. Many jeering wits who have thought to have rid at their ease on the bowed backs of some Cripples, have by their unhappy answers been unhors'd and thrown flat on their own backs. A jeering Gentleman com­mended a Begger who was deformed and little better then blind for having an excellent eye, True (said the Begger) for I can discern an honest man from such a knave as you are.

7 Their souls have been the Chappells of sanctity, whose bodies have been the Spitolls of deformity. An Guliel. Malm. lib. 2. cap. 10. Emperour of Ger­many coming by chance on a Sunday into a Church, found there a most misshapen Priest, pene portentum Naturae, insomuch as the Emperour scorn'd and con­temn'd him. But when he heard him reade those words in the Service, For it is he that made us and not we our selves, the Emperour check'd his own proud thoughts, and made inquiry into the quality and condition of the man, and finding him on exami­nation to be most learned and devout, he made him Archbishop of Colen, which place he did excellently discharge.

CHAP. 16. Of Plantations.

PLantations make mankind broader, as Generati­on makes it thicker. To advance an happy Plan­tation the Undertakers, Planters, and Place it self must contribute their endeavours.

Let the prime Vndertakers be men of no shallow heads, Maxime 1 nor nar­row fortunes. Such as have a reall Estate, so that if de­feated in their adventure abroad, they may have a re­treating place at home, and such as will be contented with their present losse to be benefactours to posterity. But if the Prince himself be pleased not onely to wink at them with his permission, but also to smile on them with his encouragement, there is great hope of successe: for then he will grant them some immuni­ties and priviledges. Otherwise (Infants must be swathed not laced) young Plantations will never grow, if straitned with as hard Laws as settled Com­mon-wealths.

Let the Planters be honest, 2 skilfull, and painfull people. For if they be such as leap thither from the gallows, can any hope for cream out of scumme? when men send (as I may say) Christian Savages to Heathen Savages. It was rather bitterly then falsely spoken concerning one of our Western Plantations (consisting most of dissolute people) That it was very like unto England, as being spit out of the very mouth of it. Nor must the Plan­ters be onely honest but industrious also. What hope is there that they who were drones at home will be bees abroad, especially if farre off from any to oversee them.

Let the place be naturally strong, 3 or at leastwise capable of fortification. For though at the first Planters are suffici­ently fenced with their own povertie, and though at the beginning their worst enemies will spare them out [Page 194] of pity to themselves, their spoyl not countervailing the cost of spoyling them; yet when once they have gotten wealth, they must get strength to defend it. Here know Ilands are easily shut, whereas Conti­nents have their doores ever open, not to be bolted without great charges. Besides, unadvised are those Planters, who having choice of ground, have built their Towns in places of a servile nature, as being overawed and constantly commanded by some hills about them.

4 Let it have a Self-sufficiency, or some Staple commoditie to bal­lance traffique with other countreys. As for a Self-sufficien­cie few countreys can stand alone, and such as can for matter of want, will for wantonnesse lean on others. Staple commodities are such as are never out of fashi­on, as belonging to a mans Being, Being with com­fort, Being with delight, the Luxury of our age having made superfluities necessary. And such a place will thrive the better, when men may say with Isaac, Gen. 26.22. Reho­both, Now the Lord hath made room for us, when new Co­lonies come not in with extirpation of the Natives; for this is rather a Supplanting then a Planting.

5 Let the Planters labour to be loved and feard of the Natives. With whom let them use all just bargaining, being as naked in their dealings with them as the other in their going, keeping all covenants, performing all promises with them: Let them embrace all occasions to convert them, knowing that each Convert is a conquest; and it is more honour to overcome Paganisme in one, then to conquer a thousand Pagans. As for the inscription of a Deity in their hearts it need not be new written, but onely new scowred in them. I am confident that America (though the youngest sister of the foure) is now grown marriageable, and daily hopes to get Christ to her husband, by the Preaching of the Gospel. This makes me attentively to listen after some Prote­stant first-fruits, in hope the harvest will ripen after­wards.

CHAP. 17. Of Contentment.

IT is one property which (they say) is required of those who seek for the Philosophers stone, that they must not do it with any covetous desire to be rich; for otherwise they shall never find it. But most true it is that whosoever would have this jewell of Contentment (which turns all into Gold, yea Want into Wealth) must come with minds devested of all ambitious and covetous thoughts, else are they never likely to obtain it. We will describe Contentment first negatively:

It is not a senselesse stupidity what becomes of our outward estates. Maxime 1 God would have us take notice of all accidents which from him happen to us in worldly matters. Had the Martyrs had the dead palsie before they went to the stake to be burnt, their suffrings had not been so glorious.

It is not a word-braving, 2 or scorning of all wealth in discourse. Generally those who boast most of Contentment have least of it. Their very boasting shews that they want something, and basely beg it, namely Commendation. These in their language are like unto kites in their fly­ing, which mount in the aire so scornfully, as if they disdaind to stoop for the whole earth, fetching about many stately circuits: but what is the Spirit these con­jurers with so many circles intend to raise? a poore chicken, or perchance a piece of carrion: And so the height of the others proud boasting will humble it self for a little base gain.

But it is an humble and willing submitting our selves to Gods pleasure in all conditions. 3 One observeth (how truly I di­spute not) that the French naturally have so elegant and gracefull a carriage, that what posture of body so­ever in their salutations, or what fashion of attire soe­ver [Page 196] they are pleased to take on them it doth so beseem them, that one would think nothing can become them better. Thus Contentment makes men carry them­selves gracefully in wealth, want, in health, sicknesse, freedome, fetters, yea what condition soever God al­lots them.

4 It is no breach of Contentment for men to complain that their suffrings are unjust, as offered by men: provided they allow them for just, as proceeding from God, who useth wicked mens injustice to correct his children. But let us take heed that we bite not so high at the handle of the rod, as to fasten on his hand that holds it; our dis­contentments mounting so high as to quarrell with God himself.

5 It is no breach of Contentment for men by lawfull means to seek the removall of their miserie, and bettering of their estate. Thus men ought by industrie to endeavour the getting of more wealth, ever submitting themselves to Gods will. A lazy hand is no argument of a Contented heart. Indeed he that is idle, and followeth after vain persons shall have enough, but how? Prov. 28.19. Shall have poverty enough.

6 Gods Spirit is the best Schoolmaster to teach Contentment: A Schoolmaster who can make good Scholars, and warrant the successe as well as his endeavour. The School of Sanctified afflictions is the best place to learn Contentment in: I say, Sanctified; for naturally, like resty horses, we go the worse for the beating, if God blesse not afflictions unto us.

7 Contentment consisteth not in adding more fuell, but in taking away some fire: not in multiplying of wealth, but in sub­stracting mens desires. Worldly riches, like nuts, teare many clothes in getting them, spoil many teeth in cracking them, but fill no belly with eating them, ob­structing onely the stomach with toughnes, and filling the guts with windinesse: Yea our souls may sooner surfet then be satisfied with earthly things. He that at [Page 197] first thought ten thousand pound too much for any one man, will afterwards think ten millions too little for himself.

Men create more discontents to themselves, 8 then ever happened to them from others. We reade of our Saviour that at the buriall of Lazarus, John 11.33. [...], He troubled himself, by his spirit raising his own passions, though without any ataxie or sinfull disturbance. What was an act of power in him, is an act of weaknesse in other men: Man disquieteth himself in vain, with many cause­lesse and needlesse afflictions.

Pious meditations much advantage Contentment in adversitie. 9 Such as these are, to consider first, that more are be­neath us then above us; secondly, many of Gods dear Saints have been in the same condition; thirdly, we want rather superfluities then necessities; fourthly, the more we have the more we must account for; fifthly, earthly blessings through mans corruption are more prone to be abused then well used. In some fenny places in England, where they are much troubled with gnats, they use to hang up dung in the midst of the room for a bait for the gnats to flie to, and so catch them with a net provided for the purpose. Thus the devil ensnareth the souls of many men by allu­ring them with the muck and dung of this world, to undo them eternally; sixthly, we must leave all earthly wealth at our death, and riches avail not in the day of wrath. But as some use to fill up the stamp of light gold with dirt, thereby to make it weigh the heavier; so it seems some men load their souls with thick clay, to make them passe the better in Gods ballance, but all to no purpose; seventhly, the lesse we have, the lesse it will grieve us to leave this world; lastly, it is the will of God, and therefore both for his glory and our good, whereof we ought to be assu­red. I have heard how a Gentleman travelling in a misty morning ask'd of a Shepherd (such men [Page 198] being generally skill'd in the Physiognomie of the Hea­vens) what weather it would be? It will be, said the Shep­herd, what weather shall please me: and being courte­ously requested to expresse his meaning, Sir (saith he) it shall be what weather pleaseth God, and what weather pleaseth God, pleaseth me. Thus Contentment maketh men to have even what they think fitting them­selves, because submitting to Gods will and plea­sure.

To conclude, A man ought to be like unto a cunning Actour, who if he be enjoyned to represent the person of some Prince or Nobleman, does it with a grace and comlinesse; if by and by he be commanded to lay that aside, and play the Begger, he does that as willingly and as well. But as it hap­pened in a Tragedy (to spare naming the Person and Place) that one being to act Theseus, in Her­cules Furens, coming out of Hell, could not for a long time be perswaded to wear old sooty clothes proper to his part, but would needs come out of Hell in a white Satin doublet: so we are generally loath, and it goes against flesh and blood, to live in a low and poore estate, but would fain act in richer and handsomer clothes, till Grace, with much adoe, subdues our rebellious stomachs to Gods will.

CHAP. 18. Of Books.

SOlomon saith truly, Of making many Books there is no end, so insatiable is the thirst of men therein: as also endles is the desire of many in buying and reading them. But we come to our Rules.

It is a vanity to perswade the world one hath much learning by getting a great library. Maxime 1 As soon shall I believe every one is valiant that hath a well furnish'd armoury. I guesse good housekeeping by the smoking, not the number of the tunnels, as knowing that many of them (built merely for uniformity) are without chimnies, and more without fires. Once a dunce, void of learning but full of Books, flouted a library-lesse Scholar with these words, Salve Doctor sine libris: But the next day the Scholar coming into this jeerers study crowded with Books, Salvete libri (saith he) sine Doctore.

Few Books well selected are best. 2 Yet as a certain Fool bought all the pictures that came out, because he might have his choice; such is the vain humour of many men in gathering of Books: yet when they have done all, they misse their end, it being in the Editions of Authours as in the fashions of clothes, when a man thinks he hath gotten the latest and newest, presently another newer comes out.

Some Books are onely cursorily to be tasted of. 3 Namely first Voluminous Books, the task of a mans life to reade them over; secondly, Auxiliary Books, onely to be re­pair'd to on occasions; thirdly, such as are mere pieces of Formality, so that if you look on them you look thorow them; and he that peeps thorow the casement of the Index sees as much as if he were in the house. But the lazinesse of those cannot be excused who per­functorily passe over Authours of consequence, and onely trade in their Fables and Contents. These like [Page 200] City-Cheaters having gotten the names of all countrey Gentlemen, make silly people believe they have long lived in those places where they never were, and flou­rish with skill in those Authours they never seriously studied.

4 The Genius of the Authour is commonly discovered in the De­dicatory epistle. Many place the purest grain in the mouth of the sack for chapmen to handle or buy: And from the dedication one may probably guesse at the Work, saving some rare and peculiar exceptions. Thus when once a Gentleman admired how so pithy, learned, and witty a dedication was match'd to a flat, dull, foolish book; In truth, said another, they may be well match'd together, for I professe they are nothing a kinne.

5 Proportion an houres meditation to an houres reading of a sta­ple Authour. This makes a man master of his learning, and dispirits the book into the Scholar. The King of Sweden never Wards Ani­madver. of warre sect. 17. lib. 2. cap. 5. filed his men above six deep in one company, because he would not have them lie in use­less clusters in his Army, but so that every particular Souldier might be drawn out into service. Books that stand thinne on the shelves, yet so as the owner of them can bring forth every one of them into use, are better then farre greater libraries.

6 Learning hath gained most by those books by which the Prin­ters have lost. Arius Montanus in printing the Hebrew Bible (commonly called the Bible of the King of Spain) much wasted himself, and was accused in the Court of Rome for his good deed, and being cited thi­ther, Thuanus obit. vir. Doct. Anno 1598. Pro tantorum laborum praemio vix veniam impetravit. Likewise Christopher Plantin by printing of his curi­ous interlineary Bible in Anwerp, through the unsea­sonable Idem in eo­dem oper. Anno 1589. exactions of the Kings Officers, sunk and al­most ruin'd his estate. And our worthy English Knight, who set forth the golden-mouth'd Father in a silver print, was a looser by it.

7 Whereas foolish Pamphlets prove most beneificall to the Prin­ters. [Page 201] When a French Printer complain'd that he was utterly undone by Printing a solid serious book of Ra­blais concerning Physick, Rablais to make him re­compence made that his jesting scurrilous Work which repair'd the Printers losse with advantage. Such books the world swarms too much with. When one had set out a witlesse Pamphlet, writing Finis at the end thereof, another wittily wrote beneath it,

And surely such scurrilous scandalous papers do more then conceivable mischief. First their lusciousnesse puts many palats out of taste, that they can never after rellish any solid and wholsome Writers: secondly, they cast dirt on the faces of many innocent persons, which dryed on by continuance of time can never after be washed off: thirdly, the Pamphlets of this age may passe for Records with the next (because publickly uncontrolled) and what we laugh at, our children may believe: fourthly, grant the things true they jeer at, yet this musick is unlawfull in any Christian Church, to play upon the sinnes and miseries of others, the fitter object of the Elegies then the Satyrs of all truly religious.

But what do I speaking against multiplicity of books in this age, who trespasse in this nature my self? What was a Erasmus in praefat. in 3. s [...]riem 4. Tomi Hieron. pag. 408. learned mans complement may serve for my confession and conclusion, Multi mei similes hoc morbo laborant, ut cum scribere nesciant tamen à scribendo temperare non possint.

CHAP. 19. Of Time-serving.

THere be foure kinds of Time-serving: first, out of Christian discretion, which is commendable; second, out of humane infirmity, which is more par­donable; third, and fourth, out of ignorance, or affection, both which are damnable: of them in or­der.

Maxime 1 He is a good Time-server that complyes his manners to the se­verall ages of this life: pleasant in youth, without wan­tonnesse; grave in old age without frowardnesse. Frost is as proper for winter, as flowers for spring. Gravity becomes the ancient; and a green Christmas is neither handsome nor healthfull.

2 He is a good Time-server that finds out the fittest opportunity for every action. God hath made a time for every thing un­der the sunne, save onely for that, which we do at all times, to wit Sinne.

3 He is good Time-server that improves the present for Gods glory, and his own salvation. Of all the extent of time. onely the instant is that which we can call ours.

4 He is a good Time-server that is pliant to the times in matters of mere indifferency. Too blame are they whose minds may seem to be made of one entire bone without any joynts: they cannot bend at all, but stand as stiffly in things of pure indifferency, as in matters of absolute necessity.

5 He is a good Time-server that in time of persecution neither betrayes Gods cause, nor his own safety. And this he may do,

• 1 By lying hid both in his person and practice: though he will do no evil he will forbear the publick doing of some good. He hath as good cheer in his heart, though he keeps not open house, and will not publickly broch his Religi­on, [Page 203] till the palat of the times be better in taste to rellish it. The
  Annos. 5. v. 13.
  Prudent shall keep silence in that time, for it is an evil time. Though according to S. Peters command we are to give a
  1. Pet. 3.15.
  reason of our hope to e­very one that asketh; namely, that asketh for his in­struction, but not for our destruction, especially if wanting lawfull Authority to examine us.
  Matth. 10.18.
  Ye shall be brought saith Christ (no need have they therefore to run) before Princes for my sake.
• 2 By flying away: if there be no absolute necessity of his staying, no scandall given by his flight; if he wants strength to stay it out till death; and lastly, if God openeth a fair way for his depar­ture: otherwise, if God bolts the doores and win­dows against him, he is not to creep out at the top of the chimney, and to make his escape by unwarrantable courses. If all should flie, Truth would want champions for the present; if none should flie, Truth might want champions for the future. We come now to Time-servers out of infirmity.

Heart of oke hath sometimes warp'd a little in the scorching heat of persecution. 6 Their want of true courage herein cannot be excused. Yet many censure them for sur­rendring up their forts after a long siege, who would have yielded up their own at the first summons. Oh, there is more required to make one valiant, then to call Cranmer or Jewell Coward, as if the fire in Smith­field had been no hotter, then what is painted in the Book of Martyrs.

Yet afterwards they have come into their former straightnesse & stiffnesse. 7 The troops which at first rather wheeld a­bout then ran away have come in seasonable at last. Yea their constant blushing for shame of their former cowardlinesse hath made their souls ever after look more modest and beautifull. Thus Cranmer (who subscribed to Popery) grew valiant afterwards, and [Page 204] thrust his right hand which subscribed first into fire, so that that hand dyed (as it were) a malefactour and all the rest of his body dyed a martyr.

8 Some have served the times out of mere Ignorance. Gaping for company, as others gap'd before them, Pater noster, or, Our Father. I could both sigh and smile at the witty▪ simplicity of a poore old woman who had lived in the dayes of Queen Marie, and Queen Elizabeth, and said her prayers dayly both in Latine and English, and Let God, said she, take to himself which he likes best.

9 But worst are those who serve the times out of mere Affectation. Doing as the times do, not because the times do as they should do, but merely for sinister respects, to ingratiate themselves. We reade of an Earl of Lord Bacon in Henry se­venth, p. 211. Oxford fined by King Henrie the seventh fifteen thousand marks for having too many Retainers. But how many Retainers hath Time had in all ages? and Servants in all offices? yea and Chaplains too?

10 It is a very difficult thing to serve the times; they change so frequently, so suddenly, and sometimes so violently from one extreme to another. The times under Dio­clesian were Pagan; under Constantine, Christian; under Constantius, Arian; under Julian, Apostate; under Jovian, Christian again, and all within the age of man, the term of seventie years. And would it not have wrench'd and spraind his soul with short turn­ing, who in all these should have been of the Religion for the time being?

11 Time-servers are oftentimes left in the lurch. If they do not onely give their word for the times in their constant discourses, but also give their bands for them, and write in their defence. Such, when the times turn af­terwards to another extreme, are left in the briers, and come off very hardly from the bill of their hands; If they turn again with the times none will trust them; for who will make a staff of an osier?

12 Miserable will be the condition of such Time-servers when [Page 205] their Master is taken from them. When as the Angel swore Rev. 10.6. that Time shall be no longer. Therefore is it best serving of him who is eternity, a Master that can ever protect us.

To conclude, he that intends to meet with one in a great Fair, and knows not where he is, may sooner find him by standing still in some principall place there, then by traversing it up and down. Take thy stand on some good ground in Religion, and keep thy station in a fixed posture, never hunting after the times to follow them, and an hundred to one, they will come to thee once in thy lifetime.

CHAP. 20. Of Moderation.

MOderation is Bishop Hall of Christian Moderation, pag. 6. the silken string running through the pearl-chain of all virtues. It appears both in Practice, and Judgement: we will insist on the latter, and describe it first negatively:

Moderation is not an halting betwixt two opinions, Maxime 1 when the through-believing of one of them is necessary to salvation: no pity is to be shown to such voluntary cripples. We reade (Acts 27.12.) of an Haven in Crete which lay to­wards the South-West, and towards the North-West: strange, that it could have part of two opposite points, North and South, sure, it must be very winding. And thus some mens souls are in such intricate postures, they lay towards the Papists, and towards the Protestants; such we count not of a moderate judgement, but of an im­moderate unsettlednesse.

Nor is it a lukewarmnesse in those things wherein Gods glory is concernd. 2 Herein it's a true Rule, Augustin. contra Ada­mant. cap. 13. Non amat qui non ze­lat. And they that are thus lukewarm here shall be too hot hereafter in that oven wherein Dow-bak'd cakes shall be burnt.

But it is a mixture of discretion and charity in ones judgement. 3 [Page 206] Discretion puts a difference betwixt things absolutely necessary to salvation to be done and believed, and those which are of a second sort and lower form, wherein more liberty and latitude is allowed. In main­taining whereof, the stiffnesse of the judgement is aba­ted, and suppled with charity towards his neighbour. The lukewarm man eyes onely his own ends, and particular profit; the moderate man aims at the good of others, and unity of the Church.

4 Yet such moderate men are commonly crush'd betwixt the ex­treme parties on both sides. But what said Ignatius? Irenaeus lib. 5. I am Christs wheat, and must be ground with the teeth of beasts, that I may be made Gods pure manchet. Saints are born to suffer, and must take it patiently. Besides, in this world ge­nerally they get the least preferment; it faring with them as with the guest that sat in the midst of the table, who could reach to neither messe, above or beneath him:

Yet these temporall inconveniences of moderation are abundantly recompenced with other better bene­fits: for

• 1 A well inform'd judgement in it self is a prefer­ment. Potamon began a sect of Philosophers called
  Diog. Laert in fine Prooe­mii.
  [...], who wholly adher'd to no for­mer sect, but chose out of all of them what they thought best. Surely such Divines, who in un­importing controversies extract the probablest opinions from all Professions, are best at ease in their minds.
• 2 As the moderate mans temporall hopes are not great so his fears are the lesse. He fears not to [Page 207] have the splinters of his party (when it breaks) flie into his eyes, or to be buried under the ruines of his side if supprest. He never pinn'd his religi­on on any mans sleeve, no, not on the Arme of flesh, and therefore is free from all dangerous en­gagements.
• 3 His conscience is clear from raising Schismes in the Church. The Turks did use to wonder much at our English men for
  Bidulph. in his travell to Ierusalem, pag. 98.
  pinking or cut­ting their clothes, counting them little better then mad for their pains to make holes in whole cloth, which time of it self would tear too soon. But grant men may doe with their own garments, as their phancy adviseth them: yet woe be to such who willingly cut and rend the seamlesse Coat of Christ with dissentions.
• 4 His religion is more constant and durable; be­ing here, in via, in his way to Heaven, and jog­ging on a good Travellers pace he overtakes and out-goes many violent men, whose over-hot ill-grounded Zeal was quickly tired.
• 5 In matters of moment indeed none are more Zealous. He thriftily treasur'd up his spirits for that time, who if he had formerly rent his lungs for every trifle, he would have wanted breath in points of importance.
• 6 Once in an age the moderate man is in fashion, Each extreme courts him, to make them friends; and surely he hath a great advantage to be a Peace-maker betwixt opposite parties. Now whilest, as we have said, moderate men are con­stant to themselves,

Violent men reel from one extremity to another. Who would think that the East and West Indies were so near together, whose names speak them at diame­tricall opposition? And yet their extremities are either the same Continent, or parted with a very narrow Sea. [Page 208] As the world is round, so we may observe a circula­tion in opinions, and Violent men turn often round in their tenets.

6 Pride is the greatest enemy to Moderation. This makes men stickle for their opinions, to make them funda­mentall: Proud men having deeply studied some ad­ditionall point in Divinity, will strive to make the same necessary to salvation, to enhanse the value of their own worth and pains; and it must be funda­mentall in religion, because it is fundamentall to their reputation. Yea as love doth descend, and men doat most on their Grandchildren, so these are indulgent to the deductions of their deductions, and consequen­tiall inferences to the seventh generation, making them all of the foundation, though scarce of the build­ing of religion. Irenaeus cap. 2.3. Tertull. de virgin. velan. Hilarius ad Constant. Au­gust. Taur. Maxim. Serm. de sym­bolo. August. Serm. 2. & 1081. De Tempore. Ancient Fathers made the Creed sym­bolum, the shot and totall summe of Faith. Since which how many arrearages, and after-reckonings have men brought us in? to which if we will not pay our belief, our souls must be arrested without bail upon pain of damnation. Next to Pride popular Ap­plause is the greatest foe Moderation hath, and sure they who sail with that wind have their own vain glory for their Haven.

To close up all, Let men on Gods blessing soundly, yet wisely, whip and lash Lukewarmnesse and Time-serving, their thongs will never flie in the face of true Moderation, to do it any harm; for however men may undervalue it, that Ambros. de poeniten. contra Novat. lib. 1. cap. 1 Father spake most truly, Si virtutum finis ille sit maximus, qui plurimorum spectat pro­fectum, Moderatio prope omnium pulcherrima est.

CHAP. 21. Of Gravity.

GRavity is the ballast of the soul, which keeps the mind steddy. It is either true, or counterfeit.

Naturall dulnesse, Maxime 1 and heavinesse of temper, is sometimes mistaken for true Gravity. In such men in whose constitu­tions one of the tetrarch Elements fire may seem to be omitted. These sometimes not onely cover their de­fects, but get praise:

They do wisely to counterfeit a reservednesse, and to keep their chests alwayes lock'd, not for fear any should steal treasure thence, but lest some should look in, and see that there is nothing within them. But they who are born Eunuchs deserve no such great commendation for their chastity. Wonder not so much that such men are grave, but wonder at them if they be not grave.

Affected Gravity passes often for that which is true:2 I mean with dull eyes, for in it self nothing is more ridiculous. When one shall use the preface of a mile, to bring in a furlong of matter, set his face and speech in a frame, and to make men believe it is some pretious liquour, their words come out drop by drop: Such mens vi­sards do sometimes fall from them, not without the laughter of the beholders. One was called Gravity for his affected solemnesse, who afterwards being catch'd in a light prank was ever after to the day of his death called Gravity-levity.

True Gravity expresseth it self in Gate, 3 Gesture, Apparell, and Speech. Vox Ambros. de offic. lib. 1. cap. 18. quaedam est animi, corporis motus. As for Speech, Gravity enjoyns it,

• 1 Not to be over much. In
  Prov 10 19.
  the multitude of words there wanteth not sinne. For of necessity many of them must be idle, whose best commendation is that [Page 210] they are good for nothing. Besides,
  Greg moral. l [...]b. 7. cap. 17.
  Dum otiosa verba cavere negligimus, ad noxia pervenimus. And great talkers discharge too thick to take alwayes true aim; besides, it is odious in a company. A man full of words, who took himself to be a Grand wit, made his brag that he was the leader of the discourse in what company soever he came, and None, said he, dare speak in my presence, if I hold my peace. No wonder, answered one, for they are all struck dumbe at the miracle of your silence.
• 2 To be wise and discreet, Colossians 4.6. Let your speech be alwayes with grace, seasoned with salt. Al­wayes, not onely sometimes in the company of godly men.
  Fox Martyrs, pag. 1079.
  Tindals being in the room hin­dred a juggler that he could not play his feats: (A Saints presence stops the devils elbow-room to do his tricks) and so some wicked men are awed into good discourse, whilest pious people are pre­sent. But it must be alwayes seasoned with salt, which is the primum vivens & ultimum moriens at a feast, first brought, and last taken away, and set in the midst as most necessary thereunto. With salt, that is with wisdome and discretion, non sali­bus, sed sale; nor yet with smarting jeeres, like those whose discourse is fire-salt, speaking con­stant satyrs to the disgrace of others.

4 That may be done privately without breach of Gravity, which may not be done publickly. As when a father makes himself his childs rattle, sporting with him till the father hath devour'd the wiseman in him.

Making play unto him, that one would think he kill'd his own discretion, to bring his child asleep. Such cases are no trespasse on Gravity, and married men may claim their priviledge, to be judged by their [Page 211] Peeres, and may herein appeal from the censuring ver­dict of batchelours.

Nature in men is sometimes unjustly taxed for a trespasse a­gainst Gravity. 5 Some have active spirits, yea their ordi­nary pace is a race. Others have so scornfull a carriage, that he who seeth them once may think them to be all pride, whilest he that seeth them often knows them to have none. Others have perchance a misbeseeming garb in gesture which they cannot amend; that fork needing strong tines wherewith one must thrust away nature. A fourth sort are of a merry cheerfull disposi­tion; and God forbid all such should be condemned for lightnesse. O let not any envious eye disinherit men of that which is their Eccles 7.18. Portion in this life, comfort­ably to enjoy the blessings thereof. Yet Gravity must prune though not root out our mirth.

Gratious deportment may sometimes unjustly be accused of lightnesse. 6 Had one seen David 2. Sam 6.16. dancing before the Ark, 1. Kings 18.42. Eliah in his praying-posture when he put his head betwixt his legs, perchance he might have con­demn'd them of unfitting behaviour. Had he seen Iohn 20.14. Peter and John posting to Christs grave, Acts. 12.14 Rhodia running into the house, he would have thought they had left their Gravity behind them. But let none blame them for their speed untill he knows what were their spurres, and what were the motives that urged them to make such haste. These their actions were the true conclusions, following from some in­ward premisses in their own souls; and that may be a syllogisme in grace, which appears a solecisme in manners.

In some persons Gravity is most necessary. 7 Viz. in Magi­strates and Ministers. One Scaliger de subtil. pag 18. Palevizine an Italian Gentleman, and kinsman to Scaliger, had in one night all his haire chang'd from black to gray. Such an alteration ought there to be in the heads of every one that enters into Holy Orders, or Pub­lick [Page 212] Office, metamorphos'd from all lightnesse to Gravity.

8 God alone is the giver of true Gravity. No man wants so much of any grace as he hath to spare; and a con­stant impression of Gods omnipresence is an excel­lent way to fix mens souls. Bishop Andrews ever placed the picture of Vid. in the funerall serm. on him, pag. 18. Mulcaster his Schoolma­ster over the doore of his study (whereas in all the rest of his house you should scarce see a picture) as to be his Tutour and Supervisour. Let us constantly appre­hend Gods being in presence, and this will fright us in­to staied behaviour.

CHAP. 22. Of Marriage.

SOme men have too much decried Marriage, as if she the mother were scarce worthy to wait on Virginity her daughter, and as if it were an advance­ment for Marriage to be preferr'd before fornica­tion, and praise enough for her to be adjudged law­full. Give this holy estate her due, and then we shall find,

Maxime 1 Though batchelours be the strongest stakes, married men are the best binders in the hedge of the Commonwealth. 'Tis the Policy of the Londoners when they send a ship into the Levant or Mediterranean sea, to make every marri­ner therein a merchant, each seaman adventuring somewhat of his own, which will make him more wary to avoid, and more valiant to undergo dangers. Thus married men, especially if having posterity, are the deeper sharers in that state wherein they live, which engageth their affections to the greater loy­alty.

2 It is the worst clandestine marriage when God is not invited to it. Wherefore beforehand beg his gratious assistance. Marriage shall prove no lottery to thee, when the [Page 213] hand of providence chuseth for thee, who, if drawing a blank, can turn it into a prize by sanctifying a bad wife unto thee.

Deceive not thy self by overexpecting happinesse in the marri­ed estate. 3 Look not therein for contentment greater then God will give, or a creature in this world can re­ceive, namely to be free from all inconveniences. Marriage is not like the hill Olympus, [...], wholly clear, without clouds; yea expect both wind and storms sometimes, which when blown over, the aire is the clearer, and wholsomer for it. Make account of certain cares and troubles which will attend thee. Remember the nightingales which sing onely some moneths in the spring, but commonly are silent when they have hatch'd their egges, as if their mirth were turned into care for their young ones. Yet all the mo­lestations of Marriage are abundantly recompenced with other comforts which God bestoweth on them, who make a wise choice of a wife, and observe the following rules.

Let Grace and Goodnesse be the principall loadstone of thy af­fections. 4 For love which hath ends will have an end, whereas that which is founded in true virtue will al­wayes continue. Some hold it unhappy to be married with a diamond ring, perchance (if there be so much reason in their folly) because the diamond hinders the roundnesse of the ring, ending the infinitenesse thereof, and seems to presage some termination in their love, which ought ever to endure, and so it will, when it is founded in religion.

Neither chuse all, 5 nor not at all for Beauty. A cried-up Beauty makes more for her own praise then her hus­bands profit. They tell us of a floting Iland in Scot­land: but sure no wise pilot will cast anchor there, lest the land swimme away with his ship. So are they served (and justly enough) who onely fasten their love on fading Beauty, and both fail together.

[Page 214] 6 Let there be no great disproportion in age. They that mar­ry ancient people merely in expectation to bury them, hang themselves in hope that one will come and cut the halter. Nor is Gods ordinance but mans abusing thereof taxed in this homely expression, used by the A­postle himself. If Virginity enforced above the parties power be [...], 1. Cor. 7.35. termed by S. Paul 1. Cor. 7.35. a snare or halter, marriage is no better when against ones will, for private respects.

7 Let wealth in its due distance be regarded. There be two towns in the land of Liege called Bovins and Di­nant, the inhabitants whereof bear almost an incredi­ble hatred one to another, and yet notwithstanding their children usually marry together; and the Phil. Com. lib. 2. cap. 1. reason is, because there is none other good town, or wealthy place near them. Thus parents for a little pelf often marry their children to those whose persons they hate; and thus union betwixt families is not made, but the breach rather widened the more.

This shall serve for a Conclusion. A Batchelour was saying, Next to no wife, a good wife is best. Nay, said a Gentlewoman, next to a good wife, no wife is the best. I wish to all married people the outward happi­nesse which Thuan. de obit. vir doct. in eod. Anno. pag. 385. Anno 1605 happened to a couple in the city of Delph in Holland, living most lo­vingly together seventy five years in wedlock, till the man being one hundred and three, the wo­man ninety nine years of age, died within three houres each of other, and were buried in the same grave.

CHAP. 23. Of Fame.

FAme is the echo of actions, resounding them to the world, save that the echo repeats onely the last part, but Fame relates all and often more then all.

Fame sometimes hath created something of nothing. Maxime 1 She hath made whole countreys more then ever Nature did, especially near the Poles, and then hath peopled them likewise with inhabitants of her own invention, Pygmies, Giants, and Amazons: Yea Fame is some­times like unto a kind of Mushrom, which In miraculi [...] vel max [...]mum est [...] & vivere sine ulla [...]adice, Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. 19. cap. 2. Pliny re­counts to be the greatest miracle in nature, because growing and having no root, as Fame no ground of her reports.

Fame often makes a great deal of a little. 2 Absalom kill'd one of Davids sonnes, and 2. Sam. 13.30. Fame kill'd all the rest; and generally she magnifies and multiplies matters. Loud was that lie which that bell told hanging in a clock-house at Westminster, and usually rung at the Coronation and Funeralls of Princes, having this in­scription about it,

But when this bell was taken down at the dooms­day of Abbeys, this and two more were found not to weigh Stowes sur­vey of London, pag. 528. twenty thousand. Many relations of Fame are found to shrink accordingly.

Some Fames are most difficult to trace home to their form:3 and those who have sought to track them, have gone rather in a circle then forward, and oftentimes through the doubling of reports have return'd back again where they began. Fame being a bastard or filia popu­li, 'tis very hard to find her father, and ofttimes she [Page 216] hath rather all then any for her first Authours.

4 Politicians sometimes raise Fames on purpose. As that such things are done already, which they mean to do after­wards. By the light of those false fires they see into mens hearts, and these false rumours are true scouts to discover mens dispositions. Besides, the deed (though strange in it self) is done afterwards with the lesse noise, men having vented their wonder beforehand, and the strangenesse of the action is abated, because formerly made stale in report. But if the rumour star­tles men extremely, and draws with it dangerous con­sequences, then they can presently confute it, let their intentions fall and prosecute it no further.

5 The Papall side of all Fame-merchants drive the most gainfull trade, as that worthy S. Edward Sandys view of the West Religions, pag. 100. Knight hath given us an exact survey thereof. But long before them, strange was that plot of Stratocles, who gave it out that he had gotten a victory, and the constant report thereof con­tinued three dayes, and then was confuted; and Stra­tocles being charged with abusing his people with a lie, Why (said Plutarchs [...]. he) are ye angry with me for making you passe three dayes in mirth and jollity more then otherwise you should?

6 Incredible is the swiftnesse of Fame in carrying reports. First she creeps thorow a village, then she goes thorow a town, then she runs thorow a city, then she flyes tho­row a countrey, still the farther the faster. Yea Christ who made the dumbe speak, made not tell-tale Fame silent, though charging those he cured to hold their peace, Luke 5.15. but so much the more went there a Fame abroad of him. Yea some things have been reported soon as ever they were done at impossible distance. The overthrow of Perseus was brought out of Macedon to Rome in Livy. lib. 45. juxta princip. foure dayes. And in Domitians time a report was brought two thousand five hundred miles in one day. In which accidents,

• 1 Fame takes post on some other advantage. Thus [Page 217] the overthrow of the Sabines was known at Rome prius pene quam nunciari possit, by the means of the
  Livy. lib. 1.
  arms of the Sabines drowned in the ri­ver of Tiber, and carried down by the tide to Rome. And thus Anno
  Famian. Stra­da de Bello Belgic. l [...]b. 5. pag. 456.
  1568 the overthrow which the Spaniards gave the Dutch at the river of Ems was known at Grunning before any horseman could reach thither, by the multitude of the Dutch caps which the river brought down into the city. But these conveiances are but slugs to make such miraculous speed: wherefore some­times reports are carried,
• 2 By the ministration of Spirits. The devils are well at leisure to play such pranks, and may do it in a frolick. And yet they would scarce be the car­riers except they were well payed for the portage, getting some profit thereby (doing of mischief is all the profit they are capable of) and do harm to some by the suddennesse of those reports. Or else
• 3 The Fame is antedated and rais'd before the fact, being related at guesse before 'twas acted. Thus some have been causlessely commended for early rising in the morning, who indeed came to their journeys end over night. If such foremade re­ports prove true, they are admired and registred; if false, neglected and forgotten: as those onely which escaped shipwrack hung up votivas tabu­las, tablets with their names in those Haven-towns where they came ashore. But as for those who are drowned, their memorialls are drowned with them.

Generall reports are seldome false. 7 Vox populi vox Dei. A body of that greatnesse hath an eye of like clearnesse, and it is impossible that a wanderer with a counterfeit passe should passe undiscovered.

A fond Fame is best confuted by neglecting it. 8 By Fond un­derstand [Page 218] such a report as is rather ridiculous then dan­gerous if believed. It is not worth the making a Schisme betwixt News-mongers to set up an antifame against it. Yea seriously and studiously to endeavour to confute it, will grace the rumour too much, and give suspicion that indeed there is some reality in it. What madnesse were it to plant a piece of ordinance to beat down an aspen leaf, which having alwayes the palsie, will at last fall down of it self. And Fame hath much of the scold in her; the best way to silence her is to be silent, and then at last she will be out of breath with blowing her own trumpet.

9 Fame sometimes reports things lesse then they are. Pardon her for offending herein, she is guilty so seldome. For one kingdome of Scotland, which (they say) Geogra­phers describe an hundred miles too short, most Nor­thern countreys are made too large. Fame generally overdoes, underdoes but in some particulars. The Ita­lian proverb hath it, There is lesse honesty, wisdome, and money in men then is counted on: yet sometimes a close churl, who locks his coffers so fast Fame could never peep into them, dyeth richer then he was reported when alive. None could come near to feel his estate; it might therefore cut fatter in his purse, then was ex­pected. But Fame falls most short in those Transcen­dents, which are above her Predicaments; as in 1 Kings. 10.7. So­lomons wisdome: And behold one half was not told me: thy wisdome and prosperity exceedeth the Fame that I heard. But chiefly in fore-reporting the Happinesse in heaven, which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entred into the heart of man to conceive.

CHAP. 24. Of the Antiquity of Churches and Necessity of them.

WE will consider their Antiquity amongst the Jews, Heathen, and Christians. Now Tem­ples amongst the Jews were more or lesse ancient as the acception of the word is straiter or larger.

Take Temple for a covered standing structure, Maxime 1 and the Iews had none till the time of Solomon, which was from the be­ginning of the V [...]d. Chron. H [...]l [...]i. world about two thousand nine hun­dred thirty two years: till then they had neither leave nor libertie to build a Temple. For the Patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, lived in Pilgrimage; their posterity in Egypt in persecution; their children in the Wildernesse in constant travelling; their Successours in Canaan in continuall warrefare, till the dayes of Solomon.

Take Templum for tectum Isidori [...]s lib. 15. cap 14. amplum,2 a large place covered to serve God therein, and the Tabernacle was a moveable Temple, built by Moses in the wildernesse about the yeare of the world two thousand foure hundred fiftie five. Yea we find Gods Spirit styling this Tabernacle a Temple, 1. Sam. 1.9. Ely the Priest sate upon a seat by a pillar of the Temple. 1. Sam. 3.3. Before the lamp of the Lord went out in the Temple. Such a portable Church Constan­tine Socrates lib. 1. cap. 14. & S [...]zomen. lib. 1. cap. 8. had carried about with him when he went to warre.

Gods children had places with Altars to serve God in before they had any Temples. 3 Such Altars seem as ancient as Sa­crifices, both which are twins; and in Relatives find one and find both. Indeed the first Altar we reade of in Scripture is that which Noah built after the Flood: But heare what a [...]. in G [...] ­nes. pag. 2 [...]. Learned man saith thereof, Non ta­men existimandum toto illo tempore, quo ante diluvium pii homines [Page 220] Deo sacrificarunt Altarium usum fuisse incognitum. Potius id cre­dendum, Noachum sequutum fuisse exemplum eorum, qui eum praecesserant, imo morem inolitum.

4 The Iews besides the Temple had many other Synagogues, serving instead of Chappells of ease to the mother Church at Jerusalem. In the new Testament (the Temple yet standing) 'tis plain that Christ often graced such Synagogues with his presence and preaching; and 'tis H [...]spinian de orig. Temp c. 4. probable they were in use ever since Josuahs time, when the land was first inhabited with Israelites, and that the Levites dispersed all over the land did teach the people therein: Otherwise Palestine was a great Parish, and some therein had an hundred miles to Church; besides, peoples souls were poorely fed ha­ving but three meals in a yeare, being but thrice to ap­pear at Jerusalem.

5 Many Heathen Temples were ancienter then that of Solomons. Amongst which Pagan Temples there is much justling for precedency, though some think that of Apis in E­gypt shews the best evidence for her seniority, where­in was worshipped an Oxe, of whose herd (not to say breed) was the Calf which the Israelites worship­ped in the wildernesse, being made in imitation there­of. But the Heathen had this grosse conceit that their Gods were affixt to their Statues, as their Statues were confin'd in their Temples: So that in effect they did not so much build Temples for their Gods, as thereby lay Nets to catch them in, inviting them thither as into a Pallace, and then keeping them there as in a Prison.

6 Most civilized Heathen Nations had Temples for their Gods. I say, Most, for the Persians are said to have none at all. Perchance it was because they chiefly worshipped the Sunne, and then according to the generall opinion of fixing Deities to their Temples, it was in vain to erect any structure therein to restrain and keep his Ubiqui­tary beams. And yet that the Persians were wholly [Page 221] Temple-lesse will hardly be believed, seeing the Assyri­ans on this side (2 Kings 19.37. Senacherib was killed worshipping in the house of Nisroch his God) and the Indians on the other side of them had their Temples erected, as some will have it, by Bacchus their Dionysius: yea we find a Temple in Persia dedicated to 2. Maccabees 1.13. vide [...]ti­am. 1. Maccab. 6.2. Nanea in the time of Antiochus, and though it may be pretended that the influence of the Grecian Empire on the Persi­ans had then spiced them with a smack of Grecisme, yet Nanea will scarce be proved any Grecian Deity: not to say any thing of the Temple of Bell. Civilized: for as for the Scythian wandring Nomades, Temples sorted not with their condition, as wanting both civility and settlednesse: and who can expect Churches from them, who had no houses for them­selves? Lastly I say, Nation: for the Stoicks onely, a con­ceited sect, forbad any building of Temples, either out of derision of the common conceit that Deities were kept in durance in their Temples; or else out of hu­mour, because they counted the generall practice of o­ther men a just ground for their contrary opinion. And now we come to the Antiquity of Christian Churches, and crave leave of the Reader, that we may for a while dissolve our continued discourse into a dialogue.

I am much perplexed to find the beginning of Christian Churches in the Scripture. There I find the Saints meeting in the house of Marie the mother of Mark; in the School of Tyrannus; in an upper Chamber; but can see no foundation of a Church, I mean of a place and structure separated and set apart solely for Divine Service.

That the Saints had afterwards Churches in your sense is plain: 1. Cor. 11.22. Have ye not Houses to eat and drink in, or despise ye the Church of God, and shame them that have not? Here the opposi­tion is a good exposition of the Apostles mean­ing, and the Antithesis betwixt Houses and Church [Page 222] speaks them both to be locall; so that S. Paul thought their materiall Church despised, that is abused and unreverenc'd, by their lay-meetings of Love-feasts therein.

By your favour, S^r, the Apostle by Church mean­eth there the assembly or society of Gods ser­vants, as appears by what followeth, or despise ye the Church of God, and shame them that have not? Them, and not that, not speaking of the Place but Per­sons: The latter words of the Apostle com­ment on the former, shewing how to shame those who had not (that is, to neglect and up­braid the poore) is to despise the Church of God.

Pardon me S^r: for the Apostle therein accuseth the Corinthians of a second fault. Imprimis he chargeth them for despising Gods materiall Church; Item, for shaming their poore brethren in their Love-feasts. The particle And sheweth the addition of a new charge, but no expound­ing or amplifying of the former. But, S^r, sus­pending our judgements herein, let us descend to the Primitive times before Constantine, we shall there find Churches without any contra­diction.

Not so neither: Herein also the trumpet of Anti­quity giveth a very uncertain sound: Indeed we have but little left of the story of those times wherein Christian books were as much persecu­ted as men, and but a few Counfessour-records e­scaping martyrdome are come to our hands. Yea God may seem to have permitted the sup­pression of primitive History, lest men should be too studious in reading, and observant in practising the customes of that age, even to the neglecting and undervaluing of his written Word.

Yet how slenderly soever those Primitive times [Page 223] are storied, there is enough in them to prove the Antiquity of Churches. I will not instance on the decrees of Evaristus, Hyginus, and other Popes in the first three hundred years about the consecrating of Churches, because their authori­ty is suspected as antedated; and none are bound to believe that the Gibeonites came from so far a Countrey as their mouldy bread & clout­ed shoes did pretend. Churches are plainly to be found in Tertullian, two hundred years after Christ; and Eusebius Hist. Eccles. lib. 8. c. 1, & 2. witnesseth that be­fore the time of Dioclesian the Christians had Churches, which the Tyrant caused to be de­stroyed.

But Origen. lib. 4. contra [...]e [...]um, Objicit nobis Cel [...]us quod non habea­ [...]us Imagines aut Aras au [...] Templa. Idem lib. 8. contra Celsum, Celsus & Aras & Si­mulac [...]a & Delubra a [...]t [...]os diffugere quo minùs fundentur. Arnobius lib. 4 Contra Gen. Accusatis nos quòd nec Templa ha­beamus, nec I [...]agines nec Aras. Minut. [...]elix pag. 73. Putatis autem nos occultate quod [...]ola­mus si Delu­bra et Aras non habemus. Lactantius, Quid sibi Templa, quid Arae volunt, quid denique ipsa Simula­cra, &c. Origen, Minutius Felix, Arnobius, and Lactantius, being press'd by the Heathen that Christians had no Churches, answered by way of confession, yielding that they had none. This is the difficulty perplexeth me. It was a bloody speech of Abner, Let the young men rise up and play before us: But worse is their cruelty who make sport at the falling out of the old men, when the reverend brows of Antiquity knock one a­gainst another, and Fathers thus extremely differ in matters of fact.

Why, S^r? A charitable distinction may recon­cile them: if by Churches, stately magnificent Fa­bricks be meant, in that acception the Christians had no Churches; but small Oratories and Prayer-places they then had, though little, low and dark, being so fearfull of persecution they were jealous the Sunne-beams should behold them: and indeed stately Churches had but gi­ven a fairer aim to their Enemies malice to hit them. Such an homely place learned S^r Henrie Spelman De Conciliis Brittan. pag. 11. presents us with, which was first founded at Glastenbury, thatched and wattled: [Page 224] And let not our Churches now grown men look with a scornfull eye on their own picture, when babes in their swadling clothes. And no wonder if Gods House

Then had her Lord. He begg'd, should she be brave? Christ himself being then cold, and hungry, and naked in his afflicted members. Such a mean O­ratory Tertullian calls Adversus Gentes, cap. 3.9. Triclimum Christianorum, the Parlour or Three-bed-room of the Christi­ans.

But it seems not to consist with Christian inge­nuity for the fore-named Fathers absolutely to deny their having of Churches, because they had onely poore ones.

Take then another Answer, namely in denying they had no Temples, they meant it in the same notion wherein they were interrogated, to wit, they had no Temples like the Pagans for Heathen Gods, no claustra Numinum, wherein the Deity they served was imprisoned. Or may we not say that in that age the Christians had no Churches generally, though they might have them in some places? the elevation of their happinesse being varied according to severall climates: And Chri­stendome then being of so large an extent, it might be stormy with persecution in one coun­trey, and fair weather in another. We come now to the Necessity.

7 There is no absolute necessity that Christians should have Churches. No necessity at all in respect of God, no ab­solute necessity in respect of men, when persecution hinders the erecting of them: In such a case any place is made a Church for the time being, as any private house where the King and his Retinue meet is present­ly made the Court.

[Page 225] Christians have no direct precept to build Churches under the Gospel. 8 I say direct: For the Law of God, which com­mands a publick Sanctification of a Sabbath, must needs, by Ut [...] fid [...]l [...]us pr [...] D [...]s verbo [...]uo [...] sic & Te [...]pla pub­lica ipsis p [...]a­gendis desti­nata este opor­ [...], Cal [...]in. in­stit. lib. 3. cap. 20. num. 30. way of necessary consequence, imply a set, known, and publick Place. Besides, Gods command to Moses and Solomon to build a Temple in a manner obligeth us to build Churches. In which command observe the body and the soul thereof. The body there­of was Ceremoniall and mortall, yea dyed, and is buri­ed in our Saviours grave: The soul thereof is Morall and eternall, as founded in Nature, and is alwayes to endure. Thus S. Paul finds a constant bank for Mi­nisters Maintenance lockt up in a Ceremoniall Law, Thou shalt not muzzle the mouth of the Ox that treadeth out the corn. The Apostle on the Morality couched therein founded the Charter of endowment for Ministers in the Gospel. Besides, God hath left a warrant dormant with his Church, Let all things be done decently and in order. And this ties Christians to the building of Churches for their publick Assemblies, whereby not onely De­cency but Piety is so much advanced, especially in these three respects:

• 1 Hereby the same meat serves to feed many guests, one Pastour instructing many people in the same place.
• 2 Devotion is increased with company. Their praises are the louder; and musick is sweetest in a full consort: their prayers are the stronger, be­setting God as it were in a round, and not suffer­ing him to depart till he hath blessed them.
  Tertull. Apol.
  Haec vis grata deo.
• 3 The very Place it self, being dedicated to Gods service, is a Monitour to them Hoc agere, & stirres up pious thoughts in them. Say not, it is but lame Devotion that cannot mount without the help of such a wooden stock; rather 'tis lame indeed which is not rais'd though having the ad­vantage thereof.

[Page 226] 9 Those that may, must frequent the publick Churches. Such as nowadayes are ambitious of conventicles are deep­ly guilty: for as it had been desperate madnesse in time of persecution publickly to resort to Divine Ser­vice, so it is no lesse unthankfulnesse to God now to serve him in woods and holes, not taking notice of the liberty of the Gospel, which he gratiously hath vouch­safed; yea such people in effect deny the King to be De­fender of the Faith, but make him a Persecuter rather, in that they dare not avouch the truth in the face of his Authority. If it be good they do (thanks be to God) it may be done any where; if bad, it must be done no where. Besides, by their voluntary private meetings, they give occasions to many to supect their actions there: And grant them unjustly traduced for their behaviour therein, yet can they not justly be excused, because they invite slaunderous tongues to censure them, in not providing for honest things in the sight of men, and clearing Gods service as well from the suspicion as from the guilt of any dishonesty.

We should now come to speak of the Holinesse, Reverence, Decency, and Magnificencie of Churches: But herein I had rather heare the judgements of other men. Let it serve instead of a conclusion to observe that Solomons Temple was the statelyest structure that ever was or shall be in the world; built by the wealthyest, contrived by the wisest King in seven years (now counted the life of a man) by an army of Work­men, no fewer then 1. Kings 5.15, 16. one hundred fourtie three thou­sand three hundred, of the soundest timber, most pre­tious stones, most proper metall, as the nature of the things required; either the strongest, Brasse; or the richest, Gold: In a word, Earth gave it most costly matter, and Heaven it self most curious workmanship, God directing them. And though Solomon had no mines of Gold and Silver in his own land, yet had he the spoils and gifts of the neighbouring nations, and [Page 227] once in three years the golden land of Ophir came swimming to Hierusalem. God being the Landlord of the earth, Solomon was then his Receiver, to whom the World payed in her rent, to build his Temple. And was not he a most wealthy King, in whose dayes silver was nothing accounted of; seeing in our dayes the com­mander of both Indyes hath so much brasse coin cur­rant in his Court? As for Josephus his conceit, that the second edition of the Temple by Zorobabel, as it was new forrelled and filleted with gold by Herod, was a statelier volume then that first of Solomon, it is too weak a surmise to have a confutation fastned to it.

And yet we will not deny but the world hath seen greater buildings for the Piles and Fabricks, as may ap­pear by this parrallel.

• 1 Gods Temple, built at Hierusalem by Solomon.
  • Long 60 cubits.
    2. Chron. 3.3.
  • Broad 20 cubits.
  • High 30 cubits.
• 2 Diana's Temple, built at Ephesus by the Kings of Asia.
  • Long 425 foot.
    Plin. nat. Hist. lib. 36. cap. 14.
  • Broad 220 foot.
  • High 60 foot.
• 3 Sepulcher Church, built on Mount Calvary by Constantine.
  • Long
    Eusebius lib. 3 de vit. Con­stantini, c. 24. [...].
    We find no set dimension but hy­perbolicall expres­sions of it.
  • Broad We find no set dimension but hy­perbolicall expres­sions of it.
  • High We find no set dimension but hy­perbolicall expres­sions of it.
• 4 S. Sophia's Church, built at Constantinople by Iustinian.
  • Long 260 foot.
    Ev [...]grius lib. 4. cap. 30.
  • Broad 75 foot.
  • High 180 foot.
• 5 S. Pauls Church, built at London by King Ethelbert.
  • Long 690 foot.
    Namely in the body of the Church besides the steeple, Cambd. Britt. in Middlesex.
  • Broad 130 foot.
  • High 102 foot.
• 6 Turkish Mosque, built at Fez.
  • Long 150 Florentine Cubits.
    The height we find not, but it is a mile and half in com­passe, Leo Afri­canus, lib. 3. pag. 126.
  • Broad 80 Florentine Cubits.
  • High Florentine Cubits.

But when the Reader hath with his eyes surveyed these Temples, and findeth them to exceed Solomons, yet let him remember, first, that there is nothing more uncertain then the measures used in severall countreys; one countreys span may be another countreys cubit, [...] [Page 230] them. Not to relieve them, were not Christianity, and to relieve them, were worse then Infidelity, because therein they wrong their providing for their own fa­mily. Thus sometimes are they forced to be Nabals against their will; yet it greiveth them to send away the people empty. But what shall they do, seeing they cannot multiply their loaves and their fishes? Besides, Clergie-men are deeply rated to all payments. Oh that their profession were but as highly prized, as their e­state is valued.

4 Because they are to provide for their Posterity, that after the death of their parents they may live, though not in an high, yet in an honest fashion, neither leaving them to the wide world, nor to a narrow cottage.

5 Because the Levites in the Old Testament had plentifull pro­vision. Oh 'tis good to be Gods Pensioner, for he giveth his large allowance. They had Cities and Suburbs (houses and glebeland) Tithes, Freewill-offerings, and their parts in First-fruits, and Sacrifices. Do the Ministers of the Gospel deserve worse wages for bringing better tidings? Besides, the Levites places were hereditary, and the Sonne sure of his Fathers house and land without a Faculty ad succedendum pa­tri.

6 Because the Papists in time of Popery gave their Priests plentifull means. Whose Benefactours, so bountifull to them, may serve to condemne the covetousnesse of our age towards Gods Ministers, in such who have more knowledge, and should have more religi­on.

7 Ministers Maintenance ought to be certain; lest some of them meet with Labans for their Patrons and parishi­oners; changing their wages ten times; and at last, if the fear of God doth not fright thē, send them away empty.

8 It is unequall that there should be an equality betwixt all Ministers Maintenance. Except that first there were made an equality betwixt all their Parts, Pains, and Piety. Parity in means will quickly bring a levell and flat in Learning; and few will strive to be such spirituall Mu­sicians, to whom David directeth many Psalms, To him that excelleth, but will even content themselves with a Canonicall sufficiency, and desiring no more then what the Law requires: More learning would be of more pains, and the same profit, seeing the mediocri­ter goeth abreast with optime.

However, let every Minister take up this resolution, To preach the word, to be instant in season, out of season, reprove, rebuke, exhort with all long-suffering and doctrine. If thou hast competent means comfortably to subsist on, be the more thankfull to God the fountain, to man the channell; painfull in thy place, pitifull to the poore, cheerfull in spending some, carefull in keeping the rest. If not, yet tire not for want of a spurre: do something for love, and not all for money; for love of God, of goodnesse, of the godly, of a good conscience. Know 't is better to want means, then to detain them; the one onely suffers, the other deeply sinnes: and it is as dangerous a persecution to religion, to draw the fewell from it, as to cast water on it. Comfort thy self that another world will pay this worlds debts, and great is thy reward with God in heaven. A reward, in respect of his promise; a gift, in respect of thy worthlesnesse: And yet the lesse thou lookest at it, the surer thou shalt find it, if labouring with thy self to serve God for himself, in respect of whom even hea­ven it self is but a sinister end.

CHAP. 1. The Favourite.

A Favourite is a Court-diall, whereon all look whilest the King shines on him, and none, when it is night with him. A Minion differs from a Favourite: for He acts things by his own will and appetite, as a Favourite by the judgement and pleasure of his Prince. These again are twofold: either such as relie wholly on their Kings favour, or such as the King partly relies on their wisdome, loving them ra­ther for use then affection. The former are like pretty wands in a Princes hand, for him to play with at plea­sure; the latter, like staves, whereon he leans and sup­ports himself in State-affairs.

God is the originall Patron of all preferment, Maxime 1 all dignities being in his disposall. Promotion (Psal. 75.7. saith David) comes neither from the East, nor from the West, nor yet from the South. The word here translated South, in the Hebrew signifies the Desert; and such a course list bounded Palestine both on the South and Tremelliu [...] on the verse. North, so that in effect preferment bloweth from no point of the compas. True, every man is, fortunae suae faber, the Smith to beat out his own [Page 238] fortunes; but God first doth give him coals, iron, and anvil before he can set up his trade.

2 The first inlet into a Princes knowledge is half way into his favour. Indeed the heat of the sunne pierceth into the innermost bowells of the earth, but onely the surface thereof is guilded with his beams: So though the in­fluence of the Princes protection reacheth the utmost and obscurest man in his dominions, yet onely some few, who lie on the top of the heap of his subjects, can be graced with his favour. He therefore that is known to his Prince, starts in the half way of his race to ho­nour. A notable fellow, and a souldier to Alexander, finding this first admission to be the greatest difficulty, put feathers into his nose and eares, and danced about the Court in an antique fashion, till the strangenesse of the Shew brought the King himself to be a specta­tour. Then this Mimick throwing off his disguize, S^r (said he to the King) thus I first arrive at your Majesties notice in the fashion of a fool, but can do you service in the place of a wise-man, if you please to employ me.

3 'Tis the easier for them to leap into preferment, who have the rise of noble bloud: such get their honour with more ease, and keep it with lesse envie, which is busiest in malig­ning of upstarts. Nor is it any hinderance unto him, but rather an advantage, if such a Nobleman be of an ancient family, decayed in estate through the fault of his Ancestours; for such, Princes count the object as well of their pity as favour, and it an act as well of charity as bounty to relieve and raise them: But those are in some sort born Favourites, and succeed by descent to a Princes affection (rather as a debt then a gift) whose parents have formerly suffered in the Princes or his predecessours behalf. This made Queen Eliza­beth first reflect on the Lord Norris, (for in the peace­able beginning of her reigne the Martiall spirits of his sonne were not yet raised) because his father dyed her mothers Martyr, to attest her innocencie in the reigne of King Henry the eighth.

[Page 239] Severall doores open to preferment, 4 but the King keeps the key of them all. Some have been advanced for their Faces, their Beauty; their Heads, their Wisdome; their Tongues, their Eloquence; their Hands, their Va­lour; their Bloud, their Nobility; their Feet, their Nimblenesse, and Comlinesse in dancing; but all is ultimately resolv'd on the Princes pleasure.

Happy the Favourite that is raised without the ruine of an­other:5 as those which succeed in a dead place, who draw lesse envy of competitours, in keeping others out of the Kings favour, then those that cast one out of the possession thereof. Also he that climbeth up by degrees stands more firmly in favour, as making his footing good as he goes.

Sometimes the Princes favour is all the known worth in the Favourite. 6 I say, known: for he is an Infidel that be­lieves not more then he sees, and that a rationall Prince will love where he sees no lovelinesse. Surely Charles the ninth of France beheld some worth in Albertus Tudius (an Hucksters sonne, to whom in five years, besides other honours, he gave six hundred thousand crowns) though some affirm all the good the King got by him, was to learn to Camerarius, med. Hist. cap. 4. swear by the Name of God. Except we will say, that Kings desire in some to shew as the absolutenesse of their power, to raise them from nothing, so of their will also, to advance them for nothing. But Princes have their grounds reard above the flats of common men, and who will search the reasons of their actions must stand on an equall basis with them.

Some Kings to make a jest have advanced a man in earnest. 7 When amongst many Articles exhibited to King Hen­rie the seventh by the Irish against the Earl of Kildare, the last was, Camb. Rem. pag. 271. Finally, all Ireland cannot rule this Earl. Then (quoth the King) shall this Earl rule all Ireland; and made him Deputie thereof. But such accidents are mi­raculous; and he shall sterve that will not eat till such Manna is dropt into his mouth.

[Page 240] 8 But by what lawfull means soever he hath gotten his advance­ment, he standeth but in a slippery place; and therefore needs constantly to wear ice-spurres, for he rather glides then goes, and is in continuall fear to be crush'd from above by his Princes anger, and undermin'd from be­neath by his fellow-subjects envie. Against both which see how he fenceth himself.

9 He prayseth God for preferring him, and prayeth to him to pre­serve him. His Greatnesse must needs fall which is not founded in Goodnesse. First he serveth his God in hea­ven, and then his Master on earth. The best way to please all, or to displease them with least danger, is to please him who is all in all.

10 Next he studieth the alphabet of his Princes disposition: whose inclination when found out is half fitted. Then he applyes himself to please his naturall, though not vi­tious, humours, never preferring himself before his Prince in any thing, wherein he desires or conceiveth himself to excell. Nero, though indeed but a Fidler, counted himself as well Emperour of Musick as of Rome; and his Followers too grossely did sooth him up in the admiration of his skill in that Art. But the most temperate Princes love to taste the sweetnesse of their own praises (if not overluscious with flattery) where their own deserts lay the groundwork, and their Favourites give the varnish to their commendations.

11 Bluntnesse of speech hath becom'd some, and made them more acceptable: Yea this hath been counted Freeheartednesse, in Courtiers; Conscience and Christian simplicity, in Clergiemen; Valour, in Souldiers. I love thee the better (said Queen Elizabeth to Archbishop Grindall) be­cause you live unmarried. And I, Madam, (replyed Grin­dall) because you live unmarried love you the worse. But those, who make musick with so harsh an instrument, need have their bow well rosend before, and to observe Time and Place, lest that gall which would tickle at other times.

[Page 241] He leaveth his Prince alwayes with an appetite, 12 and never gluts him with his company. Sometimes taking occasion to depart, whilest still his staying might be welcome. Such intermissions render him more gratious; yet he absents himself neither farre, nor long, lest he might seem to neglect. Though he doth not alwayes spurre up close to the Kings side (to be constantly in his presence) he never lagges so farre behind, as to be out of distance. Long absence hath drawn the curtain betwixt a Favourite and his Sovereigne, and thereby hath made room for others to step in betwixt them.

He doth not boldly engrosse and limit his Masters favour to himself. 13 He is willing his Prince should shine beside him, but especially thorow him, on others. Too co­vetous are they who, not content to be sole heirs to their Princes favour, grudge that any pensions should be allotted to their younger brethren. Why should it not as well be Treason to confine a Princes affection, as to imprison his person?

He makes provident yet moderate use of his Masters favour. 14 Especially if he be of a various nature, and loveth ex­change, counting it not to stand with the state of a King to wear a Favourite thredbare. Too blame they, who thinking it will be continuall summer with them (as in the countrey under the Aequator) will not so much as frostnip their souls with a cold thought of want hereafter, and provide neither to oblige others, nor to maintain themselves: As bad they on the other side, who like those who have a lease, without im­peachment of waste, speedily to expire, whip and strip, and rap and rend, whatsoever can come to their fin­gers.

He makes his estate invisible by purchasing reversions, 15 and in remote countreys. He hath a moderate estate in open view, that the world may settle their looks on't (for if they see nothing they will suspect the more) and the rest farre off and hereafter. The eyes of envy can never be­witch [Page 242] that which it doth not see. These Reversions will be ripe for his heir, by that time his heir shall be ripe for them, and the money of distracted revennues will meet entirely in one purse.

16 Having attained to a competent height, he had rather grow a buttresse broader, then a storie higher. He fortifieth himself by raising outworks, and twisting himself by inter­marriages of his kinred into noble Families: his Countenance will give all his Kinswomen beauty. Some Favourites, whose heels have been tript up by their adversaries, have with their hands held on their Allies, till they could recover their feet again.

17 He makes not Great men dance envidious attendance to speak with him. Oh whilest their heels cool how do their hearts burn? Wherefore in the midst of the Term of his businesse he makes himself a vacation to speak with them. Indeed some difficulty of accesse and con­ference begets a reverence towards them in common people (who will suspect the ware not good if cheap to come by) and therefore he values himself in ma­king them to wait: Yet he loves not to over-linger any in an afflicting hope, but speedily dispatcheth the fears or desires of his expecting Clients.

18 He loveth a good name, but will not wooe or court it other­wise, then as it is an attendant on honesty and virtue. But chiefly he avoydeth the sweet poyson of Popularity, wherewith some have swollen till they have broken. Especially, he declines the entertainment of many Martialists, the harsh counsell of souldiers being com­monly untunable to the Court-way. The immode­rate resorting of military men to a Favourite (chiefly if by any palliation he pretends to the Crown) is like the flocking of so many ravens and vulturs which foretell his funerall.

19 He preserves all inferiour Officers in the full rights and pri­viledges of their places. Some are so boysterous, no seve­rals will hold them, but lay all Offices common to [Page 243] their power, or else are so busie, that making ma­ny circles in other mens professions, they raise up ill spirits in them, and for every finger they needlessely thrust into other mens matters, shall find an hand a­gainst them, when occasion shall serve. As bad are they, who leaping over meaner persons to whom the businesse is proper, bring it per saltum to themselves, not suffering matters to run along in a legall channell, but in a by-ditch of their own cutting, so drawing the profit to themselves, which they drein from others.

If accused by his adversaries, 20 he flies with speed to his Princes person. No better covert for a hunted Favourite to take to: where if innocent, with his loyall breath he easily dispels all vapours of ill suggestions; if guilty, yet he is half acquitted, because judged by the Prince him­self, whose compassion he moves by an ingenuous confession. But if this Sanctuary-doore be bolted a­gainst him, then his ruine is portended, and not long after.

He is a fish on the dry shore when the tide of his Masters love hath left him; 21 so that if he be not the more wise, he will be made a prey to the next that finds him. Seve­rall are the causes of Favourites falls, proceeding either from the Kings pleasure, their enemies malice, or their own default: different the degrees and manner of their ruine: some when grown too great are shifted under honourable colours of employment into a forrein aire, there to purge and lessen; others receive their con­demnation at home. But how bad soever his cast be, see how he betters it by good playing it.

He submits himself, 22 without contesting, to the pleasure of his Prince. For being a Tenant at will to the favour of his Sovereigne, it is vain to strive to keep violent possessi­on when his Landlord will out him. Such struggling makes the hook of his enemies malice strike the deep­er into him. And whilest his adversaries spurre him with injuries on purpose to make him spring out into [Page 244] rebellious practices, he reins in his passions with the stronger patience.

23 If he must down, he seeks to fall easily, and if possible, to light on his legs. If stript out of his robes, he strives to keep his clothes; loosing his honour, yet to hold his lands, if not them, his life; and thanks his Prince for giving him whatsoever he takes not away from him.

To conclude, A Favourite is a trade, whereof he that breaks once seldome sets up again. Rare are the exam­ples of those who have compounded and thrived well afterwards. Mean men are like underwood, which the Law calls sylva caedua, quae Lynwood lib. 3. cap. Quan­quam exsol­ventibus. succisa renascitur, being cut down it may spring again, but Favourites are like okes, which scarce thrive after (to make timber) being lopt, but if once cut down never grow more. If we light on any who have flourished the second time, impute it to their Princes pleasure to crosse the common obser­vation, and to shew that nothing is past cure with so great a chirurgion, who can even set a broken Favou­rite.

Now to shew the inconstancie of Greatnesse not sup­ported with virtue, we will first insist in a remarkable pattern in holy Scripture. Next will we produce a parallel of two Favourites in our English Court, living in the same time, and height of honour with their So­vereigne, the one through his vitiousnesse ending in misery, the other by his virtuous demeanour shining bright to his death: for I count it a wrong to our Coun­trey to import presidents out of forrein Histories, when our home-Chronicles afford us as plentifull and proper examples.

CHAP. 2. The life of HAMAN.

HAman the sonne of Amedatha, of the kinred of Agag, and people of Amalek, was highly fa­voured by Ahasuerus Emperour of Persia. I find not what pretious properties he had, sure he was a pearl in the eye of Ahasuerus, who commanded all his sub­jects to do lowly reverence unto him: onely Mordecai the Jew excepted himself from that rule, denying him the payment of so humble an observance.

I fathome not the depth of Mordecai's refusall: per­chance Haman interpreted this reverence farther then it was intended, as a divine honour, and therefore Mordecai would not blow wind into so empty a blad­der, and be accessary to puff him up with self-conceit; or because Amalek was the devils first-fruits, which first brake the peace with Israel, and God commanded an antipathy against them; or he had some private countermand from God not to reverence him. What ever it was, I had rather accuse my self of ignorance, then Mordecai of pride.

Haman swells at this neglect. Will not his knees bow? his neck shall break with an halter. But oh, this was but poore and private revenge: one lark will not fill the belly of such a vultur. What if Mordecai will not stoop to Haman, must Haman stoop to Mordecai to be revenged of him alone? wherefore he plotteth with the Kings sword to cut off the whole Nation of the Jews.

Repairing to Ahasuerus, he requested that all the Jews might be destroyed. He backs his petition with three arguments: first, It was a scattered Nation; had they inhabited one entire countrey, their extirpation would have weakned his empire, but being dispersed, though kill'd every where, they would have been mis­sed [Page 246] no where; secondly, his Empire would be more uni­form when this irregular people, not observing his Laws, were taken away; thirdly, ten thousand talents Haman would pay into the bargain into the Kings Treasure.

What, out of his own purse? I see his pride was a­bove his covetousnesse; and spightfull men count their revenge a purchase which cannot be overbought: or perchance this money should arise out of the confisca­tion of their goods. Thus Ahasuerus should lock all the Jews into his chest, and by help of Hamans Chy­mistry convert them into silver.

See how this grand destroyer of a whole Nation pleads the Kings profit. Thus our punie depopulatours alledge for their doings the Kings and countreys good; and we will believe them, when they can perswade us that their private coffers are the Kings exchequer. But never any wounded the Commonwealth, but first they kiss'd it, pretending the publick good.

Hamans silver is drosse with Ahasuerus: onely his pleasure is currant with him. If Haman will have it so, so it shall freely be; he will give him and not sell him his favour. 'Tis wofull when great Judges see parties accused by other mens eyes, but condemne them by their own mouthes: and now Posts were sent thorow out all Persia to execute the Kings cruell decree.

I had almost forgotten how before this time Morde­cai had discovered the treason, which two of the Kings Chamberlains had plotted against him; which good service of his, though not presently paid, yet was scored up in the Chronicles, not rewarded but recorded, where it slept till a due occasion did awake it. Per­chance Hamans envy kept it from the Kings know­ledge; and Princes sometimes to reward the desert of men want not mind, but minding of it

To proceed: See the Jews all pitifully pensive, and [Page 247] fasting in sackcloth and ashes, even to Queen Esther her self, which (unknown to Haman) was one of that nation. And to be brief, Esther invites Ahasuerus and Haman to a banquet (whose life shall pay the reckoning) and next day they are both invited to a se­cond entertainment.

Mean time Haman provides a gallows of fifty cubits high to hang Mordecai on. Five cubits would have serv'd the turn; and had it took effect, the height of the gallows had but set his soul so much the farther on his journey towards heaven. His stomach was so sharp set, he could not stay till he had din'd on all the Jews, but first he must break his fast on Mordecai; and fit it was this bell-weather should be sacrificed before the rest of the flock: wherefore he comes to the Court to get leave to put him to death.

The night before Ahasuerus had passed without sleep. The Chronicles are called for, either to invite slumber, or to entertain waking with the lesse tedious­nesse. Gods hand in the margin points the Reader to the place where Mordecai's good service was related; and Ahasuerus asketh Haman (newly come into the presence) what shall be done to the man whom the King will honour?

Haman being now (as he thought) to measure his own happinesse, had been much too blame if he made it not of the largest size. He cuts out a garment of ho­nour, royall both for matter and making, for Mordecai to wear. By the Kings command he becomes Morde­cai's Herauld and Page, lacquying by him riding on the Kings steed (who he hoped by this time should have mounted the wooden horse) and then pensive in heart hasts home to bemoan himself to his friends. Hamans wife proves a true Prophetesse, presaging his ruine. If the feet of a Favourite begin to slip on the steep hill of Honour, his own weight will down with him to the bottome: once past noon with him, it is presently night.

[Page 248]For at the next feast Ahasuerus is mortally incens'd against him for plotting the death of Esther, with the rest of her people. (For had his project succeeded, pro­bably the Jew had not been spared for being a Queen, but the Queen had been killed for being a Jew.) Ha­man in a carelesse sorrowfull posture, more minding his life then his lust, had cast himself on the Queens bed. Will he force the Queen also (said Ahasuerus) before me in the house? These words rang his passing-bell in the Court, and according to the Persian fashion they co­vered his face, putting him in a winding sheet that was dead in the Kings favour. The next news we hear of him is, that by exchange Haman inherits the gibbet of Mordecai, and Mordecai the house and great­nesse of Haman, the decree against the Jews being ge­nerally reversed.

CHAP. 3. The life of Card. WOLSEY.

THomas Wolsey was born at Ipswich in Suffolk, whose father was a Butcher, and an Parentem habuit virum p [...]ob um at la­nium, Pol. Vir­gil. pag. 633. honest man, and was there brought up at school, where after­wards he built a beautifull Colledge. From Ipswich he went to Oxford, and from thence was preferred to be Schoolmaster to the Marques of Dorset's children, where he first learnt to be imperious over Noble bloud. By the stairs of a Parsonage or two he climbed [Page 250] up at last into the notice of Fox, Bishop of Winchester, and was received to be his Secretary.

There was at that time a faction at Court betwixt Bishop Fox and Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey. The Bishop being very old was scarce able to make good his party; yet it grieved him not so much to stoop to Nature as to the Earl his Corrivall: wherefore not able to manage the matter himself, he was contented to be the stock whereon Wolsey should be graffed, whom he made heir to his favour, commending him to King Henrie the seventh for one fit to serve a King, and command others: And hereupon he was enter­tained at Court.

Soon after, when Henrie his sonne came to the Crown, Wolsey quickly found the length of his foot, and fitted him with an easie shoe. He perswaded him that it was good accepting of pleasure whilest youth tender'd it: let him follow his sports, whilest Wolsey would undertake every night briefly to represent unto him all matters of moment which had passed the Counsell-table. For Princes are to take State-affairs not in the masse and whole bulk of them, but onely the spirits thereof skilfully extracted. And hereupon the King referred all matters to Wolsey's managing, on whom he conferr'd the Bishopricks of Duresme, Win­chester, and York, with some other spirituall promo­tions.

Nothing now hindred Wolsey's prospect to overlook the whole Court but the head of Edward Stafford Duke of Buckingham, who was high in birth, ho­nour, and estate. For as for Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, he stood not in Wolsey's way, but rather be­sides then against him: Brandon being the Kings companion in pleasures, Wolsey his counsellour in po­licy; Brandon Favourite to Henrie, Wolsey to the King. Wolsey takes this Buckingham to task, who (other­wise a brave Gentleman) was proud and popular; and [Page 251] that tower is easily undermin'd whose foundation is hollow. His own folly with Wolsey's malice over­threw him. Vainglory ever lyeth at an open guard, and giveth much advantage of play to her enemies. The Duke is condemned of high treason, though ra­ther corrivall with the King for his Clothes then his Crown, being excessively brave in apparell.

The ax that kills Buckingham frights all others, who turn contesting into complying with our Archbishop, now Cardinall, Legate à latere, and Lord-Chancellour. All the Judges stood at the barre of his devotion. His displeasure more feared then the Kings, whose anger though violent was placable; the Cardinalls of lesse furie, but more malice: yet in matters of Judicature he behaved himself commendably. I heare no widows sighes, nor see orphans tears in our Chronicles caused by him: sure in such cases wherein his private ends made him not a party, he was an excellent Justicer, as being too proud to be bribed, and too strong to be overborn.

Next he aspires to the Triple Grown; he onely wants Holinesse, and must be Pope. Yet was it a great labour for a Tramountain to climbe over the Alps to S. Peters Chair; a long leap from York to Rome, and therefore he needed to take a good rise. Besides he used Charles the fift, Emperour, for his staff, gold he gave to the Romish Cardinalls, and they gave him golden promises, so that at last Wolsey perceived, both the Emperour and the Court of Rome delay'd and delu­ded him.

He is no fox whose den hath but one hole: Wolsey finding this way stopt, goes another way to work, and falls off to the French King, hoping by his help to ob­tain his desires. However if he help not himself, he would hinder Charles the Emperours designes; and revenge is a great preferment. Wherefore covertly he seeks to make a divorce betwixt Queen Katharine, [Page 252] Dowager, the Emperours Aunt, and King Henrie the eighth his Master.

Queen Katharines age was above her Husbands, her gravity above her age; more pious at her beads then pleasant in her bed, a better woman then a wife, and a fitter wife for any Prince then King Henrie. Wolsey by his instruments perswades the King to put her away, pleading they were so contiguous and near in kinred, they might not be made continuous (one flesh) in marriage, because she before had been wife to Prince Arthur the Kings brother. Besides, the King wanted a male heir, which he much desired.

Welcome whisperings are quickly heard. The King embraceth the motion: the matter is enter'd in the Romish Court, but long delayed; the Pope first mean­ing to divorce most of the gold from England in this tedious suit. But here Wolsey miscarried in the Master­piece of his policy. For he hoped upon the divorce of King Henrie from Queen Katharine his wife (which with much adoe was effected) to advance a marriage betwixt him and the King of France his sister, think­ing with their nuptiall ring to wed the King of France eternally to himself, and mould him for farther de­signes: whereas contrary to his expectation King Hen­rie fell in love with Anna Bullen, a Lady whole beauty exceeded her birth (though honourable) wit her beauty, piety all; one for his love not lust, so that there was no gathering of green fruit from her till marriage had ripened it: whereupon the King took her to wife.

Not long after followed the ruine of the Cardinall, caused by his own vitiousnesse, heightned by the envy of his Adversaries. He was caught in a Premunire for procuring to be Legate de latere, and advancing the Popes power against the Laws of the Realm; and eight other Articles were framed against him, for which we report the Reader to our Fox Acts & Monuments▪ p. 996. Chronicles. The [Page 253] main was, his Ego & Rex meus, wherein he remem­bred his old profession of a Schoolmaster, and forgot his present estate of a Statesman. But as for some things laid to his charge, his friends plead, that where potent malice is Promoter, the accusations shall not want proof, though the proof may want truth. Well, the broad seal was taken from him, and some of his spi­rituall Preferments. Yet was he still left Bishop of Winchester, and Archbishop of York▪ so that the Kings goodnesse hitherto might have seemd rather to ease him of burthensome greatnesse, then to have de­prived him of wealth or honour: which whether he did out of love to Wolsey, or fear of the Pope, I inter­pose no opinion.

Home now went Wolsey into Yorkshire, and lived at his Mannour of Cawood, where he wanted nothing the heart of man could desire for contentment. But great minds count every place a prison, which is not a Kings Court; and just it was that he which would not see his own happinesse, should therefore feel his own misery. He provided for his enstalling Archbishop State equivalent to a Kings Coronation, which his ambition revived other of his misdemeanours, and by command from the King he was arrested by the Earl of Northumberland, and so took his journeys up to London. By the way his soul was rackt betwixt dif­ferent tidings; now hoysed up with hope of pardon, then instantly let down with news of the Kings dis­pleasure, till at Leicester his heart was broken with these sudden and contrary motions. The Storie goes that he should breath out his soul with speeches to this effect, Had I been as carefull to serve the God of Heaven, as I have to comply to the will of my earthly King, God would not have left me in mine old age, as the other hath done.

His body swell'd after his death, as his mind did whilest he was living, which with other symptomes gave the suspicion that he poysoned himself. It will [Page 254] suffice us to observe, If a Great man much beloved dyeth suddenly, the report goes that others poysoned him: If he be generally hated, then that he poysoned himself. Sure never did a Great man fall with lesse pity. Some of his own servants with the feathers they got under him flew to other Masters. Most of the Clergy (more pitying his Profession then Person) were glad that the felling of this oke would cause the growth of much underwood.

Let Geometricians measure the vastnesse of his mind by the footsteps of his Buildings, Christ-Church White-Hall, Hampton-Court: And no wonder if some of these were not finished, seeing his life was ra­ther broken off then ended. Sure King Henrie lived in two of his houses, and lies now in the third, I mean his Tombe at Windsor. In a word, in his prime he was the bias of the Christian world, drawing the bowl thereof to what side he pleased.

CHAP. 4. The life of CHARLES BRANDON, Duke of Suffolk.

CHarles Brandon was sonne to S^r. William Bran­don, Standerd-bearer to King Henry the sea­venth, in whose quarrell he was slain in Bosworth field; wherefore the King counted himself bound in honour and conscience to favour young Charles, whose father spent his last breath to blow him to the haven of victory, and caused him to be brought up with Prince Henrie, his second sonne.

The intimacy betwixt them took deep impression in their tender years, which hardned with continu­ance of time proved indeleble. It was advanced by the sympathy of their active spirits (men of quick and large-striding minds loving to walk together) not to say, that the loosenesse of their youthfull lives made [Page 255] them the faster friends. Henry, when afterwards King, heaped honours upon him, created him Viscount Lisle, and Duke of Suffolk.

Not long after some of the English Nobility got leave to go to the publick Tilting in Paris, and there behav'd themselves right valiantly, though the sullen French would scarce speak a word in their praise. For they conceived it would be an eternall impoverishing of the credit of their Nation, if the honour of the day should be exported by foreiners. But Brandon bare a­way the credit from all, fighting at Barriers with a giant Almain, till he made an earth-quake in that mountain of flesh, making him reel and Hollinshed, pag 833. stagger, and many other courses at Tilt he performed to admirati­on. Yea, the Lords beheld him not with more envi­ous, then the Ladies with gracious eyes, who darted more glaunces in love, then the other ranne spears in anger against him; especially Mary the French Queen, and sister to King Henry the eighth, who after­ward proved his wife.

For after the death of Lewis the twelfth her husband, King Henry her brother imployed Charles Brandon to bring her over into England; who improved his ser­vice so well that he got her good will to marrie her. Whether his affections were so ambitious to climbe up to her, or hers so courteous as to descend to him (who had been First married to Margaret Nevil, after to Anne, daugh­ter to S^r An­thony Brown. twice a widower before) let youth­full pennes dispute it: it sufficeth us, both met toge­ther. Then wrote he in humble manner to request King Henries leave to marrie his sister; but knowing that matters of this nature are never sure till finisht, and that leave is sooner got to do such attempts when done already; and wisely considering with himself that there are but few dayes in the Almanack, wherein such Marriages come in, and subjects have opportunity to wed Queens, he first married her Hollinshed, pag. 836. privately in Paris.

King Henrie after the acting of some anger, and [Page 256] shewing some state-discontent, was quickly contented therewith; yea the world conceiveth that he gave this woman to be married to this man, in sending him on such an imployment. At Calis they were afterward re-mar­ried, or if you will their former private marriage pub­lickly solemniz'd, and coming into England liv'd many years in honour and esteem, no lesse dear to his fellow-subjects then his Sovereigne. He was often imployed Generall in Martiall affairs, especially in the warres betwixt the English and French, though the greatest performance on both sides was but mutuall indenting the Dominions each of other with in­rodes.

When the divorce of King Henry from Queen Ka­tharine was so long in agitation, Brandon found not himself a little agrieved at the Kings expence of time and money: for the Court of Rome in such matters, wherein money is gotten by delayes, will make no more speed then the beast in Brasil, which the Spani­ards call Pigritia, which goes no farther in a fortnight then a man will cast a stone. Yea Brandon well per­ceived that Cardinall Campeius and Wolsey in their Court at Bridewell, wherein the divorce was judicially handled, intended onely to produce a solemn No­thing, their Court being but the clock set according to the diall at Rome, and the instructions received thence. Wherefore knocking on the table, in the pre­sence of the two Cardinalls, he bound it with an oath, That It was never well in England since Cardinalls had any thing to do therein: And from that time forward, as an active instrument, he indeavoured the abolishing of the Popes power in England.

For he was not onely (as the Papists complain Sanders. de Schismate Anglicano, p. 108. of him) a principall agent in that Parliament, Anno. 1534. wherein the Popes supremacy was abrogated, but also a main means of the overturning of Abbeys, as con­ceiving that though the head was struck off, yet as long [Page 257] as that neck and those shoulders remained there would be a continuall appetite of reuniting themselves. Herein his thoughts were more pure from the mixture of covetousnesse then many other imployed in the same service: For after that our eyes, justly dazled at first with the brightnesse of Gods Justice on those viti­ous fraternities, have somewhat recovered themselves, they will serve us to see the greedy appetites of some instruments to feed on Church-morsels.

He lived and dyed in the full favour of his Prince, though as Cardinall Pool observed, they who were highest in this Kings favour, their heads were nearest danger. Indeed King Henrie was not very tender in cutting off that joynt, and in his Reigne the ax was seldome wiped, before wetted again with Noble bloud. He dyed Anno 1544. much beloved, and la­mented of all, for his bounty, humility, valour, and all noble virtues, since the heat of his youth was tamed in his reduced age, and lies buried at Wind­sor.

CHAP. 5. The wise Statesman.

TO describe the Statesman at large, is the subject rather of a Volume then a Chapter, and is as farre beyond my power, as wide of my profession. We will not lanch into the deep, but satisfie our selves to sail by the shore, and briefly observe his carriage to­wards God, his King, himself, home-persons, and fo­rein Princes.

He counts the fear of God the beginning of wisdome;Maxime 1 and therefore esteemeth no project profitable, which is not lawfull; nothing politick, which crosseth piety. Let not any plead for the contrary Hushai's dealing with Absalom, which strongly favour'd of double-dealing; for what is a question cannot be an argument, seeing [Page 258] the lawfulnesse of his deed therein was never decided; and he is unwise that will venter the state of his soul on the litigious title of such an example. Besides, we must live by Gods precepts, not by the godlies practice. And though God causeth sometimes the sunne of suc­cesse to shine as well on bad as good projects, yet commonly wicked actions end in shame at the last.

2 In giving counsell to his Prince, he had rather displease then hurt him. Plain-dealing is one of the daintiest rarities can be presented to some Princes, as being novelty to them all times of the yeare. The Philosopher could say, Seneca de be­nefic. lib. 3. c. 30. Quid omnia possidentibus deest? Ille qui verum dicat. Wherefore our Statesman seeks to undeceive his Prince from the fallacies of flatterers, who by their plausible perswasions have bolster'd up their crooked counsells, to make them seem straight in the Kings eyes.

3 Yet if dissenting from his Sovereigne, he doth it with all hu­mility and moderation. It is neither manners nor wit to crosse Princes in their game, much lesse in their serious affairs. Yea, it may be Rebellion in a subject to give his Sovereigne loyall counsell, if proceeding from a spirit of contradiction and contempt, and uttered in audacious language. What do these but give wholsome Physick, wrapt up in poysoned papers?

4 He is constant, but not obstinate in the advice he gives. Some think it beneath a wise man to alter their opini­on: A maxime both false and dangerous. We know what worthy Father wrote his own Retractation; and it matters not though we go back from our word, so we go forward in the truth and a sound judgement. Such a one changeth not his main opinion, which ever was this, to embrace that course which upon mature deliberation shall appear unto him the most advised. As for his carriage towards himself,

5 He taketh an exact survey of his own defects and perfecti­ons. As for the former, his weaknesses and infirmities he doth carefully and wisely conceal: sometimes he [Page 259] covers them over with a cautious confidence, and pre­sents a fair hilt, but keeps the sword in the sheath which wanteth an edge. But this he manageth with much art, otherwise, being betray'd, it would prove most ridiculous, and it would make brave musick to his enemies, to heare the hissing of an empty bladder when it is prick'd.

His known perfections he seeks modestly to cloud and obscure. 6 It is needlesse to shew the sunne shining, which will break out of it self. Not like our Phantasticks, who ha­ving a fine watch draw all occasions to draw it out to be seen. Yea, because sometimes he concealeth his suf­ficiency in such things, wherein others know he hath ability, he shall therefore be thought at other times to have ability in those matters wherein indeed he wants it, men interpreting him therein rather modestly to dissemble, then to be defective. Yet when just occasi­on is offer'd, he shews his perfections soundly, though seldome, and then graceth them out to the best advan­tage.

In discourse he is neither too free, 7 nor overreserv'd, but ob­serves a mediocrity. His hall is common to all comers, but his closet is lock'd. Generall matters he is as libe­rall to impart, as carefull to conceal importancies. Mo­derate liberty in speech inviteth and provoketh liberty to be used again, where a constant closenesse makes all suspect him: and his company is burthensome that liveth altogether on the expences of others, and will lay out nothing himself. Yea, who will barter intelligence with him, that returns no considerable ware in ex­change?

He trusteth not any with a secret which may endanger his estate. 8 For if he tells it to his servant, he makes him his master; if to his friend, he enables him to be a foe, and to undo him at pleasure, whose secrecy he must buy at the parties own price, and if ever he shuts his purse, the other opens his mouth. Matters of inferiour conse­quence [Page 260] he will communicate to a fast friend, and crave his advice; for two eyes see more then one, though it be never so big, and set (as in Polyphemus) in the mid­dest of the forehead.

9 He is carefull and provident in the managing of his private e­state. Excellently Lib. 2. de of­sic. cap. 112. Ambrose, An idoneum putabo qui mihi det consilium, qui non dat sibi? Well may Princes suspect those Statesmen not to be wise in the businesse of the Common-wealth, who are fools in ordering their own affairs. Our Politician, if he enlargeth not his own estate, at least keeps it in good repair. As for avaricious courses, he disdaineth them. S^r Thomas More, though some years Lord-Chancellour of England, scarce left his sonne Sanders. de Schism. Anglic. pag. 118. five and twenty pounds ayeare more then his father left him. And Sr Henrie Sidney (father to Sr Philip) being Lord President of Wales and Ireland, got not Henry Lho [...]d, in the begin­ning of his Welch Chro­nicle. one foot of land in either Countrey, rather seeking after the common good then his private pro­fit. I must confesse the last age produced an English Statesman, who was the picklock of the cabinets of forein Princes, who, though the wisest in his time and way, died poore and indebted to private men, though not so much as the whole Kingdome was in­debted to him. But such an accident is rare; and a small Hospitall will hold those Statesmen who have impaired their means, not by their private carelesnesse, but carefulnesse for the publick. As for his carriage to­wards Home-persons,

10 He studieth mens natures, first reading the Title-pages of them by the report of Fame: but credits not Fames relati­ons to the full. Otherwise, as in London-exchange one shall overbuy wares, who gives half the price at first demanded, so he that believeth the moity of Fame may believe too much. Wherefore to be more accurate,

11 He reads the Chapters of mens natures (chiefly his concur­rents and competitours) by the reports of their friends and foes, [Page 261] making allowance for their engagements, not belie­ving all in the masse, but onely what he judiciously extracteth. Yet virtues confess'd by their foes, and vi­ces acknowledged by their friends, are commonly true. The best intelligence, if it can be obtained, is from a fugitive Privado.

But the most legible Character and truest Edition wherein he reads a man is in his own occasionall openings: 12 And that in these three cases.

• 1 When the party discloses himself in his wine: for though it be unlawfull to practise on any to make them drunk, yet no doubt one may make a good use of another mans abusing himself. What they say of the herb Lunaria ceremoni­ously gathered at some set times, that laid upon any lock, it makes it flie open, is most true of drunkennesse, unbolting the most important se­crets.
• 2 When he discovereth himself in his passions. Physicians to make some small veins in their Pa­tients arms plump and full, that they may see them the better to let them bloud, use to put them into hot water: so the heat of passion pre­senteth many invisible veins in mens hearts to the eye of the beholder; yea the sweat of anger washeth off their paint, and makes them appear in their true colours.
• 3 When accidentally they bolt out speeches un­awares to themselves. More hold is then to be taken of a few words casually uttered, then of set solemn speeches, which rather shew mens arts then their natures, as endited rather from their brains then hearts. The drop of one word may shew more then the stream of an whole oration; and our Statesman by examining such fugitive passages (which have stollen on a sudden out of the parties mouth) arrives at his best intelligence.

[Page 262] 13 In Court-factions he keeps himself in a free neutrality. Other­wise to engage himself needlessely were both folly and danger. When Francis the first, King of France, was consulting with his Captains how to lead his army Pere de Lan­cre, of the un­certainty of things, lib. 2. fourth discourse over the Alpes into Italy, whether this way or that way, Amarill his fool sprung out of a corner, where he sate unseen, and bade them rather take care which way they should bring their army out of Italy back again. Thus is it easie for one to interest and embarque himself in others quarrells, but much difficulty it is to be disengaged from them afterwards. Nor will our Statesman entitle himself a party in any feminine discords, knowing that womens jarres breed mens warres.

14 Yet he counts neutrality profanenesse in such matters wherein God, his Prince, the Church, or State are concern'd. Indeed, He that meddleth with strife not belonging unto him is like one that taketh a dog by the eares. Prov. 26.17. Yet if the dog worrieth a sheep, we may, yea ought to rescue it from his teeth, and must be champions for innocence when it is over­born with might. He that will stand neuter in such matters of moment, wherein his calling commands him to be a party, with Servilius in Rome, will please neither side: Of whom the Historian sayes, P. Ser­vilius medium se gerendo, nec plebis vitavit odium, nec apud Pa­tres gratiam inivit. And just it is with God, that they should be strained in the twist, who stride so wide as to set their legs in two opposite sides. Indeed an up­right shoe may fit both feet, but never saw I glove that would serve both hands. Neutrality in matters of an indifferent nature may fit well, but never suit well in important matters, of farre different conditi­ons.

15 He is the centre wherein lines of intelligence meet from all fo­rein countreys. He is carefull that his outlandish in­structions be full, true, and speedy; not with the slug­gard telling for news at noone, that the sunne is ri­sen. [Page 263] But more largely hereof in the Embassadour, here­after.

He refuseth all underhand pensions from forein Princes. 16 In­deed honourary rewards received with the approbation of his Sovereigne may be lawfull, and lesse dangerous. For although even such gifts tacitly oblige him by way of gratitude to do all good offices to that forein Prince whose Pensioner he is; yet his counsells passe not but with an open abatement, in regard of his known engagements, and so the State is armed a­gainst the advice of such, who are well known to lean to one side. But secret pensions which flow from forein Princes, like the river Anas in Spain, under ground, not known or discerned, are most mischie­vous. The receivers of such will play under-board at the Counsell-table; and the eating and digesting of such outlandish food will by degrees fill their veins with outlandish bloud, even in their very hearts.

His Master-piece is in negotiating for his own Master with forein Princes. 17 At Rhodes there was a contention be­twixt Apelles and Protogenes, corrivalls in the Myste­ry of Limming. Apelles with his pencill drew a ve­ry slender even line; Protogenes drew another more small and slender in the midst thereof with another colour: Apelles again with a third line of a different colour drew thorow the midst of that Protogenes had made, Plin. nat. Hist. lib. 34. cap. 10. Nullum relinquens amplius subtilitati locum. Thus our Statesman traverseth matters, doubling and re­doubling in his forein negotiations with the Po­liticians of other Princes, winding, and entrenching themselves mutually within the thoughts each of o­ther, till at last our Statesman leaves no degree of sub­tlety to go beyond him.

To conclude: Some plead that dissembling is Law­full in the State-craft, upon the presupposition that men must meet with others which dissemble. Yea they hold, that thus to counterfeit, se defendendo, against [Page 264] a crafty corrivall, is no sinne, but a just punishment on our adversary, who first began it. And therefore States­men sometimes must use crooked shoes, to fit hurl'd feet. Besides, the honest Politician would quickly be begger'd, if, receiving black money from cheatours, he payes them in good silver, and not in their own coin back again. For my part, I confesse that herein I rather see what then whither to flie; neither able to answer their arguments, nor willing to allow their practice. But what shall I say? They need to have steddy heads who can dive into these gulfs of policy, and come out with a safe conscience. I'le look no longer on these whirl-pools of State, lest my pen turn giddy.

CHAP. 6. The life of William Cecil Lord Burleigh.

WIlliam Cecil born at Bourn in Lincolnshire, descended from the ancient and worshipfull Family of the Sitsilts or Cecils of Alterynnis in Here­fordshire, on the confines of Wales; a name which a great Verstegen, restitut. of de­caid intelli­gence, pag. 312. Antiquary thinks probably derived from the Romane Cecilii. No credit is to be given to their pens, who tax him with meannesse of birth, and whose ma­lice is so generall against all goodnesse, that it had been [Page 266] a slander if this worthy man had not been slandred by them: The servant is not above his master; and we know what aspersions their malice sought to cast on the Queen her self.

He being first bred in S. Johns Colledge in Cam­bridge, went thence to Grayes Inne (and used it as an Inne indeed, studying there in his Passage to the Court) where he attained good learning in the Laws: yet his skill in fencing made him not daring to quarrell, who in all his life-time neither Cambd. Eli­zab. in Anno 1598. sued any, nor was sued himself. He was after Master of the Requests (the first that ever bare that office) unto the Duke of Sommer­set, Lord Protectour, and was knighted by King Ed­ward the sixth.

One S^•. Iohn Hay­ward in his Edward sixth, p. 417. challengeth him to have been a main contri­ver of that act, and unnaturall will of King Edward the sixth, wherein the King passing by his sisters, Ma­rie and Elizabeth, entailed the Crown on Queen Jane; and that he furnished that act with reasons of State, as Judge Montague filled it with arguments of Law. In­deed his hand wrote it, as Secretary of State, but his heart consented not thereto; yea he openly Cambden, ut priús. opposed it, though at last yielding to the greatnesse of Nor­thumberland, in an age wherein it was present drown­ing, not to swim along with the stream. But as the Aristot. lib. 2. de coelo cap. 4. & 10. Philosopher tells us, that though the Planets be whir­led about daily from East to West by the motion of the Primum mobile, yet have they also a contrary proper motion of their own, from West to East, which they slowly yet surely move at their leisures: so Cecill had secret counter-endeavours against the strain of the Court herein, and privately advanced his rightfull in­tentions against the foresaid Dukes ambition; and we see that afterward Queen Marie not onely pardoned but employ'd him; so that towards the end of her reigne he stood in some twilight of her favour.

As for S^r. Edward Montague Lord chief Justice, [Page 267] what he did was by command against his own will, as appears by his written protestation at his death, still in the hands of his honourable posterity. But whilest in this army of offenders, the Nobility in the [...]ront made an escape for themselves, Queen Maries displea­sure overtook the old Judge in the rere, the good old man being not able with such speed to provide for himself; yea though he had done nothing but by ge­nerall consent and command, the rest of the Lords laid load on him, desirous that the Queens anger should send him on an errand to the prison, and thence to the scaffold, to excuse themselves from going on the same message. However, after some imprisonment he was pardon'd; a sufficient argument, that the Queen conceived him to concurre passively in that action.

In Queen Elizabeths dayes he was made Secretary of State, Master of the Wards, Lord Treasurer, and at last after long service Baron of Burleigh. For the Queen honoured her honours in conferring them sparingly, thereby making Titles more substantiall, wherewith she payed many for their service. The best demonstra­tion of his care in stewarding her Treasure was this, that the Queen, vying gold and silver with the King of Spain, had money or credit, when the other had neither; her Exchequer, though but a pond in compa­rison, holding water, when his river, fed with a spring from the Indies, was dreined dry.

In that grand faction betwixt Leicester and Sussex, he meddled not openly, though 'tis easie to tell whom he wish'd the best to. Indeed this cunning Wrestler would never catch hold to grapple openly with Lei­cester (as having somewhat the disadvantage of him both in height and strength) but as they ran to their severall goles, if they chanced to meet, Burleigh would fairly give him a trip, and be gone; and the Earl had many a rub laid in his way, yet never saw who put it there.

[Page 268]Tis true, the Sword-men accus'd him as too cold in the Queens credit, and backward in fighting against forein enemies. Indeed he would never engage the State in a warre, except necessity, or her Majesties ho­nour, sounded the alarm: But no reason he should be counted an enemie to the Sparks of Valour, who was so carefull to provide them fewel, and pay the Souldier. Otherwise, in vain do the brows frown, the eyes spar­kle, the tongue threaten, the fist bend, and the arm strike, except the belly be fed.

The Queen reflected her favour highly upon him, counting him both her Treasurer, and her principall Treasure. She would cause him alwayes to sit down in her presence, because troubled with the gout, and used to tell him: My Lord, we make much of you, not for your bad legs, but for your good head. This caused him to be much envied of some great ones at Court; and at one time no fewer then the Cambden. Elizab. Anno 1579. Marquesse of Winchester, Duke of Norfolk, Earls of Arundel, Northumber­land, Westmerland, Pembroke and Leicester combi­ning against him, taking advantage about his making over some moneys beyond sea to the French Prote­stants, and on some other occasions; S^r Nicholas Throgmorton advised them first to clap him up in prison, saying, that if he were once shut up, men would open their mouths to speak freely against him. But the Queen understanding hereof, and standing, as I may say, in the very prison-doore, quash'd all their designes, and freed him from the mischief pro­jected against him.

He was a good friend to the Church, as then esta­blished by Law; he used to advise his eldest sonne Thomas never to bestow any great cost, or to build any great house on an Impropriation, as fearing the foundation might fail hereafter. A Patron to both Universities, chiefly to Cambridge, whereof he was Chancellour; and though Rent-corn first grew in the [Page 269] head of S^r Thomas Smith, it was ripened by Burleighs assistance, whereby though the rents of Colledges stand still, their revennues increase.

No man was more pleasant and merry at meals; and he had a pretty wit-rack in himself, to make the dumbe to speak, to draw speech out of the most sullen and Hottoman in descrip. of the Embassadour witnesseth so much, who had be [...]n at his table. silent guest at his table, to shew his disposition in any point he should propound. For forein intelli­gence, though he traded sometimes on the stock of Se­cretary Walsingham, yet wanted he not a plentifull bank of his own. At night when he put off his gown, he used to say, Lie there, Lord Treasurer, and bidding adieu to all State-affairs, disposed himself to his quiet rest.

Some looking on the estate he left, have wondered that it was so great, and afterwards wondred more that it was so little, having considered what Offices he had, and how long he enjoyed them. His harvest lasted every day for above thirty years together, wherein he allowed some of his servants the same courtesie Boaz granted to Ruth, to glean even among the sheaves, and to suffer some handfulls also to fall on purpose for them, whereby they raised great estates.

To draw to a conclusion: There arose a great questi­on in State, whether warre with Spain should be con­tinued, or a peace drawn up? The Sword and Gown-men brought weighty arguments on both sides, stamping also upon them with their private interests, to make them more heavy: Burleigh was all against warre, now old, being desirous to depart in peace, both private in his Conscience, and publick in the State. But his life was determined before the question was fully decided. In his sicknesse the Queen often vi­sited him, a good plaister to asswage his pain, but un­able to prolong his life; so that, Cum satis naturae, satisque gloriae, putriae autem non satis vixisset, in the seventy seventh yeare of his age, Anno 1598. he exchanged this [Page 270] life for a better. God measured his outward happinesse not by an ordinary standard: How many great Under­takers in State set in a cloud, whereas he shined to the last? Herein much is to be ascribed to the Queens constancy, who to confute the observation of Femi­nine ficklenesse, where her favour did light it did lodge; more to his own temper and moderation, whereas violent & boysterous meddlers in State cripple themselves with aches in their age; most to Gods goodnesse, who honoureth them that honour him. He saw Thomas his eldest sonne richly married to an honourable coheir; Robert, able to stand alone in Court, having a competent portion of favour, which he knew thriftily to improve, being a pregnant profi­cient in State-discipline.

CHAP. 7. The good Iudge.

THe good Advocate, whom we Lib. 2. cap. 1. formerly descri­bed, is since by his Princes favour, and own de­serts, advanced to be a Judge: which his place he free­ly obtained with S^r. Augustine Bolton in his funer. notes on him. Nicolls, whom King James used to call the Iudge that would give no money. O­therwise they that buy Justice by wholesale, to make themselves savers must sell it by retail.

Maxime 1 He is patient and attentive in hearing the pleadings on both sides; and hearkens to the witnesses, though tedious. He may give a waking testimony who hath but a dreaming utterance; and many countrey people must be impertinent, before they can be pertinent, and cannot give evidence about an hen, but first they must begin with it in the egge. All which our Judge is con­tented to hearken to.

2 He meets not a testimony half-way, but stayes till it come at him. He that proceeds on half-evidence, will not do quarter-justice. Our Judge will not go till he is lead. [Page 271] If any shall brow-beat a pregnant witnesse, on purpose to make his proof miscarry, he checketh them, and helps the witnesse that labours in his delivery. On the other side, he nips those Lawyers, who under a pre­tence of kindnesse to lend a witnesse some words, give him new matter, yea clean contrary to what he intend­ed.

Having heard with patience, 3 he gives sentence with upright­nesse. For when he put on his robes, he put off his re­lations to any; and like Melchisedech becomes with­out pedigree. His private affections are swallowed up in the common cause, as rivers lose their names in the ocean. He therefore allows no noted favourites, which cannot but cause multiplication of fees, and suspicion of by-wayes.

He silences that Lawyer who seeks to set the neck of a bad cause, 4 once broken with a definitive sentence; and causeth that contentious suits be spued out, as the surfets of Courts.

He so hates bribes, 5 that he is jealous to receive any kindnesse above the ordinary proportion of friendship; lest like the Ser­mons of wandring Preachers, they should end in beg­ging. And surely Integrity is the proper portion of a Judge. Men have a touch-stone whereby to try gold, but gold is the touch-stone whereby to trie men. It was a shrewd gird which Catulus gave the Romane Judges for acquitting Clodius a great malefactour, when he met them going home well attended with Officers; You do well (quoth he) to be well Plutar. in the life of Cicero, pag. 872. guarded for your safety, lest the money be taken away from you, you took for bribes. Our Judge also detesteth the trick of Mendicant Friers, who will touch no money themselves, but have a boy with a bag to receive it for them.

When he sits upon life, 6 in judgement he remembreth mercy. Then (they say) a butcher may not be of the Jurie, much lesse let him be the Judge. Oh let him take heed how he strikes, that hath a dead hand. It was the [Page 272] charge Queen Marie gave to Judge Morgan, chief Justice of the common Pleas, that notwithstanding the old Holinshed in Queen Marie, pag. 1112. errour amongst Judges did not admit any wit­nesse to speak, or any other matter to be heard in fa­vour of the adversary, her Majestie being party; yet her Highnesse pleasure was that whatsoever could be brought in the favour of the Subject should be admit­ted and heard.

7 If the cause be difficult, his diligence is the greater to sift it out. For though there be mention, Psal. 37.6. of righteous­nesse as clear as the noon-day, yet God forbid that that innocency which is no clearer then twilight should be condemned. And seeing ones oath com­mands anothers life, he searcheth whether malice did not command that oath: yet when all is done, the Judge may be deceived by false evidence. But blame not the hand of the diall, if it points at a false houre, when the fault's in the wheels of the clock which di­rect it, and are out of frame.

8 The sentence of condemnation he pronounceth with all gravity. 'Tis best when steep'd in the Judges tears. He avoid­eth all jesting on men in misery: easily may he put them out of countenance, whom he hath power to put out of life.

9 Such as are unworthy to live, and yet unfitted to die, he provides shall be instructed. By Gods mercy, and good teaching, the reprive of their bodies may get the pardon of their souls, and one dayes longer life for them here may procure a blessed eternity for them hereafter, as may appear by this memorable Example. It happened a­bout the yeare one thousand five hundred and fiftie six in the town of Melchior Adamus in vit. Iac. An­dreae, pag. 639. Weissenstein in Germany that a Jew for theft he had cōmitted, was in this cruell manner to be executed: He was hang'd by the feet with his head downwards betwixt two dogs, which constantly snatch'd and bit at him. The strangenesse of the tor­ment moved Jacobus Andreas (a grave, moderate, [Page 273] and learned Divine as any in that age) to go to be­hold it. Coming thither he found the poore wretch, as he hung, repeating Verses out of the Hebrew Psalmes, wherein he cryed out to God for mercy. Andreas hereupon took occasion to counsell him to trust in Jesus Christ the true Saviour of mankind: The Jew embracing the Christian Faith, requested but this one thing, that he might be taken down and be baptized, though presently after he were hanged again (but by the neck as Christian malefactours suffered) which was accordingly granted him.

He is exact to do justice in civill Suits betwixt Sovereigne and Subject. 10 This will most ingratiate him with his Prince at last. Kings neither are, can, nor should be Lawyers themselves, by reason of higher State-em­ployments, but herein they see with the eyes of their Judges, and at last will break those false spectacles which (in point of Law) shall be found to have de­ceived them.

He counts the Rules of State and the Laws of the Realm mu­tually support each other. 11 Those who made the Laws to be not onely disparate, but even opposite terms to maximes of Government, were true friends neither to Laws nor Government. Indeed Salus Reip. is Charta maxima: extremity makes the next the best remedy. Yet though hot waters be good to be given to one in a swound, they will burn his heart out who drinks them constantly, when in health. Extraordinary courses are not ordinarily to be used, when not enforced by abso­lute necessity.

And thus we leave our good Judge to receive a just reward of his integrity from the Judge of Judges, at the great Assize of the world.

CHAP. 8. The life of S^r. JOHN MARKHAM.

IOhn Markham was born at Markham in Notting­hamshire, descended of an ancient and worthy fa­milie. He employed his youth in the studying of the Municipall Law of this realm, wherein he attained to such eminencie, that King Edward the fourth Knight­ed him, and made him Lord chief 13. Maii. 1. Edwardi. 4. Justice of the Kings Bench in the place of S^r John Fortescue, that learned and upright Judge, who fled away with King Henrie the sixth.

Yet Fortescue was not miss'd, because Markham succeeded him: and that losse, which otherwise could not be repair'd, now could not be perceiv'd. For though these two Judges did severally lean to the sides of Lancaster and York, yet both sate upright in matters of Judicature.

We will instance and insist on one memorable act of our Judge, which though single in it self, was plu­rall in the concernings thereof. And let the Reader know, that I have not been carelesse to search, though unhappy not to find, the originall Record, perchance abolished on purpose, and silenced for telling tales to the disgrace of great ones. We must now be contented to write this Story out of the English Chronicles; Fabian. pag. 497 &c. Hol­linshed pag. 670. and Stow in 12. of Ed­ward the fourth. and let him die of drougth without pity, who will not quench his thirst at the river, because he cannot come at the fountain.

King Edward the fourth having married into the family of the Woodvills (Gentlemen of more anti­quity then wealth, and of higher spirits then fortunes) thought it fit for his own honour to bestow honour upon them: But he could not so easily provide them of wealth, as titles. For honour he could derive from himself, like light from a candle, without any dimi­nishing [Page 275] of his own lustre; whereas wealth flowing from him, as water from a fountain, made the spring the shallower. Wherefore he resolved to cut down some prime subjects, and to engraff the Queens kin­red into their estates, which otherwise like suckers must feed on the stock of his own Exchequer.

There was at this time one S^r Thomas Cook, late Lord Maior of London, and Knight of the Bath, one who had well lick'd his fingers under Queen Margaret (whose Wardroper he was, and customer of Hamp­ton) a man of a great estate. It was agreed that he should be accused of high Treason, and a Commission of Oyer and Terminer granted forth to the Lord Maior, the Duke of Clarence, the Earl of Warwick, the Lord Rivers, S^r. John Markham, S^r. John Fogg, &c. to try him in Guild Hall: And the King by pri­vate instructions to the Judge appear'd so farre, that Cook, though he was not, must be found guilty, and if the Law were too short, the Judge must stretch it to the purpose.

The fault laid to his charge was for lending moneys to Queen Margaret, wife to King Henrie the sixth; the proof, was the confession of one Hawkins, who being rack'd in the Tower had confessed so much. The Counsell for the King, hanging as much weight on the smallest wier as it would hold, aggravated each particular, & by their Rhetoricall flashes blew the fault up to a great height. S^r Thomas Cook pleaded for himself, that Hawkins indeed upon a season came to him, and requested him to lend one thousand marks, upon good security. But he desired first to know for whom the money should be: and understanding it was for Queen Margaret, denyed to lend any money, though at last the said Hawkins descended so low as to require but one hundred pounds, and departed with­out any peny lent him.

Judge Markham in a grave speech did recapitulate, [Page 276] select and collate the materiall points on either side, shewing that the proof reached not the charge of high Treason, and misprision of Treason was the highest it could amount to, and intimated to the Ju­rie, to be tender in matter of life, and discharge good consciences.

The Jurie being wise men (whose apprehensions could make up an whole sentence of every nod of the Judge) saw it behoved them to draw up Treason into as narrow a compasse as might be, lest it became their own case; for they lived in a troublesome world, wherein the cards were so shuffled, that two Kings were turn'd up trump at once, which amazed men how to play their games. Whereupon they acquitted the prisoner of high Treason, and found him guilty, as the Judge directed.

Yet it cost S^r Thomas Cook, before he could get his libertie, eight hundred pounds to the Queen, and eight thousand pounds to the King: A summe in that age more sounding like the ransome of a Prince, then the fine of a Subject. Besides, the Lord Rivers (the Queens Father) had, during his Imprisonment, despoyled his houses, one in the city, another in the countrey of plate and furniture, for which he never re­ceived a penie recompence. Yet God righted him of the wrongs men did him, by blessing the remnant of his estate to him, and his posterity, which still flourish at Giddy Hall in Essex.

As for S^r John Markham, the Kings displeasure fell so heavy on him, that he was outed of his place, and S^r Thomas Billing put in his room, though the one lost that Office with more honour then the other got it; and gloried in this, that though the King could make him no Judge, he could not make him no upright Judge. He lived privately the rest of his dayes, having (besides the estate got by his practice) fair lands by Margaret his wife, daughter and coheir [Page 277] to S^r Simon Leak Burtons Le [...]cestershire, pag. 577. of Cotham in Nottinghamshire, whose Mother Joan was daughter and heir of S^r John Talbot, of Swannington in Leicester­shire.

CHAP. 9. The good Bishop.

HE is an Overseer of a Flock of Shepherds, as a Minister is of a Flock of Gods sheep. Divine pro­vidence and his Princes bounty advanced him to the Place, whereof he was no whit ambitious: Onely he counts it good manners to sit there where God hath placed him, though it be higher then he conceives himself to deserve, and hopes that he who call'd him to the Office hath or will in some measure fit him for it.

His life is so spotlesse, Maxime 1 that Malice is angry with him, because she cannot be angry with him: because she can find no just cause to accuse him. And as Diogen. Laerr. lib. 6. pag. 212. in vit. Diogenis. Diogenes confuted him who denyed there was any motion, by saying no­thing but walking before his eyes; so our Bishop takes no notice of the false accusations of people disaffected against his order, but walks on circumspectly in his calling, really refelling their cavils by his conversation. A Bi­shops bare presence at a marriage in his own diocesse, is by the Law interpreted for a licence; and what actions soever he graceth with his company, he is conceived to priviledge them to be lawfull, which makes him to be more wary in his behaviour.

With his honour, 2 his holinesse and humility doth increase. His great Place makes not his piety the lesse: farre be it from him that the glittering of the candlestick should dimme the shining of his candle. The meanest Minister of Gods word may have free accesse unto him: whoso­ever brings a good cause brings his own welcome with him. The pious poore may enter in at his wide [Page 278] gates, when not so much as his wicket shall be open to wealthy unworthinesse.

3 He is diligent and faithfull in preaching the Gospel: either by his pen, Evangelizo manu & scriptione, saith a strict Reinold. de Idol. Rom. Eccles. Epist. dedicat. Divine; or by his vocall Sermons (if age and other indispensable occasions hinder him not) teaching the Clergie to preach, and the Laity to live, according to the ancient Concil. To [...]etan. 2. Cap. 2. Tom. 4. pag. 820. Concil. Constant. 6. Can. 19. Tom. 5. pag. 328. Concil. Aurel. Can. 33. pag. 723. and late­ly, Concil Tri­dent. Sess 24. Can. 4 Canons. Object not that it is unfitting he should lie Perdue, who is to walk the round, and that Governing as an higher employment is to silence his Preaching: For Preaching is a principall part of Go­verning, and Christ himself ruleth his Church by his Word. Hereby Bishops shall govern hearts, and make men yield unto them a true and willing obedience, reverencing God in them. Many in consumptions have recover'd their healths by returning to their na­tive aire wherein they were born: If Episcopacy be in any declination or diminution of honour, the going back to the painfulnesse of the primitive Fathers in Preaching, is the onely way to repair it.

4 Painfull, pious, and peaceable Ministers are his principall Fa­vourites. If he meets them in his way (yea he will make it his way to meet them) he bestoweth all grace and lustre upon them.

5 He is carefull that Church-censures be justly and solemnly in­flicted: namely,

• 1 Admonition, when the Church onely chideth, but with the rod in her hand.
• 2 Excommunication, the Mittimus whereby the Malefactour is sent to the gaolour of hell, and deli­vered to Satan.
• 3 Aggravation, whereby for his greater contempt, he is removed out of the gaole into the dunge­on.
• 4 Penance, which is or should be inward repen­tance, made visible by open confession, whereby the Congregation is satisfied for the publick of­fense given her.
• [Page 279]5 Absolution, which fetcheth the penitent out of hell, and opens the doore of heaven for him, which Excommunication had formerly lock'd, and Aggravation bolted against him.

As much as lies in his power, he either prevents or corrects those too frequent abuses, whereby offenders are not Acts 2.37. prick'd to the heart, but let bloud in the purse; and when the Court hath her costs, the Church hath no damage given her, nor any reparation for the open scandall she received by the parties offence. Let the memory of Worthy Bishop Lake ever survive, whose hand had the true seasoning of a Sermon with Law and Gospel, and who was most fatherly grave in in­flicting Church-censures: Such offenders as were un­happy in deserving, were happy in doing penance in his presence.

He is carefull and happy in suppressing of Heresies and Schismes. 6 He distinguisheth of Schismaticks, as Phisici­ans do of Leprous people: Some are infectious, The Leprosy Eleph [...]ntiasis not infectious to the compa­ny. o­thers not; Some are active to seduce others, others quietly enjoy their opinions in their own consciences. The latter by his mildnesse he easily reduceth to the truth; whereas the Chirurgeons rigourously handling it, often breaks that bone quite off, which formerly was but out of joynt: Towards the former he useth more severity, yet endeavouring first to inform him aright, before he punisheth him. To use force first be­fore people are fairly taught the truth, is to knock a nail into a board, without wimbling a hole for it, which then either not enters, or turns crooked, or splits the wood it pierceth.

He is very mercifull in punishing offenders;7 both in mat­ters of life and livelyhood, seing in S. Johns Language the same word Iohn. 3 17. B [...]os signifies both. He had rather draw tears, then bloud. It was the honour of the Ro­mane State, as yet being Pagan, Livius lib. 1. pag. 20. In hoc gloriari licet, nulli Gentium mitiores placuisse poenas: Yea for the first seventy [Page 280] years (till the reigne of Ancus Martius) they were without a prison. Clemency therefore in a Christian Bishop is most proper: O let not the Starres of our Church be herein turn'd to Comets, whose appearing in place of judicature presageth to some death or destruction. I confesse that even Justice it self is a kind of mercy: But God grant that my portion of mercy be not paid me in that coin. And though the highest detestation of sinne best agreeth with Clergy-men, yet ought they to cast a severe eye on the vice and example, and a mercifull eye on the person.

8 None more forward to forgive a wrong done to himself. Wor­thy Archbishop Cambd. Eli­zab. in Anno 1588. p. 538. Whitgift interceded to Queen Eliza­beth for remitting of heavie fines laid on some of his Adversaries (learning from Christ his Master to be a mediatour for them) till his importunity had angred the Queen, yea and till his importunity had pleas'd her again, and gave not over till he got them to be forgi­ven.

9 He is very carefull on whom he layeth hands in Ordination; lest afterwards he hath just cause to beshrew his fin­gers, and with Martianus, a Bishop of Constantino­ple (who made Sabbatius a Jew and a turbulent man Priest) wish he had then rather laid his hand on the Socrat. Ec­cles. Hist. lib. 5. cap. 20. briers, then such a mans head. For the sufficiency of Scholarship he goeth by his own eye; but for their honest life, he is guided by other mens hands, which would not so oft deceive him, were Testimonialls a matter of lesse courtesie and more conscience. For whosoever subscribes them enters into bond to God and the Church, under an heavy forfeiture, to avouch the honestie of the party commended; and, as Judah for Benjamin, they become sureties for the young man unto his father. Nor let them think to void the band and make it but a blank with that clause, so farre forth as we know, or words to the like effect: For what saith the Apostle? God is not mocked.

[Page 281] He meddleth as little as may be with Temporall matters:10 ha­ving little skill in them, and lesse will to them. Not that he is unworthy to manage them, but they un­worthy to be managed by him. Yea generally the most dexterous in spirituall matters are left-handed in temporall businesse, and go but untowardly about them. Wherefore our Bishop, with reverend Funerall Serm. on him, pag. 19. An­drews, meddleth little in civill affairs, being out of his profession and element. Heaven is his vocation, and therefore he counts earthly employments avocations: except in such cases which lie (as I may say) in the Marches of Di­vinity, and have connexion with his calling; or else when temporall matters meddle with him, so that he must rid them out of his way. Yet he rather admireth then condemneth such of his brethren, who are strengthned with that which would distract him, ma­king the concurrence of spirituall and temporall pow­er in them support one another, and using worldly bu­sinesse as their recreation to heavenly employment.

If call'd to the Court he there doth all good offices, 11 betwixt Prince and people, striving to remove all misprisions & disaffections, & advancing unity and concord. They that think the Church may flourish when the Com­mon-wealth doth wither may as well conceive that the brains may be sound when pia mater is perished. When in the way of a Confessour he privately tells his Prince of his faults, he knows by Nathans parable, to go the nearest way home by going farre about.

He improves his power with his Prince for the Churches good, 12 in maintaining both true religion and the maintenance thereof; lest some pretending with pious Ezechiah to beat down the brazen serpent, the occasion of Idolatry, do indeed with sacrilegious Ahaz take away the bra­zen bulls from the Laver, and set it on a pavement of stone. He jointly advanceth the pains and gains, the work and wages of Ministers, which going together make a flourishing Clergy, with Gods blessing, and without mans envy.

[Page 282] 13 His mortified mind is no whit moved with the magnificent vanities of the Court: no more then a dead corps is affect­ed with a velvet herse-cloth over it. He is so farre from wondring at their pomps, that though he looks daily on them, he scarce sees them, having his eyes taken up with higher objects; and onely admires at such, as can admire such low matters. He is loved and feared of all; and his presence frights the Swearer either out of his oathes or into silence, and he stains all other mens lives with the clearnesse of his own.

14 Yet he daily prayeth God to keep him in so slippery a place. E­lisha prayed that a double portion of Eliahs Spirit might rest upon him. A Father descanteth hereon, that a double portion of grace was necessary for Elisha, who was gratious at Court, lived in a plentifull way, and favoured of the Kings of Israel; whereas Eliah li­ved poorely, and privately: And more wisdome is re­quisite to manage prosperity then affliction.

15 In his grave writings he aims at Gods glory, and the Churches peace, with that worthy Prelate, the second Jewell of Salisbury, whose Comments and Controversies will transmit his memory to all Posterity:

He ever makes honourable mention of forein Protestant Churches;16 even when he differs and dissents from them. The worst he wisheth the French Church is a Prote­stant King: not giving the left hand of Fellowship to them, and reserving his right for some other. Cannot Christs coat be of different colours, but also it must be of severall seams? railing one on another, till these Sisters, by bastardizing one another, make the Popish [Page 283] Church the sole heir to all truth. How often did reve­rend S. G. [...]. in his life. p [...]. 63, 64. Whitgift (knowing he had the farre better cheere) send a messe of meat from his own table to the Mini­sters of Geneva? relieving many of them by bountifull contributions. Indeed English charity to forein Protestant Churches in some respect is payment of a debt: their children deserve to be our welcome guests, whose Grandfathers were our loving hosts in the dayes of Queen Mary.

He is thankfull to that Colledge whence he had his education. 17 He conceiv'd himself to heare his Mother-Colledge al­wayes speaking to him in the language of Joseph to Pharaohs Butler, Gen. 40.14. But think on me, I pray thee, when it shall be well with thee. If he himself hath but little, the lesse from him is the more acceptable: A drop from a spunge is as much as a tunne of water from a Marish. He be­stows on it Books, or Plate, or Lands or Building; and the Houses of the Prophets rather lack watering then planting, there being enough of them, if they had enough.

He is hospitable in his housekeeping according to his estate. 18 His bounty is with discretion to those that deserve it: Charity mistaken, which relieves idle people, like a dead corps, onely feeds the vermin it breeds. The ranknesse of his housekeeping produceth no riot in his Family. S. Paul calls a Christian Family well ordered, Rom. 6.5. Theoph. in lo­cum. a Church in their house. If a private mans house be a Pa­rochiall, a Bishops may seem a Cathedrall Church, as much better as bigger, so decently all things therein are disposed.

We come now to give a double Example of a godly Bishop: the first out of the Primitive times, the second out of the English Church since the Reformation, both excellent in their severall wayes.

CHAP. 11. The life of S. AUGUSTINE.

AUgustine was born in the City of Tagasta in Afri­ca, of Gentile parentage, Patricius and Monica, though their means bore not proportion to their birth, so that the breeding of their sonne at Learning much weakned their estate, in so much as Romanian a noble gentleman (all the world is bound to be thank­full to S. Augustines Benefactour) bountifully advanced his education.

[Page 285]It will be needlesse to speak of his youth, vitious in manners and erroneous in doctrine, especially seeing he hath so largely accus'd himself in his Confessions. 'Tis tyranny to trample on him that prostrates himself; and whose sinnes God hath gratiously forgotten, let no man despightfully remember.

Being made a Presbyter in the Church of Hippo, this great favour was allowed him, to preach constant­ly, though in the presence of Posidonius in vit. August. cap 5. Valerius the Bishop: whereas in that age to heare a Priest preach when that a Bishop was in the Church, was as great a wonder as the Moon shining at mid-day. Yea godly Valerius, one that could do better then he could speak, and had a better heart then tongue, (being a Grecian, and therefore not well understood of the Africans) procu­red Augustine in his life-time to be designed Bishop of Hippo, and to be joyned Idem cap. 8. fellow-Bishop with him­self, though it was flatly against the Canons.

For a Coadjutour commonly proves an hinderer, and by his envious clashing doth often dig his Part­ners grave with whom he is joyn'd; besides that such a superinstallation seems an unlawfull bigamy, marry­ing two husbands at the same time to the same Church. Yea, S. Augustine himself, afterwards un­derstanding that this was against the Constitutions of the Church, was sorry thereat (though others thought his eminency above Canons, and his deserts his di­spensation) and desiring that his ignorance herein should not misguide others, obtained that the Canons (then not so hard to be kept as known, because ob­scure and scattered) were compiled together and pub­lished, that the Clergy might know what they were bound to observe.

Being afterwards sole Bishop, he was diligent in continuall preaching, and beating down of Hereticks especially the Manicheans, in whose Fence-school he was formerly brought up, and therefore knew best [...]

[Page 288]To come to his death. It happened that the Nor­thern countreys, called by Methodius Martyr & Paul Diacon. some Vagina gentium, the Sheath of people (though more properly they may be ter­med, Ensis dei, the Sword of God) sent forth the Vandalls, Albans, and Gothes, into the Southern parts, God pu­nishing the pride of the Roman Empire to be con­founded by Barbarous enemies. Out of Spain they came into Africa, and massacred all before them. The neighbouring villages like little children did flie to Hippo the mother-City for succour: thirteen moneths was Hippo besieged by the Gothes, and S. Augustine being therein prayed to God either to remove the siege, or to give the Christians therein patience to suffer, or to take him out of this miserable world, which he ob­tained, and dyed in the third moneth of the siege.

Falling very sick (besides the disease of age and grief) he lay languishing a pretty time, and took order that none should come to him save when his meat was brought, or Physicians visited him, that so he might have elbow-room the more freely to put off the clothes of his mortality.

The motion of Piety in him (by custome now made naturall) was velocior in fine, daily breathing out most pious Ejaculations. He died intestate, not for lack of time to make a will, but means to bestow, having formerly passed his soul to God, whilest his body of course bequeathed it self to the earth. As for the books of his own making, a treasure beyond estimation, he carefully consigned them to severall Libraries. He dy­ed in the seventy sixth yeare of his age, having lived a Bishop almost fourty years. Thus a Saint of God, like an oke, may be cut down in a moment; but how many years was he a growing! Not long after his death the City of Hippo was sack'd by the Gothes, it being no wonder if Troy was taken, when the Palladium was first fetch'd away from it.

CHAP. 11. The life of Bishop RIDLEY.

NIcholas Ridley born in the Bishoprick of Du­resme, but descended from the ancient and wor­shipfull familie of the Ridleys of Willimotes-wike in Northumberland. He was brought up in Pembroke­hall in Cambridge, where he so profited in generall Learning, that he was chosen Fellow of the Colledge, and Anno 1533 was Proctour of the University.

At which time two Oxford men, George Throgmor­ton, [Page 290] and John Ashwell, came to Cambridge, and in the publick Schools challenged any to dipsute with them on these questions,

• An Ius civile sit medicina praestantius?
• An Mulier condemnata, bis ruptis laqueis, sit tertio suspen­denda?

It seems they were men of more brow then brain, being so ambitious to be known, that they had rather be hiss'd down then not come upon the stage. Sure Oxford afforded as many more able disputants, as Ci­vill Law yielded more profound and needfull questi­ons. Throgmorton had the fortune of daring men, to be worsted, being so pressed by John Redman and Nicholas Caius de An­tiquit. Cant. Acad. p. 19.20. Ridley the opponents, that his second re­fused at all to dispute.

Indeed an University is an onely fit match for an University; and any private man who in this Nature undertakes a whole body, being of necessity put to the worst, deserves not Phaetons Epitaph, magnis, but stul­tis tamen excidit ausis. And though Brian Twine pag. 336. one objects, Neminem Cantabrigiensium constat Oxonienses unquam ad certamen pro­vocasse; yet lesse learning cannot be inferred from more modestie. The best is, the two Sisters so well agree together that they onely contend to surpasse each other in mutuall kindnesse, and forbidding all duells betwixt their children, make up their joint forces a­gainst the common foe of them and true Religion.

He was after chosen Master of Penbroke Hall, and kept the same whilest Bishop of Rochester and Lon­don, till outed in the first of Queen Marie. Not that he was covetous to hold his place in the Colledge, but the Colledge ambitious to hold him; as who would willingly part with a jewell. He was in good esteem with Henrie the eighth, and in better with pious King Edward the sixth, and was generally beloved of all the Court, being one of an handsome person, comelie pre­sence, affable speech, and courteous behaviour.

But before I go further, Reader, pardon a digression, [Page 291] and yet is it none, for 'tis necessary. I have within the narrow scantling of my experimentall remembrance observed strange alteration in the worlds valuing of those learned men which lived in that age; and take it plainly without welt or gard, for he that smarts for speaking truth hath a playster in his own conscience.

When I was a child I was possessed with a reverend esteem of them, as most holy and pious men, dying Martyrs in the dayes of Queen Marie for profession of the truth; which opinion having from my Parents ta­ken quiet possession of my soul, they must be very for­cible reasons which eject it.

Since that time they have been much cried down in the mouthes of many, who making a Coroners enquest upon their death, have found them little better then Felons de se, dying in their own bloud, for a mere for­mality, de modo, of the manner of the Presence, and a Sacrifice in the Sacrament, who might easily with one small distinction have knockt off their fetters, & saved their lives. By such the Coronet of Martyrdome is pluckt off from their memories; and others more mo­derate equally part their death betwixt their enemies cruelty, and their own over-forwardnesse.

Since that, one might have expected that these wor­thy men should have been re-estated in their former honour, whereas the contrary hath come to passe. For some who have an excellent facultie in uncharitable Synecdoches, to condemne a life for an action, & taking advantage of some faults in them do much condemne them. And Authour of the book lately printed of Cau­ses hindring Reformation in England, lib. 1. pag. 10. one lately hath traduced them with such language, as neither beseemed his parts (whosoever he was) that spake it, nor their piety of whom it was spoken. If pious Latimer, whose bluntnesse was in­capable of flattery, had his simplicity abused with false informations, he is called another Doctour Shaw, to di­vulge in his Sermon forged accusations. Cranmer and Rid­ley for some failings styled, the common stales to countenance [Page 292] with their prostituted gravities every politick fetch which was then on foot, as oft as the potent Statists pleased to employ them. pag. 11. And, as it follows not farre after, Bishop Cranmer, one of King Henries Executours, and the other Bishops, none re­fusing (lest they should resist the Duke of Northumberland) could find in their consciences to set their hands to the disenabling and defeating of the Princesse Marie, &c. Where Christian ingenuity might have prompted unto him to have made an intimation, that Cranmer (with pious Justice Hales in Kent) was last and least guilty, much refusing to subscribe; and his long resisting deserved as well to be mentioned, as his yielding at last. Yea, that very Verse, which Doctour Smith at the burning of Ridley used against him, is by the foresaid Authour (though not with so full a blow, with a slenting stroke) applyed to those Martyrs, A man may give his body to be burnt, and yet have not charity.

Thus the prices of Martyrs ashes rise and fall in Smithfield market. However their reall worth flotes not with peoples phancies, no more then a rock in the sea rises and falls with the tide: S. Paul is still S. Paul, though the Lycaonians now would sacrifice to him, and presently after would sacrifice him: These Bishops, Ministers, and Lay-people, which were put to death in Queen Maries dayes, were worthy Saints of God, ho­ly and godly men, but had their faults, failings, and im­perfections. Had they not been men they had not burn't; yea had they not been more then men (by Gods assistance) they had not burn't. Every true Chri­stian should, but none but strong Christians will, die at the stake.

But to return to Ridley: One of the greatest things objected against him, was his counsell to King Ed­ward (which the good Prince wash'd away with his tears) about tolerating the Masse for Princesse Mary, at the intercession of Charles the fifth Emperour, which how great it was, let the indifferent party give [Page 293] judgement, when the Haywards Edward sixth pag. 291. Historian hath given his evi­dence, The Bishops, of Canterbury, London, Rochester, gave their opinion, that to give licence to sinne, was sinne, but to connive at sinne, might be allowed, in case it were neither too long, nor without hope of reformation.

Another fault, wherewith he was charged, was that wofull and unhappy discord betwixt him and reve­rend Bishop Hooper, about the wearing of some E­piscopall garments at his consecration (then in use) which Ridley press'd, and Hooper refused with equall violence, as being too many, rather loading then gra­cing him; and so affectedly grave, that they were light again. All we will say is this, that when worthy men fall out, onely one of them may be faulty at the first, but if such strifes continue long, commonly both become guilty: But thus Gods diamonds often cut one another, and good men cause afflictions to good men.

It was the policy of the Arist. polit. lib. 2. cap. 7. Lacedemonians alwayes to send two Embassadours together, which disagreed amongst themselves, that so mutually they might have an eye on the actions each of other: Sure I am that in those Embassadours, the Ministers, which God send­eth to men, God suffereth great discords betwixt them, (Paul with Barnabas, Jerome with Ruffin, and Au­gustine, and the like) perchance because each may be more cautious and wary of his behaviour in the view of the other. We may well behold mens weak­nesse in such dissentions, but better admire Gods strength and wisdome in ordering them to his glory, and his childrens good. Sure it is, Ridley and Hooper were afterwards cordially reconciled; and let not their discords pierce farther then their reconciliation: The worst is, mens eyes are never made sound with the clearnesse, but often are made sore with the bleernesse of other mens eyes in their company. The virtues of Saints are not so attractive of our imitation, as their vi­ces and infirmities are prone to infect.

[Page 294] Hayward Edward 6. p. 407. & se­quent. Ridley was very gracious with King Edward the sixth, and by a Sermon he preach'd before him so wrought upon his pious disposition, whose Princely charity rather wanted a directour then a perswader, that the King at his motion gave to the city of London,

• 1 Greyfriers, now called Christ-Church, for im­potent, fatherlesse, decrepid people by age or na­ture to be educated or maintained.
• 2 S. Bartholomews near Smithfield, for poore by fa­culty, as wounded souldiers, diseas'd and sick per­sons to be cur'd and relieved.
• 3 Bridewell, the ancient Mansion of the English Kings, for the poore by idlenesse or unthriftynesse, as riotous spenders, vagabonds, loyterers, strum­pets to be corrected and reduc'd to good order.

I like that Embleme of Charity which Fr. Quartes Enchirid. pag. 1. one hath ex­pressed in a naked child, giving honey to a Bee without wings; onely I would have one thing added, namely holding a whip in the other hand to drive away the drones: So that King Edwards bounty was herein perfect and com­plete.

To return to Ridley: His whole life was a letter written full of learning and religion, whereof his death was the seal. Brought he was with Cranmer and Latimer to Oxford to dispute in the dayes of Queen Mary, though before a Syllogisme was form'd, their deaths were concluded on, and as afterwards came to passe, being burnt the sixteenth of October Anno 1555. in the ditch over against Balioll Col­ledge.

He came to the Fox. Acts Mon: An: 1555. Octob. stake in a fair black gown furr'd and fac'd with foins, a Tippet of velvet, furr'd likewise, about his neck, a velvet night-cap upon his head, and a corner'd cap upon the same.

Doctour Smith preacht a Sermon at their burning; a Sermon which had nothing good in it but the text (though misapplyed) and the shortnesse, being not [Page 295] above a quarter of an houre long. Old Hugh Latimer was Ridleys partner at the stake, sometimes Bishop of Worcester, who crauled thither af [...]er him, one who had lost more learning then many ever had, who flout at his plain Sermons, though his down-right style was as necessary in that ignorant age, as it would be ridi­culous in ours. Indeed he condescended to peoples ca­pacity; and many men unjustly count those low in learning, who indeed do but stoop to their Auditours. Let me see any of our sharp Wits do that with the edge, which his bluntnesse did with the back of the knife, and perswade so many to restitution of ill-got­ten goods. Though he came after Ridley to the stake, he got before him to heaven: his body, made tinder by age, was no sooner touch'd by the fire, but instantly this old Simeon had his Nunc dimittis, and brought the news to heaven that his brother was following after.

But Ridley suffered with farre more pain, the fire a­bout him being not well made: And yet one would think that age should be skilfull in making such bone­fires, as being much practised in them. The Gunpow­der that was given him did him little service, and his Brother-in-law, out of desire to rid him out of pain, encreased it, (great grief will not give men leave to be wise with it) heaping fewell upon him to no purpose; so that neither the fagots which his enemies anger, nor his Brothers good will cast upon him, made the fire to burn kindly.

In like manner, not much before, his dear friend Master See M^r Fox Acts and Mon. on Hoopers death. Hooper suffered with great torment; the wind (which too often is the bellows of great fires) blow­ing it away from him once, or twice. Of all the Mar­tyrs in those dayes, these two endured most pain, it be­ing true that each of them,

[Page 296] Both desiring to burn, and yet both their upper parts were but Confessours, when their lower parts were Martyrs, and burnt to ashes: Thus God, where he hath given the stronger faith, he layeth on the stronger pain. And so we leave them going up to Heaven, like Eliah, in a chariot of fire.

CHAP. 12. The true Nobleman.

HE is a Gentleman in a Text Letter, because bred, and living in an higher and larger way. Conceive him when young brought up at School, in ludo literario, where he did not take ludus to himself, and leave litera­rius to others, but seriously applyed himself to learning, and afterwards coming to his estate, thus behaves him­self.

Maxime 1 Goodnesse sanctifies his Greatnesse, and Greatnesse supports his Goodnesse. He improves the upper ground whereon he stands, thereby to do God the more glory.

2 He counts not care for his Countreys good to be beneath his state. Because he is a great pillar, shall he therefore bear the lesse weight? never meddling with matters of Justice. Can this be counted too low for a Lord, which is high enough for a King? our Nobleman freely serves his Countrey, counting his very work a sufficient re­ward. (As by our Statute 14. of Ric. 2. c. 11. Laws no Duke, Earl, Baron, or Baronet, though Justices of Peace, may take any wages at the Sessions.) Yea he detesteth all gainfull wayes, which have the least blush of dishonour: For the Mer­chant Nobility of Florence and Venice (how highly soever valued by themselves) passe in other countreys with losse and abatement of repute; as if the scarlet robes of their honour had a stain of the stamell die in them.

3 He is carefull in the thrifty managing of his estate. Gold, though the most solid and heavy of metalls, yet may [Page 297] be beaten out so thin, as to be the lightest and slightest of all things. Thus Nobility, though in it self most ho­nourable, may be so attenuated through the smalnesse of means as thereby to grow neglected. Which makes our Nobleman to practice Solomons precept, Prov. 27.23. Be di­ligent to know the state of thy flocks, and look well to thine herds; for the Crown doth not endure to every generation. If not the Crown much lesse the Coronet; and good husbandry may as well stand with great honour, as breadth may consist with height.

If a weak estate be left him by his Ancesters, 4 he seeks to re­pair it, by wayes thrifty, yet noble: as by travelling, sparing abroad, till his state at home may outgrow debts and pensions: Hereby he gains experience, and saves expence, sometimes living private, sometimes shewing himself at an half light, and sometimes ap­pearing like himself as occasion requires; or else by be­taking himself to the warres: Warre cannot but in thankfulnesse grace him with an Office, which gra­ceth her with his person; or else by warlike sea-adven­tures wisely undertaken, and providently managed: otherwise, this course hath emptied more full, then fil­led empty purses, and many thereby have brought a Galeon to a Gally; or lastly by match with wealthy Heirs, wherein he is never so attentive to his profit, but he listens also to his honour.

In proportion to his means, 5 he keeps a liberall house. This much takes the affections of countrey people, whose love is much warmed in a good kitchin, and turneth much on the hinges of a buttery-doore often open. Francis Russell, second Earl of Bedford of that sirname, was so bountifull to the poore, that Queen Elizabeth would merrily complain of him, that he made all the beggers: sure 'tis more honourable for Noblemen to make beggers by their liberality, then by their oppres­sion. But our Nobleman is especially carefull to see all things discharged which he taketh up. When the corps [Page 298] of Thomas Howard second Duke of Norfolk were carried to be interred in the Abbey of Thetford, Anno 1524. no person could demand of him one Weat [...]ers fun. Mon. p. 839. groat for debt, or restitution for any injury done by him.

6 His servants are best known by the coat and cognizance of their civill behaviour. He will not entertain such ruffian-like men, who know so well who is their Master, that they know not who they are themselves, and think their Lords reference is their innocence, to bear them out in all unlawfull actions. But our Lords house is the Colledge wherein the children of the neighbouring Gentry and Yeomanry are bred, and there taught by serving of him to rule themselves.

7 He hateth all oppression of his tenants and neighbours; dis­daining to crush a mean Gentleman for a meaner of­fense; and counts it no conquest but an execution from him, who on his side hath the oddes of height of place, strength of arme, and length of weapon. But as the Proverb saith, No grasse grows where the grand Seignieurs horse sets his feet; so too often nothing but grasse grows where some Great men set their footing, no towns or tillage, for all must be turn'd into depopulating pa­stures, and commons into enclosures. Nigh the city of Lunenberg in Germany flowed a plentifull salt spring, till such time as the rich men, engrossing all the profit to themselves, would not suffer the poore to make any salt thereof; whereupon God and Nature being offended at their covetousnesse, the spring Morisons Travells, chap. 1. Part. 1. pag. 5. Yet after­ward upon readmission of the poore to it it ran again. cea­sed, and ran no more for a time. Thus hath Gods pu­nishment overtaken many great men, and stopp'd his blessing towards them, which formerly flowed plenti­fully unto them, for that they have wronged poore people of their commonage, which of right belonged unto them.

8 In his own pleasures he is carefull of his neighbours profit. Though his horses cannot have wings like his hawks to spoil no grasse or grain as he passeth, yet he is very [Page 299] carefull to make as little waste as possible may be: his horses shall not trample on loaves of bread as he hunt­eth, so that whilest he seeks to gather a twig for him­self he breaks the staff of the commonwealth.

All the countrey are his Retainers in love and observance. 9 When they come to wait on him, they leave not their hearts at home behind them, but come willingly to tender their respects. The holding up of his hand is as good as the displaying of a banner; thousands will flock to him, but it must be for the Kings and Coun­treys service. For he knows that he who is more then a Lord, if his cause be loyall, is lesse then a private man, if it be otherwise: with S. 2. Cor. 13.8. Paul, he can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth. Thus Queen Elizabeth Christ [...]ned the youngest daughter of Gilbert Talbot Earl of Shrewsbury (now Countesse of Arundell) Aletheia, Truth, out of true Vincents dis­cov. of Bro [...]ks Errours, p. 470. consideration and judgement that the house of the Talbots was ever loyall to the Crown.

Some priviledges of Noblemen he endeavours to deserve:10 namely such priviledges as are completely Noble, that so his merits as well as the Law should allow them unto him. He conceives this word, On mine Honour, wraps up a great deal in it; which unfolded and then measured, will be found to be a large attestation, and no lesse then an eclipticall oath, calling God to wit­nesse, who hath bestowed that Honour upon him. And seeing the State is so tender of him, that he shall not be forced to swear in matters of moment in Courts of Justice, he is carefull not to swear of his own accord in his sports and pleasures. Other priviledges of No­blemen he labours not to have need of, namely such as presuppose a fault, are but honourable penalties, and excuse from shamefull punishments. Thus he is not to be bound to the Lamb. Iustice of peace pag. [...]3. peace. And what needs he; who hath the peace alwayes bound to him, being of his own ac­cord alwayes carefull to preserve it, and of so noble a disposition, he will never be engaged in any braules or contentions.

[Page 300]To give an instance of such a Nobleman seems to be needlesse, hoping that at this time in one city of this Realm, and in one room of that city, many such Noblemen are to be found together.

CHAP. 13. The Court-Lady.

TO describe an Holy State without a virtuous La­dy therein, were to paint out a yeare without a Spring: we come therefore to her Character.

Maxime 1 She sets not her face so often by her glasse, as she composeth her soul by Gods word. Which hath all the excellent qualities of a glasse indeed.

• 1 It is clear: in all points necessary to Salvation, except to such whose eyes are blinded.
• 2 It is true: not like those false glasses some Ladyes dresse themselves by. And how common is flat­tery at Court, when even glasses have learnt to be parasites?
• 3 It is large; presenting all spots Cap-a-pe, behind and before, within and without.
• 4 It is durable: though in one sense it is broken too often (when Gods Laws are neglected) yet it will last to break them that break it, and one tit­tle thereof shall not fall to the ground.
• 5. This glasse hath power to smooth the wrinkles, cleanse the spots, and mend the faults it disco­vers.

2 She walks humbly before God in all religious duties. Hum­bly: For she well knows that the strongest Christian is like the city of Rome, which was never besieged but it was taken, and the best Saint without Gods assistance would be as often foyled as tempted. She is most constant and diligent at her houres of private prayer. Queen Katharine Dowager never kneeld on a [Page 301] Sande [...]s. de Schism. Anglic. lib. 1. pag. 5. cushion when she was at her devotions: This mat­ters not at all; our Lady is more carefull of her heart then of her knees, that her soul be settled aright.

She is carefull and most tender of her credit and reputation. 3 There is a tree in Doctour Heg­lens Microces. pag. 783. Mexicana which is so exceedingly tender, that a man cannot touch any of his branches but it withers presently. A Ladyes credit is of equall nicenesse, a small touch may wound and kill it; which makes her very cautious what company she keeps. The Latine tongue seems somewhat injurious to the feminine sex; for whereas therein Amicus is a friend, Amica alwayes signifies a Sweetheart, as if their sex in reference to men were not capable of any other kind of familiar friendship but in way to marriage, which makes our Lady avoid all privacie with suspicious company.

Yet is she not more carefull of her own credit then of Gods glo­ry;4 and stands up valiantly in the defence thereof. She hath read how at the Coronation of King Richard the second, Dame She claimed the place, but her husband performed the office, Lelunds Colle. Tit. 1. pag. 299. Margaret Dimock, wife to S^r John Dimock, came into the Court and claimed the place to be the Kings Champion, by the virtue of the tenure of her Mannour of Scrinelby in Lincolnshire, to chal­lenge and defie all such as opposed the Kings right to the Crown. But if our Lady heares any speaking dis­gracefully of God or Religion, she counts her self bound by her tenure (whereby she holds possession of grace here, and reversion of glory hereafter) to assert and vindicate the honour of the King of Heaven, whose Champion she professeth to be. One may be a lambe in private wrongs, but in hearing generall af­fronts to goodnesse, they are asses which are not li­ons.

She is pitifull and bountifull to people in distresse. 5 We reade how a daughter of the Duke of Exeter invented a brake or cruel rack to torment people withall, to which purpose it was long reserved and often used in the [Page 302] Tower of London, and commonly called (was it not fit so pretty a babe should bear her mothers name?) The Vid. Stowes Chron. in the reigne of King Edward the fourth. Duke of Exeters daughter. Me thinks the find­ing out of a salve to ease poore people in pain had born better proportion to her Ladiship then to have been the inventer of instruments of cruelty.

6 She is a good scholar, and well learned in usefull Authours. Indeed as in purchases an house is valued at nothing, because it returneth no profit, and requires great charges to maintain it; so for the same reasons, Lear­ning in a woman is but little to be prized. But as for great Ladyes, who ought to be a confluence of all rari­ties and perfections, some Learning in them is not onely usefull but necessary.

7 In discourse her words are rather fit then fine, very choice and yet not chosen. Though her language be not gaudy, yet the plainnesse thereof pleaseth, it is so proper, and handsomly put on. Some having a set of fine phrases will hazard an impertinency to use them all, as think­ing they give full satisfaction for dragging in the mat­ter by head and shoulders, if they dresse it in queint expressions. Others often repeat the same things: the Platonick yeare of their discourses being not above three dayes long, in which term all the same matter returns over again, threadbare talk ill suiting with the variety of their clothes.

8 She affects not the vanity of foolish fashions; but is decent­ly apparelled according to her state and condition. He that should have guessed the bignesse of Alexanders souldiers by their shields left in India, would much o­verproportion their true greatnesse. But what a vast overgrown creature would some guesse a woman to be, taking his aim by the multitude and variety of clothes and ornaments, which some of them use: in­somuch as the ancient Latines called a womans wardrope Mundus, a World, wherein notwithstanding was much terra incognita then undiscovered, but since [Page 303] found out by the curiosity of modern Fashion-mong­ers. We find a mappe of this world drawn by Gods Spirit, Isaiah the third, wherein one and twenty wo­mens ornaments (all superfluous) are reckoned up, which at this day are much encreased. The Isaiah. 3.18. moons, there mentioned, which they wore on their heads, may seem since grown to the full in the luxury of after­ages.

She is contented with that beauty which God hath given her. 9 If very handsome, no whit the more proud, but farre the more thankfull: If unhandsome, she labours to better it in the virtues of her mind, that what is but plain cloth without may be rich plush within. Indeed such naturall defects as hinder her comfortable serving of God in her calling may be amended by art; and any member of the body being defective, may thereby be lawfully supplied. Thus glasse-eyes may be used, though not for seeing, for sightlinesse. But our Lady detesteth all adulterate complexions, finding no presi­dent thereof in the Bible save one, and her so bad, that Ladyes would blush through their paint to make her the pattern of their imitation. Yet are there many that think the grossest fault in painting is to paint grossely (making their faces with thick daubing not onely new pictures, but new statues) and that the greatest sinne therein, is to be discover'd.

In her marriage she principally respects virtue and religion, 10 and next that, other accomodations, as we have Vid. 3. Book chap of Marri­age. for­merly discours'd of. And she is carefull in match not to bestow her self unworthily beneath her own degree to an ignoble person, except in case of necessity. Thus the Gentlewomen in And [...] Fa­vin in his The­ater of Honour, 1. Book, chap. the 6. Champaigne in France some three hundred years since were enforced to marry Yeomen and Farmers, because all the Nobility in that countrey were slain in the warres in the two voyages of King Lewis to Palestine: and thereupon ever since by custome and priviledge the Gentlewomen of [Page 304] Champaigne and Brye ennoble their husbands and give them honour in marrying them, how mean soe­ver before.

11 Though pleasantly affected she is not transported with Court-delights: as in their statelie Masques and Pageants. See­ing Princes cares are deeper then the cares of private men, it is fit their recreations also should be greater, that so their mirth may reach the bottome of their sad­nesse: yea God allows to Princes a greater latitude of pleasure. He is no friend to the tree, that strips it of the bark; neither do they mean well to Majesty, which would deprive it of outward shews, and State-solem­nities, which the servants of Princes may in loyalty and respect present to their Sovereigne; however, our Lady by degrees is brought from delighting in such Masques, onely to be contented to see them, and at last (perchance) could desire to be excused from that also.

12 Yet in her reduced thoughts she makes all the sport she hath seen earnest to her self: It must be a dry flower indeed out of which this bee sucks no honey: they are the best Origens who do allegorise all earthly vanities into hea­venly truths. When she remembreth how suddenly the Scene in the Masque was altered (almost before moment it self could take notice of it) she considereth, how quickly mutable all things are in this world, God ringing the changes on all accidents, and making them tunable to his glorie: The lively representing of things so curiously, that Nature her self might grow jealous of Art, in outdoing her, minds our Lady to make sure work with her own soul, seeing hypocrisie may be so like to sincerity. But O what a wealthy exchequer of beauties did she there behold, severall faces most dif­ferent, most excellent, (so great is the variety even in bests) what a rich mine of jewells above ground, all so brave, so costly! To give Court-masques their due, of all the bubbles in this world they have the greatest va­riety [Page 305] of fine colours. But all is quickly ended: this is the spight of the world, if ever she affordeth fine ware, she alwayes pincheth it in the measure, and it lasts not long: But oh, thinks our Lady, how glorious a place is Heaven, where there are joyes for evermore. If an herd of kine should meet together to phancy and define happi­nesse, they would place it to consist in fine pastures, sweet grasse, clear water, shadowie groves, constant summer, but if any winter, then warm shelter and dainty hay, with company after their kind, counting these low things the highest happinesse, because their conceit can reach no higher. Little better do the Hea­then Poets describe Heaven, paving it with pearl, and roofing it with starres, filling it with Gods and God­desses, and allowing them to drink (as if without it no Poets Paradise) Nectar and Ambrosia; Heaven in­deed being Poetarum dedecus, the shame of Poets, and the disgrace of all their Hyperboles, falling as farre short of truth herein, as they go beyond it in other Fables. However the sight of such glorious earthly spectacles advantageth our Ladyes conceit by infinite multiplica­tion thereof to consider of Heaven.

She reades constant lectures to her self of her own mortality. 13 To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholsome for the body; no lesse are thoughts of mortality cordiall to the soul. Earth thou art, to earth thou shalt return: The sight of death when it cometh will neither be so terri­ble to her, nor so strange, who hath formerly often be­held it in her serious meditations. With Iob. 17.14. Job she saith to the worm, Thou art my sister: If fair Ladyes scorn to own the worms their kinred in this life, their kinred will be bold to challenge them when dead in their graves: for when the soul (the best perfume of the body) is departed from it, it becomes so noysome a carcasse, that should I make a description of the loth­somnesse thereof, some dainty dames would hold their noses in reading it.

[Page 306]To conclude: We reade how Henry a Germain Prince was admonished by revelation to search for a writing in an old wall, which should nearly concern him, wherein he found onely these two words written, Surius in vi­ta Sancti Henr. Iuly 14 & Ba­ronius in Anno 1007. POST SEX, AFTER SIX. Whereupon Henry concei­ved that his death was foretold, which after six dayes should ensue, which made him passe those dayes in constant preparation for the same. But finding the six dayes past without the effect he expected, he successive­ly persevered in his godly resolutions six weeks, six moneths, six years, and on the first day of the seventh yeare the Prophecie was fulfill'd, though otherwise then he interpreted it; for thereupon he was chosen Emperour of Germany, having before gotten such an habit of piety that he persisted in his religious course for ever after. Thus our Lady hath so inur'd her self all the dayes of her appointed time to wait till her change cometh, that expecting it every houre, she is alwayes provided for that, then which nothing is more certain or uncer­tain.

CHAP. 14. The life of Ladie Jane GREY.

JAne Grey, eldest daughter of Henry Grey Marquesse of Dorset, and Duke of Suffolk, by Francis Bran­don eldest daughter of Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, and Mary his wife youngest daughter to King Henry the seventh, was by her parents bred according to her high birth in Religion and Learning. They were no whit indulgent to her in her childhood, but extremely severe, more then needed to so sweet a [Page 308] temper; for what need iron instruments to bow wax?

But as the sharpest winters (correcting the ranknesse of the earth) cause the more healthfull and fruitfull summers; so the harshnesse of her breeding compacted her soul to the greater patience and pietie, so that after­wards she proved the miroir of her age, and attained to be an excellent Scholar through the teaching of M^r El­mer her Master.

Once M^r Roger Ascham, coming to wait on her at Broad-gates in Leicestershire, found her in her chamber reading Ascham's Schoolmaster, lib. 1. fol. 10. Phoedon-Platonis in Greek, with as much delight as some Gentleman would have read a merry tale in Bocchace, Whilest the Duke her father with the Dutchesse and all their houshold were hunting in the Park: He askt of her, how she could lose such pastime? who smiling answered, I wisse all the sport in the Park is but the shadow of what pleasure I find in this book, adding moreover, that one of the greatest blessings God ever gave her, was in sending her sharp parents, and a gentle School­master, which made her take delight in nothing so much as in her studies.

About this time John Dudley Duke of Northum­berland projected for the English Crown: But being too low to reach it in his own person, having no advan­tage of royall birth, a match was made betwixt Guil­ford his fourth sonne, and this Lady Jane; the Duke hoping so to reigne in his daughter-in-law, on whom King Edward the sixth by will, passing by his own sisters, had entayled the Crown: And not long after that godly King, who had some defects, but few faults (and those rather in his age then person) came to his grave: it being uncertain whether he went, or was sent thither. If the latter be true, the crying of this Saint un­der the Altar, beneath which he was buried in King Henries Chappell (without any other monument, then that of his own virtues) hath been heard long since for avenging his bloud.

[Page 309]Presently after Lady Jane was proclaimed Queen of England.1553 She lifted not up her least finger to put the Diadem on her self, but was onely contented to sit still, whilest others endeavoured to Crown her; or rather was so farre from biting at the bait of Sovereignty, that unwillingly she opened her mouth to receive it.

Then was the Duke of Northumberland made Ge­nerall of an Army, and sent into Suffolk to suppresse the Lady Marie, who there gathered men to claim the Crown. This Duke was appointed out of the policie of his friend-seeming enemies for that employment: For those who before could not endure the scorching heat of his displeasure at the Counsell-table, durst after­wards oppose him, having gotten the skreen of Lon­don-walls betwixt him and them. They also stinted his journeys every day (thereby appointing the steps by which he was to go down to his own grave) that he should march on very slowly, which caused his con­fusion. For lingring doth tire out treacherous designes, which are to be done all on a sudden, and gives breath to loyalty to recover it self.

His army like a sheep left part of his fleece on every bush it came by, at every stage and corner some con­veying themselves from him, till his Souldiers were wash'd away before any storm of warre fell upon them. Onely some few, who were chain'd to the Duke by their particular engagements, and some great Persons hopelesse to conceal themselves, as being too bigge for a cover, stuck fast unto him. Thus those en­terprises need a strong hand which are thrown against the bias of peoples hearts and consciences. And not long after the Norfolk and Suffolk Protestant Gentry (Loyalty alwayes lodgeth in the same breast with true Religion) proclaimed and set up Queen Marie, who got the Crown by Our Father, and held it by Pater noster.

[Page 310]Then was the late Queen, now Lady Jane Grey, brought from a Queen to a prisoner, and committed to the Tower. She made misery it self amiable by her pious and patient behaviour: Adversity, her night­clothes, becoming her as well as her day-dressing, by reason of her pious deportment.

During her imprisonment many moved her to alter her religion, and especially M^r Fecnam sent unto her by Queen Mary: but how wisely and religiously she answer'd him, I referre the Reader to M^r Fox,Acts & Mo­num. pag 1419. & deinceps. where it is largely recorded.

And because I have mentioned that Book, wherein this Ladyes virtues are so highly commended, I am not ignorant that of late great disgrace hath been thrown on that Authour, and his worthy Work, as being guilty of much falsehood: chiefly because sometimes he makes Popish Doctours, well known to be rich in learning, to reason very poorely, and the best Fencers of their Schools worsted and put out of their play by some countrey poore Protestants. But let the cavillers hereat know, that it is a great matter to have the oddes of the weapon, Gods word on their side; not to say any thing of supernaturall assistance gi­ven them. Sure for the main, his Book is a worthy work (wherein the Reader may rather leave then lack) and seems to me, like Aetna, alwayes burning, whilest the smoke hath almost put out the eyes of the adverse party, and these Foxes firebrands have brought much annoyance to the Romish Philistines. But it were a miracle if in so voluminous a work there were no­thing to be justly reproved; so great a Pomgranate not having any rotten kernell must onely grow in paradise. And though perchance he held the beam at the best advantage for the Protestant party to weigh down, yet generally he is a true Writer, and never wilfully decei­veth, though he may sometimes be unwillingly decei­ved.

[Page 311]To return to the Lady Jane: Though Qu [...]en Marie of her own disposition was inclined finally to pardon her, yet necessity of State was such, as she must be put to death. Some report her to have been with child when she was beheaded (cruelty to cut down the tree with blossomes on it) and that that which hath saved the life of many women hastned her death; but God onely knows the truth hereof. On Tower-hill she most patiently,1553. Feb. 12. Christianly, and constantly yielded to God her soul, which by a bad way went to the best end. On whom the foresaid Authour (whence the rest of her life may be supplied) bestows these verses,

She had the innocency of childhood, the beauty of youth, the solidity of middle, the gravity of old age, and all at eighteen: the birth of a Princesse, the lear­ning of a Clerk, the life of a Saint, yet the death of a Malefactour, for her parents offenses. I confesse, I never read of any canonized Saint of her name, a thing whereof some Papists are so scrupulous, that they count it an unclean and unhallowed thing to be of a name whereof never any Saint was: which made that great Jesuit Arthur Faunt (as his Burton of Lei­cestershire pag. 105. kinsman tell's us) change his Christian name to Laurence. But let this worthy Lady passe for a Saint; and let all great Ladyes, which bear her name, imitate her virtues, to whom I wish her inward holinesse, but farre more outward happi­nesse.

Yet lest Goodnesse should be discouraged by this Ladyes infelicity, we will produce another example, which shall be of a fortunate virtue.

CHAP. 15. The life of Queen ELISABETH.

WE intermeddle not with her description as she was a Sovereigne Prince, too high for our pen, and performed by others already, though not by any done so fully, but that still room is left for the en­deavours of Posterity to adde thereunto. We consider her onely as she was a worthy Lady, her private vir­tues rendring her to the imitation, and her publick to the admiration of all.

[Page 313]Her royall birth by her Fathers side doth compara­tively make her Mother-descent seem low, which o­therwise considered in it self was very noble and ho­nourable. As for the bundle of scandalous aspersions by some cast on her birth, they are best to be buried without once See these slanders plainly confuted in Anti-Sander. Dialog. 2. pag. 125. & dein­ceps. opening of them. For as the basest rascall will presume to miscall the best Lord, when farre enough out of his hearing; so slanderous tongues think they may run riot in railing on any, when once got out of the distance of time, and reach of confutati­on.

But Majesty which dyeth not will not suffer it self to be so abused, seeing the best assurance which living Princes have, that their memories shall be honourably continued, is founded (next to their own deserts) in the maintaining of the unstained reputation of their Predecessours. Yea divine Justice seems herein to be a compurgatour of the parents of Queen Elizabeth, in that Nicholas Sanders, a Popish Priest, the first raiser of these wicked reports, was accidentally famished as he roved up and down in Ireland; either because it was just he should be sterved that formerly surfeted with lying, or because that Iland out of a naturall antipathy against poysonous creatures would not lend life to so venemous a slanderer.

Under the reigne of her Father, and Brother King Edward the sixth, (who commonly called her his Sister Temperance) she lived in a Princely fashi­on. But the case was altered with her when her Sister Mary came to the Crown, who ever look'd upon her with a jealous eye and frowning face: chiefly, because of the difference betwixt them in religion. For though Queen Mary is said of her self not so much as to have bark'd, yet she had under her those who did more then bite; and rather her religion then disposition was guilty in countenancing their cru­elty by her authority.

[Page 314]This antipathy against her Sister Elizabeth was en­creased with the remembrance how Katharine Dowa­ger, Queen Maries Mother, was justled out of the bed of Henry the eighth by Anna Bullen, Mother to Queen Elizabeth: so that these two Sisters were born, as I may say, not onely in severall but opposite horizons, so that the elevation and bright appearing of the one inferr'd the necessary obscurity and depression of the other; & still Qu. Mary was troubled with this fit of the Mother, which incensed her against this her half Sister.

To which two grand causes of opposition, this third may also be added, because not so generally known, though in it self of lesser consequence. Queen Mary had released Edward Courtney Earl of Devonshire out of the Tower, where long he had been detained prisoner, a Gentleman of a beautifull body, sweet nature, and royall descent, intending him, as it was generally con­ceived, to be an husband for her self. For when the said Earl petitioned the Queen for leave to travel she advised him rather to marry, ensuring him that no La­dy in the land, how high soever, would refuse him for an husband; and urging him to make his choyce where he pleased, she pointed her self out unto him as plainly as might stand with the modesty of a maid, and Majesty of a Queen. Hereupon the young Earl (whether because that his long durance had some in­fluence on his brain, or that naturally his face was bet­ter then his head, or out of some private phancie and affection to the Lady Elizabeth, or out of loyall bash­fulnesse, not presuming to climbe higher, but expect­ing to be call'd up) is said to have requested the Queen for leave to marry her Sister the Lady Elizabeth, un­happy that his choyce either went so high or no high­er: For who could have spoken worse Treason against Mary (though not against the Queen) then to preferre her Sister before her? and she, innocent Lady, did after­wards dearly pay the score of this Earls indiscretion.

[Page 315]For these reasons Lady Elizabeth was closely kept and narrowly sifted all her Sisters reigne, S^r Bedeni­field her keeper using more severity towards her then his place required, yea more then a good man should, or a wiseman would have done. No doubt the least tripping of her foot should have cost her the losing of her head, if they could have caught her to be privy to any conspiracies.

This Lady as well deserved the title of Elizabeth the Confessour as ever Edward her ancient predecessour did. M^r Ascham was a good Schoolmaster to her, but af­fliction was a better, so that it is hard to say whether she was more happy in having a Crown so soon, or in having it no sooner, till affliction had first laid in her a low (and therefore sure) foundation of humility, for highnesse to be afterwards built thereupon.

We bring her now from the Crosse to the Crown; and come we now to describe the rare endowments of her mind, when behold her virtues almost stifle my pen, they crowd in so fast upon it.

She was an excellent Scholar, understanding the Greek, and perfectly speaking the Latine: witnesse her extempore speech in answer to the Polish Embassa­dour, and another at Cambridge, Et si foeminilis iste meus pudor (for so it began) elegantly making the word See her ora­tion at large in Holinshead, p. 1 [...]26. Foeminilis: and well might she mint one new word, who did Moneta ad suum valorem reducta is part of the Epitaph on her Tombe. refine so much new gold and silver. Good skill she had in the French, and Italian, using Interpre­ters not for need but state. She was a good Poet in English, and fluently made verses. In her time of per­secution, when a Popish Priest pressed her very hardly to declare her opinion concerning the presence of Christ in the Sacrament, she truly and warily presen­ted her judgement in these verses,

[Page 316]And though perchance some may say this was but the best of shifts, and the worst of answers, because the distinct manner of the Presence must be believed; yet none can deny it to have been a wise return to an ad­versary who lay at wait for all advantages. Nor was her Poetick vein lesse happy in Latine. When a little before the Spanish Invasion in eighty eight, the Spanish Embassadour (after a larger representation of his Ma­sters demands) had summed up the effect thereof in a Tetrastich, she instantly in one verse rejoined her an­swer. We will presume to English both, though con­fessing the Latine loseth lustre by the Translation.

The Queens extempore return,

Her piety to God was exemplary, none more con­stant or devout in private prayers; very attentive also at Sermons, wherein she was better affected with soundnesse of matter, then queintnesse of expression: She could not well digest the affected over-elegancy of such as prayed for her by the title of defendresse of the faith and not the Defender, it being no false construction to apply a masculine word to so heroick a spirit.

She was very devout in returning thanks to God for [Page 317] her constant and continuall preservations; for one traitours stabbe was scarce put by, before another took aim at her: But as if the poysons of treason by custome were turn'd naturall unto her, by Gods protection they did her no harm. In any designe of consequence she loved to be long, and well advised; but where her re­solutions once seis'd, she would never let go her hold, according to her motto, Semper eadem.

By her Temperance she improved that stock of health which Nature bestowed on her, using little wine, and lesse Physick. Her Continence from pleasures was ad­mirable, and she the Paragon of spotlesse chastity, what ever some Popish Priests (who count all virgi­nity hid under a Nunnes veil) have feigned to the con­trary. The best is, their words are no slander, whose words are all slander, so given to railing, that they must be dumbe if they do not blaspheme Magistrates. Edmond Campian. One Jesuit made this false Anagram on her name,

• Elizabeth.
• Our English Bibles call her Iezabel.
  Iezabel.

false both in matter and manner. For allow it the abatement of H, (as all Anagrams must sue in Chancery for moderate favour) yet was it both une­quall and ominous that T, a solid letter, should be o­mitted, the presage of the gallows whereon this Ana­grammatist was afterwards justly executed.

Yea let the testimony of Pope Thuan. Hist. lib. 82. Sixtus Quintus him­self be believed, who professed that amongst all the Princes in Christendome he found but two which were worthy to bear command, had they not been stained with heresie, namely Henry the fourth, King of France, and Elizabeth Queen of England. And we may presume that the Pope, if commending his ene­my, is therein infallible.

We come to her death, the discourse whereof was more welcome to her from the mouth of her private Confessour, then from a publick Preacher; and she [Page 318] loved rather to tell her self, then to be told of her mor­tality, because the open mention thereof made (as she conceived) her subjects divide their loyalty betwixt the present and the future Prince. We need look into no other cause of her sicknesse then old age, being seventy years old (Davids age) to which no King of En­gland since the Conquest did attain. Her weaknesse was encreased by her removall from London to Rich­mond in a cold winter day, sharp enough to pierce thorow those who were arm'd with health and youth. Also melancholy (the worst naturall Parasite, whoso­ever seeds him shall never be rid of his company) much afflicted her, being given over to sadnesse and silence.

Then prepared she her self for another world, being more constant in prayer, and pious exercises then ever before: yet spake she very little to any, sighing out more then she said, and making still musick to God in her heart. And as the red rose, though outwardly not so fragrant, is inwardly farre more cordiall then the damask, being more thrifty of its sweetnesse, and re­serving it in it self; so the religion of this dying Queen was most turn'd inward in soliloquies betwixt God and her own soul, though she wanted not outward expressions thereof. When her speech fail'd her, she spake with her heart, tears, eyes, hands, and other signes, so commending herself to God the best inter­preter, who understands what his Saints desire to say. Thus dyed Queen Elizabeth, whilest living, the first maid on earth, and when dead, the second in hea­ven.

Surely the kingdome had dyed with their Queen, had not the fainting spirits thereof been refresh'd by the coming in of gratious King James.

She was of person, tall; of hair and complexion, fair, well-favoured, but high-nosed; of limbes and feature, neat; of a stately and majestick deportment. [Page 319] She had a piercing eye wherewith she used to touch what metall strangers were made of, which came into her presence. But as she counted it a pleasant conquest with her Majestick look to dash strangers out of coun­tenance, so she was mercifull in pursuing those whom she overcame, and afterwards would cherish and com­fort them with her smiles, if perceiving towardlinesse, and an ingenuous modesty in them. She much affected rich and costly apparell; and if ever jewells had just cause to be proud, it was with her wearing them.

CHAP. 16. The Embassadour.

HE is one that represents his King in a forrein coun­trey (as a Deputy doth in his own Dominions) under the assurance of the publick faith, authorized by the Law of Nations. He is either Extraordinary for some one affair with time limited, or Ordinary for generall matters during his Princes pleasure, commonly called a Legier.

He is born, Maxime 1 made, or at leastwise qualified honourably, both for the honour of the sender, and him to whom he is sent; especially if the solemnity of the action wherein he is employed consisteth in ceremony and magnifi­cence. Lewis the eleventh King of France is sufficient­ly condemn'd by Posterity for sending Oliver his Bar­ber in an Embassage to a Princesse, who so trimly di­spatch'd his businesse, that he left it in the suddes, and had been well wash'd in the river Comin lib. 5. cap. 14. at Gant for his pains, if his feet had not been the more nimble.

He is of a proper, 2 at least passable person. Otherwise if he be of a contemptible presence, he is absent whilest he is present; especially if employed in love-businesses to advance a marriage. Ladyes will dislike the body for a deformed shadow. The jest is well known: When [Page 320] the State of Rome sent Some say they sent three, and one of them a fool, and that Cato should say they sent an Embassy with­out head, heart, or feet. See Plutarchs Lives. two Embassadours, the one ha­ving scarres on his head, the other lame in his feet, Mittit populus Romanus legationem quae nec caput habet, nec pedes, The people of Rome send an Embassy without head or feet.

He hath a competent estate whereby to maintain his port: for a great poverty is ever suspected;3 and he that hath a breach in his estate lies open to be assaulted with bribes. Wherefore his means ought at least to be suffi­cient both to defray set and constant charges, as also to make sallies and excursions of expenses on extraordina­ry occasions, which we may call Supererogations of State. Otherwise if he be indigent and succeed a boun­tifull Predecessour, he will seem a fallow field after a plentifull crop.

4 He is a passable scholar, well travell'd in Countreys and Histo­ries; well studyed in the Pleas of the Crown, I mean not such as are at home, betwixt his Sovereigne and his subjects, but abroad betwixt his and forrein Princes; to this end he is well skill'd in the Emperiall Laws. Common Law it self is outlawed beyond the seas; which though a most true, is too short a measure of right, and reacheth not forrein kingdomes.

5 He well understandeth the language of that countrey to which he is sent; and yet he desires rather to seem ignorant of it (if such a simulation which stands neuter betwixt a Truth and a Lie be lawfull) and that for these reasons: first, because though he can speak it never so exactly, his eloquence therein will be but stammering, com­par'd to the ordinary talk of the Natives: secondly, hereby he shall in a manner stand invisible, and view others; and as Josephs deafnesse heard all the dialogues betwixt his brethren, so his not owning to understand the language, shall expose their talk the more open un­to him: thirdly, he shall have the more advantage to speak and negotiate in his own language, at the least wise, if he cannot make them come over to him, he [Page 321] may meet them in the midway, in the Latine, a speech common to all learned Nations.

He gets his Commission and instructions well ratified and confirm'd before he sets forth. 6 Otherwise it is the worst prison to be commission-bound. And seeing he must not jet out the least penthouse beyond his foundation, he had best well survey the extent of his authority.

He furnisheth himself with fit Officers in his family. 7 Espe­cially he is carefull in choosing

• 1 A Secretary, honest and able, carefull to conceal counsels, and not such a one as will let drop out of his mouth whatsoever is poured in at his eare: Yea the head of every Embassadour sleeps on the breast of his Secretary.
• 2 A Steward, wise and provident, such as can temper magnificence with moderation, judiciously fashioning his ordinary expences with his Ma­sters estate, reserving a spare for all events and ac­cidentall occasions, and making all things to passe with decency, without any rudenesse, noise, or disorder.

He seasonably presents his Embassage, 8 and demands audience. Such is the fresh nature of some Embassages, if not spent presently, they sent ill. Thus it is ridiculous to condole griefs almost forgotten, for (besides that with a cruell courtesie it makes their sorrows bleed afresh) it foolishly seems to teach one to take that, which he hath formerly digested. When some Trojane Embassa­dours came to comfort Tiberius Cesar for the losse of his sonne,Suetonius in Tiberio. dead well nigh a twelvemoneth before; And I (said the Emperour) am very sorry for your grief for the death of your Hector, slain by Achilles a thousand years since.

Coming to have audience, 9 he applyeth himself onely to the Prince to whom he is sent. When Chancellour Morvill, Embassadour from the French King, delivering his message to Philip Duke of Burgundy was interrupted [Page 322] by Charles the Dukes Comin. lib. 1. sonne, I am sent (said he) not to treat with you, but with your father. And our M^• Wade is highly commended that being sent by Queen Eliza­beth to Philip King of Spain, he would not be turned Cambd. Eliz. in Anno 1584. pag. 380. over to the Spanish Privy Counsel (whose greatest Grandees were dwarfs in honour to his Queen) but would either have audience from the King himself, or would return without it. And yet afterwards our Em­bassadour knows (if desirous that his businesse should take effect) how, and when to make his secret and un­derhand addresses to such potent Favourites as strike the stroke in the State; it often hapning in Common­wealths, that the Masters mate steers the ship thereof, more then the Master himself.

10 In delivering his message he complies with the garb and guise of the countrey; either longer, briefer, more plain, or more flourishing, as it is most acceptable to such to whom he directs his speech. The Italians (whose countrey is called the countrey of good words) love the cir­cuits of courtesie, that an Embassadour should not as a sparrow-hawk flie outright to his prey, and meddle presently with the matter in hand, but with the noble falcon mount in language, soar high, fetch compasses of complement, and then in due time stoop to game, and seise on the businesse propounded. Clean contrary the Switzers (who sent word to the King of France, not to send them an Embassadour with store of words, but a Treasurer with plenty of money) count all words quite out, which are not straight on, have an antipathy against eloquent language; the flowers of Rhetorick being as offensive to them, as sweet perfumes to such as are troubled with the Mother. Yea generally great soul­diers have their stomachs sharp set to feed on the mat­ter, lothing long speeches, as wherein they conceive themselves to lose time, in which they could conquer half a countrey, and, counting bluntnesse their best elo­quence, love to be accosted in their own kind.

[Page 323] He commands himself not to admire any thing presented unto him. 11 He looks, but not gazeth, on forrein magnificence (as countrey clowns on a city) beholding them with a familiar eye, as challenging old acquaintance having known them long before. If he be surprised with a sudden wonder, he so orders it, that though his soul within feels an admiration, none can perceive it without in his countenance. For

• 1 It is inconsistent with the steddinesse of his gravity to be startled with a wonder.
• 2 Admiration is the daughter of ignorance: whereas he ought to be so read in the world as to be posed with no rarity.
• 3 It is a tacit confession (if he wonders at State, Strength, or Wealth) that herein his own Masters kingdome is farre surpass'd. And yet he will not slight and neglect such worthy sights as he be­holds, which would savour to much of sullen­nesse and self-addiction, things ill beseeming his noble spirit.

He is zealous of the least puntillo's of his Masters honour. 12 Herein 'tis most true, the Law of honour servanda in apicibus: Yea a toy may be reall, and a point may be essentiall to the sense of some sentences, and worse to be spared then some whole letter. Great Kings wre­stle together by the strength and nimblenesse of their Embassadours; wherefore Embassadours are carefull to afford no advantages to the adverse party: and mutually no more hold is given, then what is gotten, lest the fault of the Embassadour be drawn into president to the prejudice of his Master. He that abroad will lose an hair of his Kings honour deserves to lose his own head when he comes home.

He appears not violent in desiring any thing he would effect;13 but with a seeming carelesnesse most carefully advan­ceth his Masters businesse. If employed to conclude a Peace, he represents his Master as indifferent therein [Page 324] for his own part, but that desiring to spare Christian bloud, preponderates him for Peace, whose conscience, not purse or arms are weary of the warre: He en­treats not, but treats for an accord, for their mutuall good. But if the Embassadour declareth himself zea­lous for it, perchance he may be forced to buy those conditions, which otherwise would be given him.

14 He is constantly and certainly inform'd of all passages in his own Countrey. What a shame is it for him to be a stran­ger to his native affairs? Besides, if gulls and rumours from his Countrey be raised on purpose to amuse our Embassadour, he rather smiles then starts at these false vizards, who by private instructions from home knows the true face of his Countrey-estate. And lest his Masters Secretary should fail him herein, he counts it thrift to cast away some pounds yearly to some pri­vate friend in the Court to send him true information of all home-remarkables.

15 He carefully returns good intelligence to his Master that em­ployeth him.

• 1. Speedy. Not being such a sluggard as to write for news at noon, That the Sunne is risen.
• 2. True; so farre forth as may be: else he stamps it with a mark of uncertainty or suspicion.
• 3. Full: not filling the paper, but informing those to whom it is written.
• 4. Materiall: not grinding his advises too small, to frivolous particulars of love-toyes, and private brawls, as
  Lipsiu [...] in the end of his Politicks, in his censure of Historians.
  one layeth it to the charge of Francis Guicciardines Historie, Minutissima quaeque narrat, parum ex lege aut dignitate Historiae. And yet such particulars which are too mean to be served up to the Counsel-Table, may make a feast for La­dies, or other his friends; and therefore to such our Embassadour relates them by his private let­ters.
• [Page 325]5. Methodicall: not running on all in a continued strain, but stopping at the stages of different bu­sinesses to breath himself and the Reader, and to take and begin a new sentence.
• 6. Well-penned, clear and plain, not hunting after language, but teaching words their distance to wait on his matter, intermingling sententious speeches sparingly, lest seeming affected. And if constrained twice to write the same matter, still he varieth his words, lest he may seem to write like Notaries by presidents.

He will not have his house serve as a retreating-place for peo­ple suspected and odious, 16 in that State wherein he is em­ployed. Much lesse shall his house be a Sanctuary for Offenders, seeing the very horns of Gods Altar did push away from them such notorious Malefactours as did flie unto them for protection.

He is cautious not to practice any treacherous act against the Prince under whom he lives:17 lest the Shield of his Em­bassy prove too small to defend him from the Sword of Justice, seeing that for such an offense an Embassa­dour is resolved into a private man, and may worthi­ly be punished, as in the cases of Bernardinus Men­doza and the Bishop of Set his case largely discus­sed in Cambd. Elizab. by the best Civilians, Anno 1571. Rosse. Yea he will not so much as break forth publickly into any discourse which he knows will be distastfull in that Countrey wherein he is employed. Learned Bodin, who some seventy years since waited on Monsieur into England, was here, though highly admired for his learning, con­demned much for his indiscretion, if his Fran [...]isc. Hottoman in his Treatise of an Em­bass. fol. 42.corrivals pen may be credited. For being feasted at an English Lords table, he fell into the odious discourse, That a Princesse, meaning Mary Queen of Scots, was after Queen Elizabeth the presumptive Inheritrix of the English Crown, notwithstanding an English Law seemed to exclude those which are born out of the land; And yet, said he, I know not where this Law is, for all [Page 326] the diligence that I have used to find it out: To whom it was suddenly replyed by the Lord that entertain'd him, You shall find it written on the backside of your Salick Law: a judicious and biting rebound.

18 He is carefull of suspicious complying with that Prince to whom he is sent: as to receive from him any extraordinary gifts, much lesse pensions, which carry with them more then an appearance of evil. S^r Idem. fol. 23, 24. Amias Paulet was so scrupulous herein, that being Embassadour in France in the dayes of Queen Elizabeth he would not at his departure receive from the French King the chain of gold (wich is given of course) till he was half a league out of the city of Paris.

19 If he hath any libera mandata, unlimited instructions, herein his discretion is most admirable.

But what go I about to do? hereof enough already, if not too much: it better complying with my pro­fession to practice S. Pauls precept to mine own pa­rishioners, 2. Cor. 5.20. Now then we are Embassadours for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us, we pray you in Christs stead, be reconciled to God.

CHAP. 17. The good Generall.

THe Souldier, whom we formerly described, hath since by the stairs of his own deserts climb'd up to be a Generall, and now we come, to character him.

Maxime 1 He is pious in the ordering of his own life. Some falsely conceive that Religion spoyleth the spirit of a Gene­rall, as bad as a rainy day doth his plume of feathers, making it droop, and hang down; whereas indeed Pie­ty onely begets true Prowesse.

2 He acknowledgeth God the Generalissimo of all armies; who in all battels, though the number be never so une­quall, [Page 327] reserves the casting voice for himself. Yet can I scarce believe what Tilman Bre­denbach. de bello Livon. & Fitz Herbert of Policy & Re­ligion, part. 1. cap. 14. one tells us, how Walter Ple­temberg, Master of the Teutonick order, with a small number slew in a battel an hundred thousand Mus­covite enemies with the losse of but one man on his side.

He hath gained skill in his place by long experience: 3 not beginning to lead others before himself ever knew to follow, having never before (except in Cock­matches) beheld any battels. Surely they leap best in their providence forward, who fetch their rise farthest backward in their experience.

He either is, or is presumed valiant. 4 Indeed courage in him is necessary, though some think that a Generall is above valour, who may command others to be so. As if it were all one whether courage were his natu­rally, or by adoption, who can make the valiant deeds of others seem his own; and his reputation for personall manhood once rais'd, will bear it self up; like a round body, some force is required to set it, but a touch will keep it agoing. Indeed it is extreme indiscretion (except in extremities) for him to be prodigall of his person.

He is cheerfull and willing in undergoing of labour. 5 Admi­rable are the miracles of an industrious armie, witnesse the mighty ditch in Cambridge-shire made by the East-Angles, commonly call'd Devils-ditch, as if the Pioners thereof came from hell. Thus the effeminate­nesse of our age, defaming what it should imitate, falsely traduces the monuments of their Ancestours endeavours.

He loves, and is beloved of his souldiers. 6 Whose good will he attaineth,

• 1. By giving them good words in his speeches un­to them. When wages have sometimes acciden­tally fallen short, souldiers have accepted the pay­ment in the fair language and promises of their Generall.
• [Page 328]2. By partaking with his souldiers in their painfull employments. When the English, at the Spanish Fleets approch in eightie eight, drew their ships out of Plimouth haven, the Lord Admirall Howard himself
  Cambden. Elizab. Anno 1588.
  towed a cable, the least joynt of whose exemplarie hand drew more then twentie men besides.
• 3. By sharing with them in their wants. When victuals have grown scant, some Generalls have pinched themselves to the same fare with their souldiers, who could not complain that their messe was bad, whilest their Generall was Fel­low-commoner with them.
• 4. By taking notice, and rewarding of their deserts; never disinheriting a worthy souldier of his birthright, of the next Office due unto him. For a worthy man is wounded more deeply by his own Generalls neglect, then by his enemies sword: The latter may kill him, but the former deads his courage, or, which is worse, mads it into discontent; Who had rather others should make a ladder of his dead corps to scale a city by it, then a bridge of him whilest alive for his pu­nies to give him the Goe-by, and passe over him to preferment. For this reason chiefly (beside some others) a great and valiant English Generall in the daies of Queen Elizabeth was hated of his souldiers, because he disposed Offices by his own absolute will, without respect of orderly advancing such as deserved it, which made a Great man once salute him with this letter: S^r, if you will be pleased to bestow a Captains place on the bearer hereof, being a worthy Gentleman, he shall do that for you which never as yet any souldier did, namely pray to God for your health and happinesse.

7 He is fortunate in what he undertakes. Such a one was Julius Cesar, who in Caesar. Com­ment. lib. 4. Brittain, a countrey undisco­vered, [Page 329] peopled with a valiant Nation, began a warre in Autumne, without apparent advantage, not having any intelligence there, being to passe over the sea in­to a colder climate (an enterprise, saith The Duke of Rohan in the complete Cap­tain, pag. 19. one, well worthy the invincible courage of Cesar, but not of his accustomed prudence) and yet returned victori­ous. Indeed God is the sole disposer of successe: O­ther gifts he also scattereth amongst men, yet so that they themselves scramble to gather them up; whereas successe God gives immediately into their hands, on whom he pleaseth to bestow it.

He tryeth the forces of a new enemy before he encounters him. 8 Sampson is half conquered, when it is known where his strength lies; and skirmishes are scouts for the discovery of the strength of an army, before battel be given.

He makes his flying enemy a bridge of gold, 9 and disarms them of their best weapon, which is necessity to fight whether they will or no. Men forced to a battel against their intention often conquer beyond their ex­pectation: stop a flying coward, and he will turn his legges into arms, and lay about him manfully; where­as open him a passage to escape, and he will quickly shut up his courage.

But I dare dwell no longer on this subject. When the Pope earnestly wrote to King Richard the first, not to detain in prison his dear sonne, the Martiall Bi­shop of Beavois, the King sent the Pope back the ar­mour wherein the Bishop was taken, with the words of Jacobs sonnes to their-Father, See whether or no this be the coat of thy sonne. Surely a corslet is no canonicall coat for me, nor suits it with my Clergy-profession to proceed any further in this warlike description; onely we come to give an example thereof.

CHAP. 18. The life of GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS King of Sweden.

GUstavus Adolphus King of Sweden, born Anno Domini 1594 had princely education both for Arts and Armes. In Italie he learnt the Mathematicks, and in other places abroad, the French, Italian, and Germane tongues, and after he was King, he travelled under the name of Mr Gustav [...]s Adolph. Rex Suecorum D^r. Wats in cha­ract. ad finem 3. part. p. 183. G. A. R. S. being the foure initiall letters of his name, and title.

[Page 331]He was but seventeen years old at his Fathers death, being left not onely a young King, but also in a young kingdome; for his title to the Crown of Sweden was but five years old, to wit since the beginning of his Fathers reigne. All his bordering Princes (on the North nothing but the North bounded on him) were his enemies; the Duke-Emperour of Muscovy on the East, the King of Denmark on the West, and of Poland on the South: The former two laid claim to parcels, the latter, to all his kingdome. Yet was he too great for them in his minority, both defending his own, and gaining on them. Wo be to the kingdome whose King is a child, yet blessed is that kingdome whose King, though a child in age, is a man in worth.

These his first actions had much of glory, and yet somewhat of possibility and credit in them. But Chronicle and belief must strain hard to make his Germane Conquest probable with posterity; coming in with eleven thousand men, having no certain con­federates, but some of his alliance, whom the Empe­rour had outed of all their estates: And yet in two years and foure moneths he left the Emperour in as bad a case almost, as he found those Princes in.

Gods Providence herein is chiefly to be admired, who to open him a free entrance into Germany, divert­ed the Imperiall and Spanish forces into Italy, there to scramble against the French for the Dukedome of Mantua. For heaven onely knows how much Prote­stant flesh the Imperialists had devoured, if that bone had not stuck in their teeth.

If we look on second causes, we may ascribe his victories to this Kings piety, wisedome, valour, and other virtues. His piety to God was exemplary, being more addicted to prayer then to fight, as if he would rather conquer Heaven then Earth. He was himself exceeding temperate, save onely too much given to anger, but afterwards he would correct himself, and [Page 332] be cholerick with his choler, shewing himself a man in the one, and a Saint in the other.

He was a strict observer of Martiall discipline, the life of Warre, without which an Army is but a crowd (not to say herd) of people. He would march all day in complete armour, which was by custome no more burthen to him then his armes, and to carry his helmet, no more trouble then his head; whilest his example made the same easie to all his souldiers. He was a strict punisher of misdemeanours and wanton intem­perance in his camp: And yet let me relate this story from one present therein.

When first he entred Germany, he perceived how that many women followed his souldiers, some being their wives, and some wanting nothing to make them so but marriage, yet most passing for their landresses, though commonly defiling more then they wash. The King coming to a great river, after his men and the wagons were passed over, caused the bridge to be broken down, hoping so to be rid of these feminine impediments; but they one a sudden lift up a panick schrick which pierced the skies, and the souldiers hearts on the other side of the river, who instantly vowed not to stirre a foot farther, except with baggage, and that the women might be fetch'd over, which was done accordingly. For the King finding this ill hu­mour so generally dispers'd in his men, that it was dan­gerous to purge it all at once, smiled out his anger for the present, and permitted what he could not amend: yet this abuse was afterwards reformed by degrees.

He was very mercifull to any that would submit. And as the iron gate miraculously opened to S. Peter of its own accord, so his mercy wrought miracles, making many city-gates open to him of themselves, before he ever knock'd at them to demand entrance, the inhabitants desiring to shroud themselves under his protection. Yea he was mercifull to those places [Page 333] which he took by assault, ever detesting the bloudinesse of Tilly at Magdenburg, under the ashes whereof he buried his honour, coming valiant thither, and depart­ing cruell thence. In such cases he was mercifull to women (not like those Generalls who know the dif­ferences of Sex in their lust, but not in their anger) yea the very Jesuites themselves tasted of his courtesie, though merrily he laid to their charge, that they would neither Preach faith to, nor keep faith with others.

He had the true art (almost lost) of Encamping, where he would lie in his Trenches in despight of all enemies, keeping the clock of his own time, and would fight for no mans pleasure but his own. No seeming flight or disorder of his enemies should cousen him into a battel, nor their daring bravado's anger him into it, nor any violence force him to fight, till he thought fitting himself, counting it good manners in Warre to take all, but give no advantages.

It was said of his Armies, that they used to rise when the swallows went to bed, when winter began, his forces most consisting of Northern Nations, and a Swede fights best when he can see his own breath. He al­wayes kept a long vacation in the dog-dayes, being onely a saver in the summer, and a gainer all the yeare besides. His best harvest was in the snow; and his souldiers had most life in the dead of winter.

He made but a short cut in taking of cities, many of whose fortifications were a wonder to behold; but what were they then to assault and conquer? at scaling of walls he was excellent for contriving, as his souldiers in executing: it seeming a wonder that their bodies should be made of aire, so light to climbe, whose armes were of iron, so heavy to strike. Such cities as would not presently open unto him, he shut them up, and having businesse of more importance then to imprison himself about one strength, he would consigne the besieging thereof to some other Captain. And indeed [Page 334] he wanted not his Joabs, who when they had reduced cities to terms of yielding knew (with as much wis­dome as loyalty) to entitle their David to the whole honour of the action.

He was highly beloved of his souldiers, of whose deserts he kept a faithfull Chronicle in his heart, and advanced them accordingly. All valiant men were Swedes to him; and he differenced men in his esteem by their merits not their countrey.

To come to his death, wherein his reputation suf­fers in the judgements of some, for too much hazard­ing of his own person in the battel. But surely some conceived necessity thereof urged him thereunto. For this his third grand set battel in Germany, was the third and last asking of his banes to the Imperiall Crown; and had they not been forbidden by his death, his marriage in all probability had instantly followed. Besides, Duke of Ro­han, in his com­plete Captain cap. 22. Never Prince hath founded great Em­pire, but by making warre in person, nor hath lost any, but when he made warre by his lieutenants: which made this King the more adventurous.

His death is still left in uncertainty, whether the va­lour of open enemies, or treachery of false friends caused it. His side won the day, and yet lost the sunne that made it; and as one saith,

Thus the readiest way to lose a jewell is to overprise it: for indeed many men so doted on this worthy Prince, and his victories (without any default of his, who gave God the glory) that his death in some sort seemed necessary to vindicate Gods honour, who usually maketh that prop of flesh to break where­on men lay too great weight of their expectati­on.

After his death, how did men struggle to keep him alive in their reports? partly out of good will, which [Page 335] made them kindle new hopes of his life at every spark of probability, partly out of infidelity that his death could be true. First they thought so valiant a Prince could not live on earth; and when they saw his life, then they thought so valiant a Prince could never die, but that his death was rather a concealment for a time, dayly expecting when the politickly dead should have a Resurrection in some noble exploit.

I find a most D^r. Hakewill in his Apologie for divine Pro­vidence, lib. 4. cap. 11. p. 546. learned pen applying these Latine verses to this noble Prince, and it is honour enough for us to translate them:

[Page 336]The Jesuites made him to be the Descript. Bell. Suecici, per Aut. Anony. mum, pag. 186. Antichrist, and allowed him three years and an half of reigne and con­quest: But had he lived that full term out, the true An­tichrist might have heard further from him, and Romes Tragedy might have had an end, whose fift and last Act is still behind. Yet one Silvester Pe­tra Sancta in his book against Du Moulin. Jesuite, more in­genuous then the rest, gives him this testimony, that, save the badnesse of his cause and religion, he had nothing de­fective in him which belonged to an excellent King, and a good Captain.

Thus let this our poore description of this King serve like a flat grave-stone or plain pavement for the present; till the richer pen of some Grotius or Heinsi­us shall provide to erect some statelyer Monument unto his Memory.

CHAP. 19. The Prince or Heir apparent to the Crown.

HE is the best pawn of the future felicity of a kingdome. His Fathers Subjects conceive they take a further estate of happinesse in the hopes of his Succession.

Maxime 1 In his infancy he gives presages of his future worth. Some first-fruits are dispatch'd before, to bring news to the world of the harvest of virtues which are ripening in him: his own Royall spirit prompts him to some speeches and actions wherein the standers by will scarce believe their own eares and eyes, that such things can proceed from him: And yet no wonder if they have light the soonest, who live nearest the East, seeing Princes have the advantage of the best birth and breeding. The Gregorian account goes ten dayes be­fore the computation of the English calendar: but the capacity of Princes goes as many years before private mens of the same age.

He is neither kept too long from the knowledge, 2 nor brought too soon to the acquaintance with his own Greatnesse. To be kept too long in distance from himself, would breed in him a soul too narrow for his place: On the other side, he needs not to be taught his Greatnesse too soon, who will meet with it everywhere. The best of all is when his Governours open him to himself by de­grees, that his soul may spread according to his age.

He playeth himself into Learning before he is aware of it. 3 Herein much is to be ascribed to the wisdome of his Teachers, who alwayes present Learning unto him (as Angels are painted) smiling, and candy over his sourest studies with pleasure and delight, observing seasonable time, and fit method. Not like many countrey Schoolmasters, who in their instructions spill more then they fill, by their overhasty pouring of it in.

He sympathizeth with him that by a Proxie is corrected for his offense:4 yea sometimes goeth further, and (above his age) considereth, that it is but an Embleme, how hereafter his people may be punished for his own fault. He hath read how the Israelites, the second of Sam. 24.17. were plagued for Davids numbring of them. And yet withall he remembreth how in the first verse of the same chapter, The wrath of the Lord was kindled against Israel, and he (by permitting of Satan the instrument 1. Chron. 21.1.) moved David to number them. And as the stomach and vitall parts of a man are often corroded with a rheume falling from the head, yet so that the disaffection of the stomach first caused the breeding of the same offensive distillation; so our young Prince takes notice of a reciprocation of faults and punishments betwixt King and Kingdome (both making up the same body) yea that sometimes the [Page 338] King is corrected for the peoples offenses, and so è con­tra: Indeed in Relatives neither can be well, if both be not.

5 He is most carefull in reading, and attentive in hearing Gods word. King Edward the sixth (who, though a Sove­reigne, might still in age passe for a Prince) accurately noted the dayes, Texts, and names of Ministers, that preached before him. Next to Gods word, our Prince studies Basilicon Doron, that Royall gift, which onely King James was able to give, and onely King James his sonne worthy to receive.

6 He is carefull in chusing and using his recreations, refusing such which in their very posture and situation are too low for a Prince. In all his exercises he affects comli­nesse, or rather a kind of carelesnesse in shew, to make his activities seem the more naturall, & avoids a toyling and laborious industry, especially seeing each drop of a Princes sweat is a pearl, and not to be thrown away for no cause. And Princes are not to reach, but to trample on recreations, making them their footstool to heighten their souls for seriousnesse, taking them in passage thereunto.

7 His clothes are such as may beseem his Greatnesse: especi­ally when he solemnly appears, or presents himself to forrein Embassadours. Yet he disdains not to be plain at ordinary times. The late S^r. Fr. Ne­thersol, in the fun. orat. of him, pag. 16. Henrie, Prince of Wales, being tax'd by some for his too long wearing of a plain sute of Welch frize; Would (said he) my countrey cloth would last for ever.

8 He begins to study his own countrey, and the people therein: what places are, what may be fortified; which can withstand a long siege, and which onely can make head against a present insurrection. If his land accost­eth the sea, he considereth what Havens therein are barr'd, whose dangerous chanells fence them­selves, and their rocks are their blockhouses; what Keys are rusty with sands and shelves, and what are [Page 339] scoured with a free and open tide, with what service­able ships belong thereunto. He takes notice also of the men in the land, and disdains his soul should be blurred with unjust prejudices, but fairly therein writes every one in order, as they are ranked by their own deserts.

Hence he looks abroad to see how his countrey stands in relation to forrein Kingdomes;9 how it is friended with Confede­rates, how oppos'd with Enemies. His little eyes can cast a soure glance on the suspicious greatnesse of any near borderer; for he conceives others weakned by their own distance. He considers forrein Kingdomes, and States, whether they stand on their own strength, or lean on the favour of friends, or onely hang by a Po­liticall Geometry, equally poysing themselves be­twixt their neighbours, like Lucca and Geneva, the multitude of enemies mouthes keeping them from being swallowed up. He quickly perceives that Kings, how nearly soever allied, are most of kinne to their own interest; and though the same Religion be the best bond of forrein affection, yet even this breaks too often: and States when wonded, will cure them­selves with a plaister made of the heart-blood of their best friends.

He tunes his soul in consort to the disposition of his King-fa­ther. 10 Whatsoever his desire be, the least word, counte­nance, or signe given, of his fathers disallowance makes him instantly desist from further pursuit there­of with satisfaction, in regard he understands it disa­greeing to his Majesties pleasure, and with a resoluti­on not to have the least semblance of being discon­tented: He hath read how such Princes which were undutifull to their Parents either had no children, or children worse then none, which repai'd their disobe­dience. He is also kind to his Brothers, and Sisters, whose love and affection he counteth the bulwarks and redouts for his own safety and security.

[Page 340] 11 When grown to keep a Court by himself, he is carefull in well ordering it. The foresaid Prince Henries Court consist­ed of few lesse then five hundred persons, and yet his grave and Princely aspect gave temper to them all, so that in so numerous a familie, not so much as any Sr. William Cornwallis in the life of Prince Henry. blows were given.

12 With a frowning countenance he brusheth off from his soul all Court-mothes of flattery: especially he is deaf to such as would advise him, without any, or any just grounds, when he comes to the Crown, to runne counter to the practice of his Father; and who knowing that muddy water makes the strongest beere, may conceive the troubling and embroyling of the State will be most ad­vantagious for their active spirits. Indeed seldome two successive Kings tread in the same path: if the former be Martiall, though the warre be just, honourable, and profitable, yet some will quarrell with the time pre­sent, [...]. not because it is bad, but because it is, and put a Prince forward to an alteration. If the former King were peaceable, yet happinesse it self is unhappy in be­ing too common, and many will desire warre (con­ceited sweet to every palate which never tasted it) and urge a Prince thereunto. But our Prince knows to estimate things by their true worth and value, and will not take them upon the credit, whereon others present them unto him.

13 He conceives they will be most loving to the branch, which were most loyall to the root, and most honour'd his father. We reade how Henry the fifth (as yet Prince of Wales) intending to bear out one of his servants for a misde­meanour, reviled S^r William Gascoine Lord chief Justice of the Kings Bench to his face in open court. The aged Judge considered how this his action would beget an immortall example, and the echo of his words (if unpunished) would be resounded for ever to the disgrace of Majesty, which is never more on its throne, then when either in person, or in his substitutes, sitting [Page 341] on the bench of Justice; and thereupon commanded the Prince to the prison, till he had given satisfaction to his father for the affront offered. Instantly down fell the heart of great Prince Henry, which (though as hard as rock) the breath of Justice did easily shake, being first undermin'd with an apprehension of his own guiltinesse: And King Henry the fourth his father is reported greatly to rejoyce, that he had a Judge who knew how to command by, and a Sonne who knew how to submit to his Laws. And afterward this Prince when King (first conquering himself, and afterwards the French) reduced his Court from being a forrest of wild trees, to be an orchard of sweet fruit, banishing away his bad companions, and appointing and coun­tenancing those to keep the key of his honour, who had lock'd up his fathers most faithfully.

He shews himself to the people on fit occasions. 14 It is hard to say whether he sees or is seen with more love and de­light. Every one that brings an eye to gaze on him, brings also an heart to pray for him. But his subjects in reversion most rejoyce to see him in his military ex­ercises, wishing him as much skill to know them, as little need to use them, seeing peace is as farre to be pre­ferred before victory it self, as the end is better then the means.

He values his future sovereignty, not by impunity in doing evil, 15 but by power to do good. What now his desire is, then his ability shall be▪ and he more joyes, that he is a member of the true Church, then the second in the land. One­ly he fears to have a Crown too quickly, and therefore lengthens out his fathers dayes with his prayers for him, and obedience to him. And thus we leave Solo­mon to delight in David, David in Solomon, their people in both.

CHAP. 20. The life of EDVVARD the Black Prince.

EDward the Black Prince (so called from his dreaded acts and not from his For King Ed. his father called him his Fair Sonne, Speed p. 579. complexion) was the eldest sonne to Edward the third by Philippa his Queen. He was born Anno 1329, on the fifteenth of June, being friday, at Woodstock in Oxfordshire. His Parents perceiving in him more then ordinary na­turall perfections, were carefull to bestow on him such education in Piety, and Learning, agreeable to his high [Page 343] birth. The Prince met their care with his towardli­nesse, being apt to take fire, and blaze at the least spark of instruction put into him.

We find him to be the first Prince of Wales, whose See the copy thereof in Mr. Seldens titles of Honour, pag. 595. Charter at this day is extant, with the particular rites of investiture, which were the Crownet, and Ring of gold, with a rod of silver, worthily bestowed upon him, who may passe for a miroir of Princes whether we be­hold him in Peace or in Warre. He in the whole course of his life manifested a singular observance to his Pa­rents, to comply with their will and desire; nor lesse was the tendernesse of his affection to his Brothers and Sisters, whereof he had many.

But as for the Martiall performances of this Prince, they are so many and so great that they would fill whole volumes: we will onely insist on three of his most memorable atchievements, remitting the Reader for the rest to our English Historians. The first shall be his behaviour in the battel of 1346 in the twenty yeare of Ed. the third. Cressy, against the French, wherein Prince Edward, not fully eighteen years old, led the sore front of the English.

There was a causlesse report (the beginning of a ru­mour is sometimes all the ground thereof) spread through the French army, that the English were fled: whereupon the French posted after them, not so much to overcome (this they counted done) but to overtake them, preparing themselves rather to pursue then to fight. But coming to the town of Cressy, they found the English fortified in a wooddy place, and attending in good array to give battel. Whereat the French falling from their hopes were extremely vext (a fools para­dise is a wisemans hell) finding their enemies faces to stand where they look'd for their backs. And now both armies prepared to fight, whilest behold flocks of ravens and vulturs in the aire flew thither; bold guests to come without an invitation: But these smell-feast birds when they saw the cloth laid (the tents of two [Page 344] armies pitch'd) knew there would be good cheere, and came to feed on their carcases.

The English divided themselves into three parts: The formost consisting most of Archers, led by the Black Prince; the second, by the Earl of Northam­pton; the third, commanded by King Edward in per­son. The French were treble in number to the English, and had in their army the three Kings, of France, Bohe­mia, and Majorca: Charles Duke of Alenson, with John the Bohemian King, led the vanguard; the French King Philip, the main battel; whilest Amie Duke of Savoy brought up the rere.

The Genoan Archers in the French forefront, wea­ried with marching, were accus'd for their slothful­nesse, and could neither get their wages nor good words, which made many of them cast down their bows, and refuse to fight; the rest had their bowstrings made uselesse, being wetted with a sudden showre which fell on their side: But Heavens smiling offended more then her weeping, the sunne suddenly shining out in the face of the French, gave them so much light that they could not see.

However Duke Charles, breaking through the Ge­noans, furiously charged the fronts of the English, and joyned at hand-strokes with the Princes battel, who though fighting most couragiously was in great dan­ger: Therefore King Edward was sent unto (who hitherto hovered on a hillock, judiciously beholding the fight) to come and rescue his sonne. The King ap­prehending his case dangerous but not desperate, and him rather in need then extremity, told the messen­ger, Is my sonne alive, let him die or conquer, that he may have the honour of the day.

The English were vext, not at his deniall, but their own request; that they should seem to suspect their Kings fatherly affection, or Martiall skill, as needing a remembrancer to tell him his time. To make amends, [Page 345] they laid about them manfully, the rather because they knew that the King looked on, to testifie their valour, who also had the best cards in his own hand, though he kept them for a revie.

The victory began to incline to the English, when, rather to settle then get the conquest, the King (hither­to a spectatour) came in to act the Epilogue. Many English with short knifes for the nonce stabb'd the bellies of their enemies, cut the throats of more, letting out their souls wheresoever they could come at their bodies: and to all such as lay languishing, they gave a short acquittance, that they had paid their debt to na­ture. This makes French Writers complain of the English cruelty, and that it had been more honour to the Generall, and profit to the souldiers to have drawn lesse bloud, and more money in ransoming captives, especially seeing many French Noblemen, who fought like lions, were kill'd like calves. Others plead that in Warre all wayes and weapons are lawfull, where it is the greatest mistake not to take all advantages.

Night came on, and the King commanded no pur­suit should be made for preventing of confusion; for souldiers scarce follow any order, when they follow their flying enemy; and it was so late, that it might have proved too soon to make a pursuit.

The night proved exceeding dark (as mourning for the bloud shed) nor was the next morning comfort­ed with the rising of the sun, but remained sad and gloomy, so that in the mist many French men lost their way, and then their lives, falling into the hands of the English: so that next dayes gleanings for the number, though not for the quality of the persons slain, exceed­ed the harvest of the day before. And thus this victory, next to Gods Providence, was justly ascribed to the Black Princes valour, who there wonne and wore a­way the Estridge feathers, then the Arms of John King of Bohemia, there conquer'd and kill'd, and therefore [Page 346] since made the Vid. Cambd. Remains pag. 344. hereditary Emblemes of honour to the Princes of Wales.

The battel of Poictiers followed ten years after, which was fought betwixt the foresaid Black Prince, and John King of September 19. 1356. France. Before the battel began the English were reduced to great straits, their enemies be­ing six to one. The French conceived the victory, though not in hand, yet within reach, and their arm must be put out not to get but take it. All articles with the English they accounted alms, it being great charity but no policy to compound with them. But what shall we say? warre is a game wherein very often that side loseth which layeth the oddes. In probability they might have famished the English without fighting with them, had not they counted it a lean conquest so to bring their enemies to misery, without any honour to themselves.

The conclusion was, that the French would have the English lose their honour to save their lives, tendring them unworthy conditions, which being refused, the battel was begun. The French King made choice of three hundred prime horsmen to make the first assault on the English; the election of which three hundred made more then a thousand Paulus Ae­mil. in the life of King Iohn, pag. 286. heartburnings in his ar­my: every one counted his loyalty or manhood su­spected, who was not chosen into this number; and this took off the edge of their spirits against their ene­mies, and turned it into envy and disdain against their friends.

The French horse charged them very furiously, whom the English entertain'd with a feast of arrows, first, second, third course, all alike. Their horses were galled with the bearded piles, being unused to feel spurres in their breasts and buttocks. The best horses were worst wounded, for their mettall made one wound many; and that arrow which at first did but pierce, by their struggling did tear and rend. Then [Page 347] would they know no riders, and the riders could know no ranks; and in such a confusion, an army fights against it self. One rank fell foul with another, and the rere was ready to meet with the front: and the valiant Lord Audley, charging them before they could repair themselves, overcame all the Horse, Qua parte belli (saith my Authour) invicti Galli habebantur. The Horse being put to flight, the Infantry consisting most of poore people (whereof many came into the field with conquered hearts, grinded with oppression of their Gentry) counted it neither wit nor manners for them to stay, when their betters did flie, and made post hast after them. Six thousand common souldiers were slain, fifty two Lords, and seventeen hundred Knights and Esquires; one hundred Ensignes taken, with John the French King, and two thousand priso­ners of note.

The French had a great advantage of an after-game, if they had returned again, and made head, but they had more mind to make heels, and run away. Prince Edward, whose prowesse herein was conspicuous, overcame his own valour, both in his piety, devoutly giving to God the whole glory of the conquest, and in his courtesie, with stately humility entertaining the French Prisoner-King, whom he bountifully feast­ed that night, though the other could not be merry al­beit he was supped with great cheere, and knew him­self to be very welcome.

The third performance of this valiant Prince, wherein we will instance, was acted in Spain, on this occasion. Peter King of Castile was driven out of his kingdome by Henry his base Brother, and the assist­ance of some French forces. Prince Edward on this Peters petition, and by his own Fathers permission, went with an army into Spain, to re-estate him in his kingdome: For though this Peter was a notorious Tyrant, (if Authours in painting his deeds do not [Page 348] overshadow them, to make them blacker then they were) yet our Prince, not looking into his vices but his right, thought he was bound to assist him: For all Sovereignes are like the strings of a Basevioll equally tuned to the same height, so that by sympathy, he that toucheth the one moves the other. Besides, he thought it just enough to restore him, because the French helpt to cast him out; and though Spain was farre off, yet our Prince never counted himself out of his own coun­trey, whilest in any part of the world; valour natura­lizing a brave spirit through the Universe.

With much adoe he effected the businesse through many difficulties, occasioned partly by the treachery of King Peter, who performed none of the conditions promised, and partly through the barrennesse of the countrey, so that the Prince was forced to sell all his own plate (Spain more needing meat then dishes) to make provision for his souldiers; but especially through the distemper of the climate, the aire (or fire shall I say) thereof being extreme hot, so that it is conceived to have caused this Princes death, which happened soon after his return. What English heart can hold from inveighing against Spanish aire which deprived us of such a jewell? were it not that it may seem since to have made us some amends, when lately the breath of our nostrills breathed in that climate, and yet by Gods providence was kept there, and returned thence in health and safety.

Well may this Prince be taken for a Paragon of his age, and place, having the fewest vices, with so many virtues. Indeed he was somewhat given to women, our Chronicles fathering two base children on him; so hard it is to find a Sampson without a Dalila. And seeing never King or Kings eldest sonne since the conquest before his time married a subject, I must confesse his Match was much beneath himself, taking the double reversion of a subjects bed, [Page 349] marrying Joan Countesse of Salisbury, which had been twice a widow. But her surpassing beauty pleads for him herein, and yet her beauty was the meanest thing about her, being surpass'd by her virtues. And what a worthy woman must she needs be her self, whose very garter hath given so much honour to Kings and Princes?

He dyed at Canterbury, June the eighth 1376 in the fourty sixth yeare of his age: it being wittily Sr Francis Nethersole in his fun. or at. on Prince Hen­ry, pag. 16. observed of the short lives of many worthy men, fatuos à morte defendit ipsa insulsitas; si cui plus caeteris aliquantulum salis in­sit (quod miremini) statim putrescit.

CHAP. 21. The King.

HE is a mortall God. This world at the first had no other Charter for its being, then Gods Fiat: Kings have the same in the Present tense, I have said ye are Gods. We will describe him, first as a good man (so was Henry the third) then as a good King (so was Richard the third) both which meeting together make a King complete. For he that is not a good man, or but a good man, can never be a good Sovereigne.

He is temperate in the ordering of his own life. Maxime 1 O the Man­date of a Kings example is able to do much! especially he is,

• 1 Temperate in his diet. When Aeschines com­mended Philip King of Macedon, for a joviall man that would drink freely,
  Plutarch in the li [...]e of De­mosthenes.
  Demosthenes an­swered, that this was a good quality in a spunge, but not in a King.
• 2 Continent in his pleasures. Yea Princes lawfull children are farre easier provided for then the rabida fames of a spurious ofspring can be satisfied, whilest their Paramors and Concubines (count­ing [Page 350] it their best manners to carve for themselves all they can come by) prove intolerably expensive to a State. Besides, many rebellions have risen out of the marriage-bed defiled.

2 He holds his Crown immediately from the God of Heaven. Dan. 4.17. The most high ruleth in the kingdomes of men, and giveth them to whomsoever he will. Cujus jussu nascuntur homines, ejus jussu constituuntur Principes, saith a Irenaeus l. 5. Father: Inde illis potestas unde spiritus, saith Tertull. A­pol. pag. 6.5. another. And whosoever shall re­mount to the first originall of Kings, shall lose his eyes in discovering the top thereof, as past ken, and touch­ing the heavens. We reade of a place in Mount Olivet (wherein the last footsteps, they say, of our Saviour before he ascended into heaven are to be seen) that it will ever lie open to the skies, and will not admit of any close or Nullo modo contegi aut concamerari potest, sed tran­situs ejus à ter­ra ad coelum usque patet a­pertum, Adri­com. de terra Sancta ex Hi­eron. & aliis Autoribus. covering to be made over it how costly soever. Farre more true is this of the condition of ab­solute Kings, who in this respect are ever sub dio, so that no superiour power can be interposed betwixt them and heaven. Yea the Character of loyalty to Kings so deeply impress'd in Subjects hearts shews that onely Gods finger wrote it there. Hence it is if one chance to conceive ill of his Sovereigne, though within the cabinet of his soul, presently his own heart grows jealous of his own heart, and he could wish the tongue cut out of his tell-tale thoughts, lest they should accuse themselves. And though sometimes Re­bels (Atheists against the Gods on earth) may labour to obliterate loyalty in them, yet even then their con­science, the Kings Aturney, frames Articles against them, and they stand in daily fear lest Darius Lon­gimanus (such a one is every King) should reach them, and revenge himself.

3 He claimeth to be supreme Head on earth over the Church in his Dominions. Which his power over all persons and causes Ecclesiasticall

• 1. Is given him by God, who alone hath the origi­nall propriety thereof.
• [Page 351]2. Is derived unto him by a prescription time out of mind in the Law of Nature, declared more e­specially in the Word of God.
• 3. Is cleared and averred by the private Laws and Statutes of that State wherein he lives. For since the Pope (starting up from being the Em­perours Chaplain to be his Patron) hath inva­ded the rights of many earthly Princes, many wholsome Laws have been made in severall Kingdomes to assert and notifie their Kings just power in Spiritualibus.

Well therefore may our King look with a frown­ing face on such, whose tails meet in this firebrand (which way soever the prospect of their faces be) to deny Princes power in Church-matters. Two Zanchez & Velasquez in their Comments on the Text. Jesuites give this farre-fetch'd reason, why 1. Sam. 9 14. Samuel at the Feast caused the shoulder of the Sacrifice to be reserved and kept on purpose for Saul to feed on; because, say they, Kings of all men have most need of strong shoulders patiently to endure those many troubles and molestations they shall meet with, especially, I may well adde, if all their Subjects were as troublesome and disloyall as the Jesuites. The best is, as God hath given Kings shoulders to bear, he hath also given them armes to strike such as deprive them of their lawfull Authority in Ecclesiasticall affairs.

He improves his power to defend true Religion. 4 Sacerdotall Offices though he will not doe, he will cause them to be done. He will not offer to burn incense with Uzziah, yet he will burn Idolaters bones with Josiah, I mean advance Piety by punishing Profanenesse. God Isaiah. 49.23. saith to his Church, Kings shall be thy Nursing-fathers, and their Queens thy Nursing-mothers. And oh let not Princes out of State refuse to be so themselves, and onely hire o­thers, it belonging to Subjects to suck, but to Princes to suckle Religion by their authority. They ought to command Gods Word to be read and practised, wherein the blessed Memory of King James shall ne­ver [Page 352] be forgotten. His Predecessour in England restored the Scripture to her Subjects, but he in a manner, re­stored the Scripture to it self in causing the New Transla­tion thereof, whereby the meanest that can reade En­glish, in effect understands the Greek and Hebrew. A Princely act, which shall last even when the lease of Time shall be expired: Verily I say unto you, where­soever this Translation shall be read in the whole realm, there shall also this that this King hath done be told in memoriall of him.

5 He useth Mercy and Iustice in his proceedings against Of­fenders. Solomon Prov. 16.12. saith, The throne is established by Iustice: and Solomon Prov. [...]0.28. saith, The throne is upholden by Mer­cy. Which two Proverbs speak no more contradiction, then he that saith that the two opposite side-walls of an house hold up the same roof. Yea as some Astro­nomers (though erroneously) conceived the Crystal­line Sphere to be made of water, and therefore to be set next the Primum mobile to allay the heat thereof, which otherwise by the swiftnesse of his motion would set all the world on fire; so Mercy must ever be set near Justice for the cooling and tempering thereof. In his mercy our King desires to resemble the God of heaven, who measureth his judgements by the ordinary cubit, but his kindnesses by the cubit of the Sanctuary, twice as big; yea all the world had been a hell without Gods mercy.

6 He is rich in having a plentifull exchequer of his peoples hearts. Allow me, said Archimedes, to stand in the aire, and I will move the earth. But our King having a firm footing in his Subjects affections, what may he do, yea what may he not do? making the coward valiant, the miser liberall; for love, the key of hearts, will open the clo­sest coffers. Mean time how poore is that Prince a­midst all his wealth, whose Subjects are onely kept by a slavish fear, the jaylour of the soul. An iron arm fast­ned with scrues may be stronger, but never so usefull, [Page 353] because not so naturall, as an arm of flesh, joined with muscles & sinews. Loving Subjects are most serviceable, as being more kindly united to their Sovereigne then those which are onely knock'd on with fear and for­cing. Besides, where Subjects are envassaled with fear, Prince and People mutually watch their own advan­tages, which being once offered them, 'tis wonderfull if they do not, and wofull if they do, make use there­of.

He willingly orders his actions by the Laws of his realm. 7 In­deed some maintain that Princes are too high to come under the roof of any Laws, except they voluntarily of their goodnesse be pleased to bow themselves thereun­to, and that it is Corban, a gift and courtesy, in them to submit themselves to their Laws. But whatsoever the Theories of absolute Monarchy be, our King loves to be legall in all his practices, and thinks that his power is more safely lock'd up for him in his Law then kept in his own will; because God alone makes things lawfull by willing them, whilest the most cal­mest Princes have sometimes gusts of Passion, which meeting with an unlimited Authority in them may prove dangerous to them and theirs. Yea our King is so suspicious of an unbounded power in himself, that though the widenesse of his strides could make all the hedge stiles, yet he will not go over, but where he may. He also hearkneth to the advise of good Counsellers, remembring the speech of Antoninus the Emperour, Aequius est ut ego tot taliumque amicorum consilium sequar, quam tot talesque amici meam unius voluntatem. And yet withall our King is carefull to maintain his just Prero­gative, that as it be not outstretched, so it may not be overshortned.

Such a gratious Sovereigne God hath vouchsafed to this Land. How pious is he towards his God! atten­tive in hearing the Word, preaching Religion with his silence, as the Minister doth with his speech! How lo­ving [Page 354] to his Spouse, tender to his Children, faithfull to his servants whilest they are faithfull to their own in­nocence; otherwise leaving them to Justice under marks of his displeasure. How doth he with David walk in the midst of his house without partiality to any! How just is he in punishing wilfull murder! so that it is as easie to restore the murthered to life, as to keep the murtherer from death. How mercifull is he to such who not out of leigier malice, but sudden passion may chance to shed bloud! to whom his pardon hath allowed leisure to drop out their own souls in tears by constant repentance all the dayes of their lives. How many wholsome Laws hath he enacted for the good of his Subjects! How great is his humilitie in so great height! which maketh his own praises painfull for himself to heare, though pleasant for others to re­port. His Royall virtues are too great to be told, and too great to be conceal'd. All cannot, some must break forth from the full hearts of such as be his thankfull Subjects.

But I must either stay or fall. My sight fails me da­zell'd with the lustre of Majestie: all I can do is pray.

Give the King thy judgements, O Lord, and thy righteousnesse to the Kings Sonne: smite through the loins of those that rise up against his Majestie, but upon him and his let the Crown flourish: Oh cause his Subjects to meet his Princely care for their good, with a proportionable cheerfulnesse and alacrity in his service, that so thereby the happinesse of Church and State may be continued. Grant this, O Lord, for Christ Jesus his sake our onely Mediatour and Advo­cate. Amen.

CHAP. 1. The Harlot

IS one that her self is both merchant and merchandise, which she selleth for profit, and hath pleasure given her into the bargain, and yet remains a great loser. To describe her is very difficult; it being hard to draw those to the life, who never sit still: she is so various in her humours, and mutable, 'tis almost impossible to character her in a fixed posture; yea indeed some cunning Harlots are not discernable from honest women. Solomon saith, she wipeth her mouth; and who can distinguish be­twixt that which was never foul, and that which is cleanly wiped.

Her love is a blank, Maxime 1 wherein she writeth the next man that tendreth his affection. Impudently the Harlot lied (Prov. 7.15.) Therefore came I forth to meet thee, diligently to seek thy face, and I have found thee: else understand her that she came forth to meet him, not qua talis, but qua primus, because he came first; for any other youngster in his place would have serv'd her turn: yet see how she makes his chance her courtesie, she affecting him as [Page 358] much above others, as the common road loves the next passenger best.

2 As she sees, so her self is seen by her own eyes. Sometimes she stares on men with full fixed eyes; otherwhiles she squints forth glances, and contracts the beams in her burning glasses, to make them the hotter to inflame her objects; sometimes she dejects her eyes in a seem­ing civility, and many mistake in her a cunning for a modest look. But as those bullets which graze on the ground do most mischief to an army; so she hurts most with those glances which are shot from a down-cast eye.

3 She writes characters of wantonnesse with her feet as she walks: And what Potiphars wife said with her tongue, she saith unto the passengers with her gesture and gate, Come lie with me; and nothing angrieth her so much, as when modest men affect a deafnesse and will not heare, or a dulnesse and will not understand the lan­guage of her behaviour. She counts her house a prison, and is never well till gadding abroad: sure 'tis true of women what is observed of elm, if lying within doores dry, no timber will last sound longer, but if without doores expos'd to weather, no wood sooner rots and corrupts.

4 Yet some Harlots continue a kind of strange coynesse even to the very last: which coynesse differs from modesty as much as hemlock from parsely. They will deny com­mon favours, because they are too small to be granted: They will part with all or none, refuse to be courte­ous, and reserve themselves to be dishonest; whereas women truly modest will willingly go to the bounds of free and harmlesse mirth, but will not be dragg'd any farther.

5 She is commonly known by her whorish attire: As crisping and curling, (making her hair as winding and intri­cate as her heart) painting, wearing naked breasts. The face indeed ought to be bare, and the haft should lie [Page 359] out of the sheath; but where the back and edge of the knife are shown, 'tis to be feared they mean to cut the fingers of others. I must confesse some honest women may go thus, but no whit the honester for going thus. The ship may have Castor and Pollux for the badge, and notwithstanding have S. Paul for the lading: yet the modesty and discretion of honest Matrons were more to be commended, if they kept greater distance from the attire of Harlots.

Sometimes she ties her self in marriage to one, 6 that she may the more freely stray to many: and cares not though her hus­band comes not within her bed, so be it he goeth not out beyond the Foure-seas. She useth her husband as an hood, whom she casts off in the fair weather of pro­sperity, but puts him on for a cover in adversity, if it chance she prove with child.

Yet commonly she is as barren as lustfull. 7 Yea who can ex­pect that malt should grow to bring new increase. Be­sides, by many wicked devices she seeks on purpose to make her self barren (a retrograde act to set Nature back) making many issues, that she may have no issue, and an hundred more damnable devices,

And yet for all her cunning, God sometimes meets with her (who varieth his wayes of dealing with wantons, that they may be at a losse in tracing him) and sometimes against her will she proves with child, which though unable to speak, yet tells at the birth a plain story to the mothers shame.

At last when her deeds grow most shamefull she grows most shamelesse. So impudent, that she her self sometimes proves both the poyson and the antidote, the tempta­tion and the preservative; young men distasting and abhorring her boldnesse. And those wantons, who perchance would willingly have gathered the fruit [Page 360] fruit from the tree, will not feed on such fallings.

9 Generally she dies very poore. The wealth she gets is like the houses some build in Gothland, made of Olaus magnus de Rit. Gent. sept. lib. 1. c. 23. snow, no lasting fabrick; the rather, because she who took money of those who tasted the top of her wanton­nesse, is fain to give it to such who will drink out the dregs of her lust.

10 She dieth commonly of a lothsome disease. I mean that dis­ease, unknown to Antiquity, created within some hun­dreds of years, which took the name from Naples. When hell invented new degrees in sinnes, it was time for heaven to invent new punishments. Yet is this new disease now grown so common and ordinary, as if they meant to put divine Justice to a second task to find out a newer. And now it is high time for our Harlot, being grown lothsome to her self, to runne out of her self by repentance.

Some conceive that when King Henry the eighth destroyed the publick Stews in this Land (which till his time stood on the banks side on Southwark next the Bear-garden, beasts and beastly women being very fit neighbours) he rather scattered then quenched the fire of lust in this kingdome, and by turning the flame out of the chimney where it had a vent, more endan­gered the burning of the Commonwealth. But they are deceived: for whilest the Laws of the Land tolerated open uncleannesse, God might justly have made the whole State do penance for whoredome; whereas now that sinne though committed, yet not permitted, and though (God knows) it be too generall, it is still but personall.

[Page 361] CHAP. 2. The life of JOAN Queen of Naples.

JOan, grandchild to Robert King of Naples by Charles his sonne, succeeded her grandfather in the Kingdome of Naples and Sicily, Anno 1343. a woman of a beautifull body and rare endowments of nature, had not the heat of her lust soured all the rest of her perfections, whose wicked life Taken out of Brovius An. Eccle. an. 1344. Petrarch. lib. 5. Episi. & Sum­montius H. si. Neopol. lib. 3. and wofull death we now come to relate: And I hope none can justly lay it to my charge, if the foulnesse of her actions stain through the cleanest language I can wrap them in.

She was first married unto her cosen Andrew, a Prince of royall extraction, and of a sweet and loving disposition. But he being not able to satisfie her wan­tonnesse, she kept company with lewd persons, at first privately, but afterwards she presented her badnesse visible to every eye, so that none need look through the chinks where the doores were open.

Now Elizabeth Queen of Hungary, her husband Andrews mother, was much offended at the badnesse of her daughter-in-law, whose deeds were so foul she could not look on them, and so common she could not look besides them; wherefore in a matronly way she fairly advised her to reform her courses. For the lives of Princes are more read then their Laws, and generally more practised: Yea their example passeth as current as their coin, and what they do they seem to command to be done. Cracks in glasse though past mending are no great matter; but the least flaw in a diamond is considerable: Yea her per­sonall fault was a nationall injury, which might de­rive and put the Sceptre into a wrong hand.

These her mild instructions she sharpned with se­vere threatnings: But no razor will cut a stony heart. Queen Joan imputed it to ages envy, old people per­swading [Page 362] youth to leave those pleasures, which have left themselves. Besides, a Mother-in-laws Sermon sel­dome takes well with an audience of Daughter-in-laws. Wherefore the old Queen finding the other past grace (that is never likely to come to it) resolved no longer to punish anothers sinne on her self, and vex her own righteous soul, but leaving Naples return'd into Hungary.

After her departure Queen Joan grew weary of her husband Andrew, complaining of his insufficiency, though those who have caninum appetitum are not com­petent judges what is sufficient food: And she caused her husband in the city of Aversa to be hung upon a beam and strangled in the night time, and then threw out his corps into a garden, where it lay some dayes unburied.

There goes a Collenusius, l. 5. Regn. Neop. story that this Andrew on a day coming into the Queens chamber, and finding her twisting a thick string of silk and silver, demanded of her for what purpose she made it: She answered, To hang you in it, which he then little believed, the ra­ther because those who intend such mischief never speak of it before. But such blows in jest-earnest are most dangerous, which one can neither receive in love, nor refuse in anger.

Indeed she sought in vain to colour the businesse, and to divert the suspicion of the murther from her self, because all the world saw that she inflicted no punishment on the actours of it which were in her power. And in such a case, when a murther is gene­rally known, the sword of the Magistrate cannot stand neuter, but doth justify what it doth not punish.

Besides, his corps was not cold before she was hot in a new love, and married Lewis Prince of Tarentum, one of the beautifullest men in the world. But it was hard for her to please her love and her lust in the same [Page 363] person. This Prince wasted the state of his body to pay her the conjugall debt, which she extorted beyond all modesty or reason, so unquenchable was the wild­fire of her wantonnesse.

After his death (she hating widowhood as much as Nature doth vacuum) maried James King of Ma­jorca, and commonly styled Prince of Calabria. Some say he dyed of a naturall death: Others, that she be­headed him for lying with another woman (who would suffer none to be dishonest but her self) O­thers, that he was unjustly put to death, and forced to change worlds, that she might change husbands.

Her fourth husband was Otho of Brunswick, who came a Commander out of Germany, with a company of souldiers, and performed excellent service in Italy. A good souldier he was, and it was not the least part of his valour to adventure on so skittish a beast: But he ho­ped to feast his hungry fortune on this reversion. By all foure husbands she had no children; either because the drougth of her wantonnesse parched the fruit of her wombe; or else because provident Nature prevented a generation of Monsters from her.

By this time her sinnes were almost hoarse with crying to heaven for revenge. They mistake who think divine Justice sleepeth when it winks for a while at Offenders. Hitherto she had kept herself in a whole skin by the rents which were in the Church of Rome. For there being a long time a Schisme be­twixt two Popes, Urban, and Clement, she so poysed herself between them both, that she escaped unpunish­ed. This is that Queen Joan that gave Avignon in France (yet under a pretence of sale) to Pope Urban and his Successours: the stomach of his Holinesse not being so squeamish, but that he would take a good almes from dirty hands. It may make the chastity of Rome suspicious with the world that she hath had so good fortune to be a gainer by Harlots.

[Page 364]But see now how Charles Prince of Dyrachium, be­ing next of kin to Prince Andrew that was murdered, comes out of Hungary with an army into Naples to revenge his uncles bloud. He was received without resistance of any, his very name being a Petrard to make all the city-gates fly open where he came. Out issues Otho the Queens husband with an army of men out of Naples, and most stoutly bids him battel, but is overthrown; yet was he suffered fairly to depart the kingdome, dismiss'd with this commendation, That never a more valiant Knight fought in defence of a more vitious Lady.

Queen Joan finding it now in vain to bend her fist, fell to bowing of her knees, and having an excellent command of all her passions save her lust, fell down flat before Charles the Conquerour, and submitted her self: Hitherto, said she, I have esteemed thee in place of a sonne, but seeing God will have it so, hereafter I shall acknowledge thee for my Lord. Charles knew well that Necessity, her Se­cretary, endited her speech for her, which came little from her heart; yet, to shew that he had as plentifull an Exchequer of good language, promis'd her fairly for the present: But mercy it self would be asham'd to pity so notorious a malefactour. After some moneths im­prisonment she was carried to the place where her husband was murder'd, and there accordingly hang'd, and cast out of the window into the garden, whose corps at last was buried in the Nunnery of S. Clare.

CHAP. 3. The Witch.

BEfore we come to describe her, we must premise and prove certain propositions, whose truth may otherwise be doubted of.

• 1 Formerly there were Witches. Otherwise Gods
  Exod. 18.2 [...].
  Law had fought against a shadow, Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live: yea we reade how King Saul, who had formerly scoured Witches out of all Israel, afterwards drank a draught of that puddle him­self.
• 2 There are Witches for the present, though those Night-birds flie not so frequently in flocks since the light of the Gospel. Some ancient arts and mysteries are said to be lost; but sure the devil will not wholly let down any of his gainfull trades. There be many Witches at this day in Lapland, who sell winds to Mari­ners for money (and must they not needs go whom the devil drives?) though we are not bound to believe the old story of Ericus King of Swedeland, who had a
  Therefore called, Vento­sus pilcus, O­laus mag. de Gent. septent. lib. 3. cap. 14.
  cap, and as he turned it the wind he wish'd for would blow on that side.
• 3 It is very hard to prove a Witch. Infernall contracts are made without witnesses. She that in presence of others will compact with the devil deserves to be hang'd for her folly as well as impiety.
• 4 Many are unjustly accused for Witches. Sometimes out of ignorance of naturall, & misapplying of superna­turall causes; sometimes out of their neighbours mere malice, and the suspicion is increas'd, if the party accused be notoriously ill-favoured; where­as deformity alone is no more argument to make her a Witch, then handsomnesse had been evidence [Page 366] to prove her an Harlot; sometimes out of their own causlesse confession. Being brought before a Magistrate they acknowledge themselves to be Witches, being themselves rather bewitch'd with fear, or deluded with phancy. But the self-accusing of some is as little to be credited, as the self-prai­sing of others, if alone without other evidence.
• 5 Witches are commonly of the feminine sex. Ever since Satan tempted our grandmother Eve, he knows that that sex is most licorish to tast, and most carelesse to swallow his baits.
  Fulgentius in Sermon.
  Nescio quid habet muliebre nomen semper cum sacris: if they light well, they are inferiour to few men in piety, if ill, supe­riour to all in superstition.
• 6 They are commonly distinguished into white and black Witches. White, I dare not say good Witches (for woe be to him that calleth evil good) heal those that are hurt, and help them to lost goods. But better it is to lap ones pottage like a dog, then to eat it mannerly with a spoon of the devils giving: Black Witches hurt, and do mischief. But in deeds of darknesse there is no difference of co­lours: The white and the black are both guilty alike in compounding with the devil. And now we come to see by vvhat degrees people arrive at this height of profanenesse.

Maxime 1 At the first she is onely ignorant, and very malicious. She hath usually a bad face, and a worse tongue, given to railing and cursing, as if constantly bred on mount Ebal, yet speaking perchance worse then she means, though meaning worse then she should. And as the harmlesse wapping of a curs'd curre may stir up a fierce mastiffe to the vvorrying of sheep; so on her cursing the devil may take occasion by Gods permissi­on to do mischief, vvithout her knovvledge, and per­chance against her will.

2 Some have been made Multi dum vitare student quae vitanda non sunt, fugâ vanâ supersti­tionis supersti­tiosi siunt, Car­dan. de Subtil. p. 924. lib. 8. Witches by endeavouring to defend [Page 367] themselves against witchcraft: for fearing some suspected Witch should hurt them, they fence themselves with the devils shield against the devils sword, put on his whole armour, beginning to use spells and charms to safe­guard themselves. The art is quickly learnt to which nothing but credulity and practice is required; and they often fall from defending themselves to offending of others, especially the devil not being dainty of his company where he finds welcome; and being invited once he haunts ever after.

She begins at first with doing tricks rather strange then hurt­full:3 yea some of them are pretty and pleasing. But it is dangerous to gather floures that grow on the banks of the pit of hell, for fear of falling in; yea they which play with the devils rattles, will be brought by degrees to wield his sword, and from making of sport they come to doing of mischief.

At last she indents downright with the devil. 4 He is to find her some toies for a time, and to have her soul in ex­change. At the first (to give the devil his due) he ob­serves the agreement to keep up his credit, else none would trade with him; though at last he either deceives her with an equivocation, or at some other small hole this Serpent winds out himself, and breaks the cove­nants. And where shall she poore wretch sue the for­feited band? in heaven she neither can nor dare ap­pear; on earth she is hang'd if the contract be proved; in hell her adversary is judge, and it is wofull to ap­peal from the devil to the devil. But for a while let us behold her in her supposed felicity.

She taketh her free progresse from one place to another. 5 Sometimes the devil doth locally transport her: but he will not be her constant hackney, to carry such lug­gage about, but oftentimes to save portage deludes her brains in her sleep, so that they brag of long journeys, whose heads never travell'd from their bolsters. These vvith Drake sail about the vvorld, but it is on an ocean [Page 368] of their own phancies, and in a ship of the same: They boast of brave banquets they have been at, but they would be very lean should they eat no other meat: Others will perswade, if any list to believe, that by a Witch-bridle they can make a fair of horses of an acre of besome-weed. Oh silly souls! Oh subtle Satan that deceived them.

6 With strange figures and words she summons the devils to at­tend her: using a language which God never made at the confusion of Tongues; and an interpreter must be fetch'd from hell to expound it. With these, or Scri­pture abused, the devil is ready at her service. Who would suppose that roaring lion could so finely act the spaniel? one would think he were too old to suck, and yet he will do that also for advantage.

7 Sometimes she enjoyns him to do more for her then he is able; as to wound those whom Gods providence doth arm, or to break through the tents of blessed Angels, to hurt one of Gods Saints. Here Satan is put to his shifts, and his wit must help him where his power fails; he either excuseth it, or seemingly performs it, lengthning his own arm by the dimnesse of her eye, and presenting the seeming bark of that tree which he cannot bring.

8 She lives commonly but very poore. Methinks she should bewitch to her self a golden mine, at least good meat, and whole clothes: But 'tis as rare to see one of her profession as an hangman in an whole suit. Is the possession of the devils favour here no better? Lord, what is the reversion of it hereafter?

9 When arraigned for her life the devil leaves her to the Law to shift for her self. He hath worn out all his shoes in her former service, and will not now go barefoot to help her; and the circle of the halter is found to be too strong for all her Spirits. Yea Plinius, lib. 3. cap. 1. Zoroastes himself, the first inventer of Magick (though he laught at his birth) led a miserable life, and dyed a wofull death in banish­ment. [Page 369] We will give a double example of a Witch: first of a reall one, out of the Scripture, because it shall be above all exception; and then of one deeply suspected, out of our own Chronicles.

CHAP. 4. The Witch of1. Sam. 28. Endor.

HEr proper name we neither find, nor need curi­ously enquire: without it she is describ'd enough for our knowledge, too much for her shame.

King Saul had banish'd all Witches and Sorcerers out of Israel; but no besom can sweep so clean as to leave no crumme of dust behind it: This Witch of En­dor still keeps her self safe in the land. God hath his remnant where Saints are cruelly persecuted; Satan also his remnant, where offenders are severely prosecuted, and (if there were no more) the whole species of Witches is preserved in this individuum, till more be provi­ded.

It happened now that King Saul, being ready to fight with the Philistines, was in great distresse, be­cause God answered him not concerning the successe of the battel. With the silent, he will be silent: Saul gave no reall answer in his obedience to Gods com­mands, God will give no vocall answer to Sauls re­quests.

Mens minds are naturally ambitious to know things to come: Saul is restlesse to know the issue of the fight. Alas, what needed he to set his teeth on edge with the sourenesse of that bad tidings, who soon after was to have his belly full thereof.

He said to his servants, Seek me out (no wonder she was such a jewell to be sought for) one with a familiar Spirit: vvhich vvas accordingly perform'd, and Saul came to her in a disguise. Formerly Samuel told him [Page 370] that his disobedience was as witchcraft; now Saul falls from the like to the same, and tradeth with Witches indeed (the receiver is as bad as the thief) and at his request she raiseth up Samuel to come unto him.

What, true Samuel? It is above Satans power to de­grade a Saint from glory, though for a moment; since his own fall thence, he could fetch none from heaven. Or was it onely the true body of Samuel? no; the pretious ashes of the Saints (the pawn for the return of their souls) are lock'd up safe in the cabinet of their graves, and the devil hath no key unto it. Or lastly was it his seeming body? he that could not counterfeit the least and worst of Exod. 8.18. worms, could he dissemble the shape of one of the best and greatest of men?

Yet this is most probable, seeing Satan could change himself into an Angel of light, and God gives him more power at some times then at other. How­ever, we will not be too peremptory herein, and build standing structures of bold assertions on so uncertain a foundation: rather with the Rechabites we will live in tents of conjectures, which on better reason we may easily alter and remove.

The devils speech looks backward and forward, relates and foretells: the Historicall part thereof is easie, recounting Gods speciall favours to Saul, and his in­gratitude to God, and the matter thereof very pious. Not every one that saith Lord, Lord (whether to him or of him) shall enter into the kingdome of heaven: for Satan here useth the Lords name six times in foure verses. The Propheticall part of his speech is harder, how he could foretell to morrow shalt thou and thy sonnes be with me: what, with me true Samuel in heaven? that was too good a place (will some say) for Saul: or with me true Satan in hell? that was too bad a place for Jona­than. What then? with me pretended Samuel in [...], in the state of the dead.

[Page 371]But how came the Witch or Satan by this know­ledge? surely that uggly monster never look'd his face in that beautifull glasse of the Trinity, which (as some will have it) represents things to the blessed Angels. No doubt then he gathered it by experimentall col­lection, who, having kept an exact Ephemerides of all actions for more then five thousand years together, can thereby make a more then probable guesse of future contingents; the rather because accidents in this world are not so much new as renewed. Besides, he saw it in the naturall causes, in the strength of the Philistines, and weaknesse of the Israelitish army, and in Davids ripenesse to succeed Saul in the Throne. Perchance as vulturs are said to smell the earthlinesse of a dying corps; so this bird of prey resented a worse then earth­ly savour in the soul of Saul, an evidence of his death at hand. Or else we may say the devil knew it by par­ticular revelation; for God to use the devil for his own turn might impart it unto him, to advance wicked mens repute of Satans power, that they who would be deceived should be deceived to believe that Satan knows more then he does.

The dismall news so frighted Saul, that he fell along on the earth, and yet at last is perswaded to arise and eat meat, she killing and dressing a fat calf for him.

Witches generally are so poore they can scarce feed themselves: see here one able to feast a King. That which goeth into the mouth defileth not: better eat meat of her dressing, then take counsell of her giving; and her hands might be clean, whose soul meddled with un­clean spirits. Saul must eat somewhat, that he might be strengthned to live to be kill'd, as afterwards it came to passe. And here the mention of this Witch in Scri­pture vanisheth away, & we will follow her no farther. If afterward she escaped the justice of man, Gods judgement, without her repentance, hath long since overtaken her.

CHAP. 5. The life of JOAN of Arc.

IOan of Arc was born in a village called Domren­ny upon the Marches of Bar, near to Vaucoleurs. Her parents, James of Arc and Isabell, were very poore people, and brought her up to keep sheep: where for a while we will leave her, and come to behold the mi­serable estate of the kingdome of France wherein she lived.

In her time Charles the seventh was the distressed French King, having onely two entire Provinces left him, Gascoigne and Languedoc, and his enemies were about them, and in all the rest, which were possessed by the English, under their young King Henrie the sixth, and his aged Generalls the Duke of Bedford, and the Earls of Salisbury and Suffolk. Besides they had besieged the city of Orleance, and brought it to that passe that the highest hopes of those therein was to yield on good terms.

Matters standing in this wofull case, three French Gyrard Sei­gneurdu Hailli­zan in Charles the seventh. Noblemen projected with themselves to make a cor­diall for the consumption of the spirits of their King and Countreymen; but this seemed a great difficulty to perform, the French people being so much dejected: and when mens hearts are once down, it is hard to fasten any pullies to them to draw them up. However they resolved to pitch upon some project out of the or­dinary road of accidents, to elevate the peoples phancies thereby, knowing that mens phancies easily slip off from smooth and common things, but are quickly catch'd & longest kept in such plots as have odde angles, and strange unusuall corners in them.

Hereupon they concluded to set up the foresaid Joan of Arc, to make her pretend that she had a reve­lation [Page]

[Page] [Page 373] from heaven, to be the leader of an army, to drive all the English out of France: and she being an handsome, witty, and bold maid (about twentie years of age) was both apprehensive of the plot, and very active to prosecute it. But other Authours will not ad­mit of any such complotting, but make her moved thereunto either of her own, or by some Spirits insti­gation.

By the mediation of a Lord she is brought to the presence of King Charles, whom she instantly knew, though never seen before, and at that time of set pur­pose much disguised. This very thing some heighten to a miracle, though others make it fall much beneath a wonder, as being no more then a Scholars ready saying of that lesson, which he hath formerly learned with­out book. To the King she boldly delivers her mes­sage, how that this was the time wherein the sinnes of the English, and the sufferings of the French, were come to the height, and she appointed by the God of heaven to be the French leader to conquer the English. If this opportunity were let slip, let them thank hea­vens bounty for the tender, and their own folly for the refusall; and who would pity their eternall slavery, who thrust their own liberty from themselves.

He must be deaf indeed who heares not that spoken which he desires. Charles triumphs at this news: Both his armes were to few too embrace the motion. The Fame of her flies through France, and all talk of her, whom the Divines esteem as Deborah, the Souldi­ers as Semiramis. People found out a nest of miracles in her education, that so lyon-like a spirit should be bred amongst sheep like David.

Ever after she went in mans clothes, being armed cap-a-pe, and mounted on a brave Steed: and which was a wonder, when she was on horseback, none was more bold and daring; when Gerson. lib. de mirab. vi­ctoria cujus­dam pu [...]llae pau­ló post initium. alighted, none more tame and meek; so that one could scarce see her [Page 374] for her self, she was so chang'd and alter'd as if her spi­rits dismounted with her body. No sword would please her, but one taken out of the Polidor. Virg. in Hen. sixth, pag. 471. Church of S. Ka­tharin in Fierebois in Tourain. Her first service was in twice victualling of Orleance, whilest the English made no resistance, as if they had eyes onely to gaze, and no arms to fight.

Hence she sent a menacing See the cop­py thereof in Speeds King Hen. sixth, pag. 654. letter to the Earl of Suffolk, the English Generall, commanding him in Gods and her own name to yield up the keyes of all good cities to her, the Virgin sent by God to restore them to the French. The letter was received with scorn; and the trumpeter that brought it commanded to be burnt, against the Law of Nations, saith a French Du Serres in his French Hist. translat. by Grimston, p. 326. Author, but erroneously: for his coming was not warranted by the authority of any lawfull Prince, but from a private maid, how highly soever self-pretended, who had neither estate to keep, nor commission to send a trumpeter.

Now the minds of the French were all afloat with this the conceit of their new Generall, which miracu­lously raised their Spirits. Phancie is the castle com­manding the city; and if once mens heads be possest with strange imaginations, the whole body will fol­low, and be infinitely transported therewithall. Under her conduct they first drive away the English from Orleance: nor was she a whit daunted, when shot through her arm with an arrow; but taking the arrow in one hand, and her sword in another, This is a Idem. p. 317. favour, said she; let us go on, they cannot escape the hand of God: and she never left off, till she had beaten the English from the city. And hence this virago (call her now John or Joan) marched on into other countreys, which in­stantly revolted to the French crown. The example of the first place was the reason of all the rest to submit. The English in many skirmishes were worsted and defeated with few numbers. But what shall we say? [Page 375] when God intends a Nation shall be beaten, he ties their hands behind them.

The French followed their blow, losing no time, lest the height of their Spirits should be remitted: (mens Imaginations when once on foot must ever be kept going, like those that go on stilts in fenny coun­treys, lest standing still they be in danger of fal­ling) and so keeping the conceit of their souldiers at the height, in one twelvemoneth they recovered the great­est part of that the English did possesse.

But successe did afterwards fail this She-Generall: for seeking to surprise S. Honories ditch near the city of S. Denis, she was not onely wounded her self, but also lost a Troup of her best and most resolute souldiers; and not long after, nigh the city of Com­peigne, being too farre engaged in fight, was taken prisoner by the bastard of Vendosme, who sold her to the Duke of Bedford, and by him she was kept a pri­soner a twelvemoneth in Rohan.

It was much disputed amongst the Statists what should be done with her: Some held that no punish­ment was to be inflicted on her, because

Besides, putting her to death would render all En­glish men guilty which should hereafter be taken pri­soners by the French. Her former valour deserved praise, her present misery deserved pity; captivity be­ing no ill action but ill successe: let them rather allow her an honourable pension, and so make her valiant deeds their own by rewarding them. However, she ought not to be put to death: for if the English would punish her, they could not more disgrace her then with life, to let her live though in a poore mean way, and then she would be the best confutation of her own [Page 376] glorious prophesies; let them make her the Laundresse to the English, who was the Leader to the French ar­my.

Against these arguments necessity of State was urged, a reason above all reason; it being in vain to dispute whether that may be done which must be done. For the French superstition of her could not be reformed except the idole was destroyed; and it would spoil the French puppet-playes in this nature for ever after, by making her an example. Besides she was no prisoner of warre, but a prisoner of Justice, deserving death for her witchcraft and whoredomes; whereupon she was burnt at Rohan the sixth of July 1461, not without the aspersion of Sententia post homines natos durissi­ma, Pol. Vir. pag. 477. cruelty on our Nation.

Learned Gerson in the book which he wrote of her, after long dis­cussing the point leaves it uncertain, but is rather charitably inclined. men are in a great doubt what to think of her. Some make her a Saint, and inspired by Gods Spirit, whereby she discovered strange secrets and fore­told things to come. She had ever an old Serres, pag. 325. woman which went with her, and tutoured her; and 'tis suspi­cious, seeing this clock could not go without that rusty wheel, that these things might be done by confedera­cie, though some more uncharitable conceive them to be done by Satan himself.

Two customes she had which can by no way be de­fended. One was her constant going in mans clothes, flatly against Scripture: yea mark all the miracles in Gods Word, wherein though mens estates be often chang'd (poore to rich, bond to free, sick to sound, yea dead to living) yet we reade of no old Aeson made young, no woman Iphis turn'd to a man, or man Tire­sias to a woman; but as for their age or sex, where na­ture places them, there they stand, and miracle it self will not remove them. Utterly unlawfull therefore was this Joans behaviour, as an occasion to lust; and our English Writers say that when she was to be con­demned she confess'd her self to be with Pol. Virgil. ut priùs. child to pro­long her life; but being reprived seven moneths for the [Page 377] triall thereof, it was found false. But grant her honest: though she did not burn herself, yet she might kindle others, and provoke them to wantonnesse.

Besides, she shaved her hair in the fashion of a Gerson. Fri­er, against God expresse word, it being also a So­lecisme in nature, all women being born votaries, and the veil of their long hair minds them of their obedi­ence they naturally owe to man: yea, without this comely ornament of hair, their most glorious beauty appears as deformed, as the sunne would be prodigious without beams. Herein she had a smack of Monkery, which makes all the rest the more suspicious, as being sent to maintain as well the Friers as the French Crown. And if we survey all the pretended miracles of that age, we shall find what tune soever they sung, still they had something in the close in the favour of Friers, though brought in as by the by, yet perchance chiefly intended, so that the whole sentence was made for the parenthesis.

We will close the different opinions which severall Authours have of her with this Epitaph,

Some conceive that the English conquests, being come to the verticall point, would have decayed of [Page 378] themselves, had this woman never been set up, which now reaps the honour hereof as her action: Though thus a very child may seem to turn the waves of the sea with his breath, if casually blowing on them at that very instant when the tide is to turn of it self. Sure after her death the French went on victoriously, and wonne all from the English, partly by their valour, but more by our dissensions; for then began the cruell warres betwixt the Houses of York and Lancaster, till the Red rose might become White, by losing so much bloud, and the White rose Red by shedding it.

CHAP. 6. The Atheist.

THe word Atheist is of a very large extent: every Polytheist is in effect an Atheist, for he that mul­tiplies a Deitie, annihilates it; and he that divides it, destroyes it.

But amongst the heathen we may observe that who­soever sought to withdraw people from their idolatry, was presently indited and arraign'd of Atheisme. If a­ny Philosopher saw God through their Gods, this dust was cast in his eyes, for being more quick-sighted then others, that presently he was condemn'd for an Atheist; and thus Socrates the Pagan Martyr was put to death Iustin. Mar­tyr secund. A­polog. pro Chri­stian. pag. 156. [...]. At this day three sorts of Atheists are extant in the world:

• 1 In life and conversation. Psal. 10.4. God is not in all his thoughts; not that he thinks there is no God, but thinks not there is a God, never minding or heeding him in the whole course of his life and actions.
• 2 In will and desire. Such could wish there were no God, or devil, as thieves would have no judge nor jaylour; Quod metuunt periisse expectunt.
• [Page 379]3 In judgement and opinion. Of the former two sorts of Atheists, there are more in the world then are generally thought; of this latter, more are thought to be, then there are, a contemplative Atheist being very rare, such as were
  August. tom. 7. lib. 3. contra Petilianum, c. 1. David cùm dicit, Stultus dixit in corde, &c. videtur Di­agoram praedi­xisse.
  Diagoras, Protagoras, Lucian, and Theodorus, who though carrying God in his name was an Atheist in his opinion. Come we to see by what degrees a man may climbe up to this height of Profanenesse. And we will suppose him to be one living in wealth and prosperity, which more disposeth men to Atheisme then adversity: For affliction mindeth men of a Deity, as those which are pinched will cry, O Lord: but much outward hap­pinesse abused occasioneth men, as wise Agur observeth, to deny God, and say, who is the Lord.

First he quarrels at the diversities of religions in the world:Maxime 1 complaining how great Clerks dissent in their judge­ments, which makes him scepticall in all opinions: Whereas such differences should not make men care­lesse to have any, but carefull to have the best religi­on.

He loveth to maintain Paradoxes, 2 and to shut his eyes a­gainst the beams of a known truth; not onely for discourse, which might be permitted: for as no cloth can be wo­ven except the woof and the warp be cast crosse one to another, so discourse will not be maintained with­out some opposition for the time. But our enclining-atheist goes further, engaging his affections in dis­putes, even in such matters where the supposing them wounds piety, but the positive maintaining them stabs it to the heart.

He scoffs and makes sport at sacred things. 3 This by de­grees abates the reverence of religion, and ulcers mens hearts with profanenesse. The Popish Proverb well understood hath a truth in it, Never dog bark'd against the Crucifix, but he ran mad.

[Page 380] 4 Hence he proceeds to take exception at Gods Word. He keeps a register of many difficult places of Scripture, not that he desires satisfaction therein, but delights to puzzle Divines therewith, and counts it a great con­quest when he hath posed them. Unnecessary questi­ons out of the Bible are his most necessary study; & he is more curious to know where Lazarus his soul was the foure dayes he lay in the grave, then carefull to provide for his own soul when he shall be dead. Thus is it just with God that they who will not feed on the plain meat of his Word, should be choked with the bones thereof. But his principall delight is to sound the alarum, and to set severall places of Scripture to fight one against another, betwixt which there is a see­ming, and he would make a reall, contradiction.

5 Afterwards he grows so impudent as to deny the Scripture it self. As Sampson being fastned by a web to a pin, carried away both web and pin; so if any urge our A­theist with arguments from Scripture, and tie him to the Authority of Gods Word, he denies both reason and Gods Word, to which the reason is fastened.

6 Hence he proceeds to deny God himself. First in his Admi­nistration; then in his Essence. What else could be ex­pected but that he should bite at last, who had snarl'd so long? First he denies Gods ordering of sublunarie matters; Tush doth the Lord see, or is there knowledge in the most Highest? making him a maimed Deity, without an eye of Providence or an arm of Power, and at most restraining him onely to matters above the clouds. But he that dares to confine the King of heaven, will soon after endeavour to depose him, and fall at last flatly to deny him.

7 He furnisheth himself with an armoury of arguments to fight against his own conscience: Some taken from

• 1. The impunity and outward happinesse of wic­ked men: as the heathen
  Ovid. lib. 3. Amor. Eleg. 3.
  Poet, whose verses for me shall passe unenglished.
  [Page 381]

  Esse Deos credamne? fidem jurata fefellit,

  Et facies illi, quae fuit ante, manet.
  And no wonder if an Atheist breaks his neck thereat, whereat the foot of David himself did almost
  Psal. 73.2, 3.
  slip, when he saw the prosperity of the wicked; whom God onely reprives for punish­ment hereafter.
• 2. From the afflictions of the godly, whilest in­deed God onely tries their faith and patience. As Absalom complain'd of his Father Davids go­vernment, that none were deputed to redresse peoples grievances; so he objects that none right­eth the wrongs of Gods people, and thinks (proud dust) the world would be better steered if he were the Pilot thereof.
• 3. From the delaying of the day of Judgement, with those mockers 2. Peter 3. Whose objections the Apostle fully answereth. And in regard of his own particular the Atheist hath as little cause to rejoyce at the deferring of the day of Judge­ment, as the Thief hath reason to be glad, that the Assizes be put off, who is to be tryed, and may be executed before, at the Quarter-sessions: So death may take our Atheist off before the day of Judgement come.

With these and other arguments he struggles with his own conscience, and long in vain seeks to conquer it, even fearing that Deity he flouts at, and dreading that God whom he denies. And as that famous Athenian souldier Iustin. lib. 2. Cynegirus catching hold of one of the ene­mies ships held it first with his right hand, and when that was cut off, with his left, and when both were cut off, yet still kept it with his teeth; so the conscience of our Atheist, though he bruise it, and beat it, and maim it never so much, still keeps him by the teeth, still feeding and gnawing upon him, torturing and tormenting him with thoughts of a Deity, which the other desires to suppresse.

[Page 382] 8 At last he himself is utterly overthrown by conquering his own conscience. God in justice takes from him the light which he thrust from himself, and delivers him up to a feared conscience, and a reprobate mind, whereby hell takes possession of him. The Apostle saith, Acts 17.27. That a man may feel God in his works: But now our Atheist hath a dead palsey, is past all sense, and cannot perceive God who is everywhere presented unto him. It is most strange, yet most true, which is reported, that the armes of the Duke of Rohan in France, which are fusills or lozenges, are to be seen in the wood or stones throughout all his countrey, so that break a stone in the middle, or lop a bough of a tree, and one shall behold the grain thereof (by some secret cause in Nature) Because of these naturall forms in wood and stone, it seems that from thence the Dukes assum'd their armes. diamonded or streaked in the fashion of a lozenge: yea the very same in effect is ob­served in England: for the resemblances of starres, the armes of the worshipfull family of the Shugburies in Warwickshire, are found in the Cambd. Brit. in Warwick­shire. stones within their own mannour of Shugbury. But what shall we say? The armes of the God of heaven, namely Power, Wis­dome, and Goodnesse, are to be seen in every creature in the world, even from worms to men, and yet our Atheist will not acknowledge them, but ascribes them either to Chance (but could a blind painter limme such curious pictures) or else to Nature, which is a mere slight of the devil to conceal God from men, by calling him after another name; for what is natura natu­rans but God himself?

9 His death commonly is most miserable: either burnt, as Diagoras, or eaten up with lice, as Paul. Diacon. lib. 15. Pherecydes, or de­voured by dogs as Lucian, or thunder-shot and turn'd to ashes, as Olimpius. However descending impeni­tent into hell, there he is Atheist no longer, but hath as much religion as the devil, to confesse God and tremble:

[Page 383] All speak truth, when they are on the rack; but it is a wofull thing to be hells Convert. And there we leave the Atheist, having dwelt the longer on his Character, because that speech of worthy M^r. In his grave Counsell, p. 3. Greenham deserves to be heeded, That Atheisme in England is more to be feared then Popery.

To give an instance of a speculative Atheist, is both hard and dangerous: hard; for we cannot see mens speculations otherwise then as they cloth themselves visible in their actions, some Atheisticall speeches being not sufficient evidence to convict the speaker an Atheist. Dangerous; for what satisfaction can I make to their memories, if I challenge any of so foul a crime wrongfully? We may more safely insist on an Atheist in life and conversation; and such a one was he whom we come to describe.

CHAP. 7. The life of CESAR BORGIA.

CEsar Borgia was base-son to Rhoderick Borgia, otherwise called Pope Alexander the sixth. This Alexander was the Guicciard. History of Italy lib. 1. pag. 10. first of the Popes who openly owned his bastards; & whereas his Predecessours (count­ing fig-leaves better then nothing to cover their na­kednesse) disguised them under the names of Nephews and God-sonnes, he was such a savage in his lust as nakedly to acknowledge his base children, and especi­ally this Cesar Borgia, being like his Father in the swarthinesse of the complexion of his soul.

His Father first made him a Cardinall, that thereby his shoulders might be enabled to bear as much Church-preferment as he could load upon him. But Borgia's active spirit disliked the profession, and was ashamed of the Gospel, which had more cause to be asha­med of him; wherefore he quickly got a dispensation to uncardinall himself.

[Page 384]The next hindrance that troubled his high designes was, that his elder brother, the Duke of Candia, stood betwixt him and preferment. It is reported also that these two brothers justled together in their Idem lib. 3. pag. 179. incest with their own sister Lucretia, one as famous for her whoredomes, as her namesake had Liv. lib. 1. formerly been for her chastity. The throne and the bed cannot severally abide partners, much lesse both meeting together as here they did. Wherefore Cesar Borgia took order that his brother was kill'd one night as he rode alone in the city of Rome, and his body cast into Tyber; and now he himself stood without competitour in his fathers and sisters affection.

His father was infinitely ambitious to advance him, as intending not onely to create him a Duke, but also to create a Dukedome for him, which seemed very difficult if not impossible; for he could neither lengthen the land, nor lessen the sea in Italie, and petty Princes therein were already crouded so thick, there was not any room for any more. However the Pope by fomenting the discords betwixt the French and Spanish about the kingdome of Naples, and by em­broyling all the Italian States in civill dissensions, out of their breaches pick'd forth a large Principality for his sonne, managed in this manner.

There is a fair and fruitfull Province in Italie, called Romania, parcelled into severall States, all holding as feodaries from the Pope, but by small pensions, and those seldome paid. They were bound also not to serve in armes against the Church, which old tie they little regarded, and lesse observed, as conceiving time had fretted it asunder; souldiers generally more weighing his gold that entertaineth them, then the cause or enemy against whom they fight. Pope Alex­ander set his sonne Borgia to reduce that countrey to the Churches jurisdiction, but indeed to subject it to his own absolute hereditary Dominion. This in short [Page 385] time he Guicciard. lib. 4. pag. 237. effected, partly by the assistance of the French King, whose pensioner he was (and by a French title made Duke Ualentinois) and partly by the effectuall aid of the Ursines, a potent Family in Italie.

But afterward the Ursines too late were sensible of their errour herein, and grew suspicious of his great­nesse. For they in helping him to conquer so many petty States, gathered the severall twigs, bound them into a rod, and put it into his hands to beat them there­with. Whereupon they began by degrees to withdraw their help, which Borgia perceived, and having by flat­tery and fair promises got the principall of their Family into his hands, he put themMachiavill in his Prince, cap. 7. all to the sword. For he was perfect in the devilish art of dealing an ill turn, doing it so suddenly his enemies should not heare of him before, and so soundly, that he should never heare of them afterwards, either striking alwayes surely, or not at all.

And now he thought to cast away his crutches, and stand on his own legs, rendring himself absolute, with­out being beholden to the French King or any other: Having wholly conquer'd Romania, he cast his eyes on Hetruria, and therein either wan to submission or compliance most of the cities, an earnest of his future finall conquest, had not the unexpected death of his father Pope Alexander prevented him.

This Alexander with his sonne Cesar Borgia intend­ed to poyson some rich Cardinalls, to which purpose a flagon of poysoned wine was prepared: But through the Guicciard. l. 6. pag. 307. errour of a servant, not privy to the project, the Pope himself and Borgia his sonne drank thereof, which cost the former his life, and the other a long lan­guishing sicknesse.

This Cesar Borgia once bragg'd to Machiavill, that he had so cunningly contrived his plots, as to warrant himself against all events. If his father should die first, he had made himself master of such a way, that by the [Page 386] strength of his party in the city of Rome, and conclave of Cardinalls, he could chuse what Pope he pleased, so from him to get assurance of this province of Ro­mania to make it hereditary to himself. And if (which was improbable) Nature should crosse her hands, so that he should die before his father, yet even then he had chalked out such a course as would ensure his conquest to his posterity: so that with this politick dilemma he thought himself able to dispute against heaven it self.

But (what he afterwards complained of) he never expected that at the same time, wherein his father should die, he himself should also lie desperately sick, disenabled to prosecute his designes, till one unexpected counterblast of Fortune ruffled yea blew away all his projects so curiously plaited. Thus three aces chance of­ten not to rub; and Politicians think themselves to have stopp'd every small cranny, when they have left a whole doore open for divine providence to undo all which they have done.

The Cardinalls proceed to the choice of a new Pope, whilest Borgia lay sick abed, much bemoaning himself; for all others (had they the command of all April showrs) could not bestow on drop of pity up­on him. Pius the third was first chosen Pope, an­swering his name, being a devout man (such black swans seldome swim in Tyber) but the chair of Pesti­lence choked him within twenty six dayes, and in his room Julius was chosen, or rather his greatnesse chose himself, a sworn enemy to Cesar Borgia, who still lay under the Physicians hands, and had no power to op­pose the election, or to strengthen his new-got Duke­dome of Romania: the state of his body was to be preferred before the body of his state, and he lay stri­ving to keep life, not to make a Pope. Yea the operati­on of this poyson made him vomit up the Dukedome of Romania which he had swallowed before, and [Page 387] whilest he lay sick the States and cities therein reco­vered their own liberties formerly enjoyed.

Indeed this disease made Borgia lose his nails, that he could never after scratch to do any mischief; and being banished Italie, he fled into Navarre, where he was obscurely kill'd in a tumultuous insurrection.

He was a man master in the art of dissembling, ne­ver looking the same way he rowed; extremely lust­full, never sparing to tread hen and chickens. At the taking of Capua, where he assisted the French, he re­served Idem, lib. 5. pag. 260. fourty of the fairest Ladies to be abused by his own wantonnesse. And the prodigality of his lust had long before his death made him bankrupt of all the moysture in his body, if his Physicians had not dayly repaired the decayes therein. He exactly knew the operations of all hot and cold poysons, which would surprise nature on a sudden, and which would weary it out with a long siege. He could contract a hundred toads into one drop, and cunningly infuse the same into any pleasant liquour, as the Italians have poyson­ing at their fingers ends. By a fig (which restored Heze­kiahs 2. Kings 20.7. life) he took away the lives of many. In a word, if he was not a practicall Atheist, I know not who was.

If any desire to know more of his badnesse, let them reade Machiavills Prince, where Borgia is brought in as an Nunquam verebor in ex­emplum Va­lentinum sub­jicere, Machi­avel Prince, cap. 13. pag. 73. instance of all vilany. And though he deserves to be hiss'd out of Christendome, who will open his mouth in the defence of Machiavills precepts, yet some have dared to defend his person; so that he in his Book shews not what Princes should be, but what then they were, intending that work, not for a glasse for future Kings to dresse themselves by, but onely therein to present the monstrous face of the Politicians of that Age. Sure he who is a devil in this book, is a Saint His notes on Livy, but espe­cially his Flo­rentine History savours of Reli­gion. in all the rest; and those that knew him, Boissardus part. 3. Iconum virorum illu­strium. wit­nesse him to be of honest life and manners: so that [Page 388] that which hath sharpned the pens of many against him, is his giving so many cleanly wipes to the foul noses of the Pope and Italian Prelacy.

CHAP. 8. The Hypocrite.

BY Hypocrite we understand such a one as doth (Isaiah 32.6.) practise hypocrisie, make a trade or work of dissembling: For otherwise, Hieronym. lib. 2. contra Pelag. & Au­gust in eadem verba, Serm. 59. de Tempore Hypocriseorum macula carere, aut paucorum est aut nullorum. The best of Gods children have a smack of hypocrisie.

Maxime 1. An Hypocrite is himself both the archer and the mark, in all actions shooting at his own praise or profit. And therefore he doth all things that they may be seen: What with others is held a principall point in Law, is his main Maxime in Divinity, To have good witnesse. Even fasting it self is meat and drink to him, whilest others behold it.

2 In the outside of religion he out-shines a sincere Christian. Guilt cups glitter more then those of massie gold, which are seldome burnish'd. Yea, well may the Hy­pocrite afford gaudy facing, who cares not for any li­ning; brave it in the shop, that hath nothing in the ware-house. Nor is it a wonder if in outward service he out-strips Gods servants, who out-doeth Gods com­mand by will-worship, giving God more then he re­quires, though not what most he requires, I mean, his heart.

3 His vizard is commonly pluckt off in this world. Sincerity is an entire thing in it self: Hypocrisie consists of seve­rall pieces cunningy closed together; and sometimes the Hypocrite is smote (as Ahab with an arrow, 1. Kings 22.34.) betwixt the joynts of his armour, and so is mortally wounded in his reputation. Now by these shrewd signes a dissembler is often discovered: First, [Page 389] heavie censuring of others for light faults: secondly, boasting of his own goodnesse: thirdly, the unequall beating of his pulse in matters of pietie, hard, strong and quick, in publick actions; weak, soft and dull, in private matters: fourthly, shrinking in persecution; for painted faces cannot abide to come nigh the fire.

Yet sometimes he goes to the grave neither detected nor suspect­ed. 4 If Masters in their art, and living in peaceable times wherein pietie and prosperity do not fall out, but agree well together. Maud, mother to King Henry the se­cond, being besieged in Cambd. Brit. in Hantshire. Winchester castle, counter­feited herself to be dead, and so was carried out in a coffin whereby she escaped. Another time being be­sieged at Matth. Pa­ris in Anno Dom. 1141. Oxford in a cold winter, with wearing white apparell she got away in the snow undiscove­red. Thus some Hypocrites by dissembling mortifica­tion that they are dead to the world, and by professing a snow-like purity in their conversations, escape all their life time undiscerned by mortall eyes.

By long dissembling piety he deceives himself at last: 5 Yea, he may grow so infatuated as to conceive himself no dissembler but a sincere Saint. A scholar was so pos­sessed with his lively personating of King Richard the third, in a Colledge-Comedy, that ever after he was transported with a royall humour in his large expen­ces, which brought him to beggery, though he had great preferment. Thus the Hypocrite by long acting the part of piety, at last believes himself really to be such an one, whom at first he did but counterfeit.

God here knows, 6 and hereafter will make Hypocrites known to the whole world. Ottocar King of Bohemia refused to do homage to Rodulphus the first, Emperour, till at last, chastised with warre, he was content to do him ho­mage privately in a tent; which tent was so contrived by the Pantaleon in vita Rodulph. Imperat. lib. de Illustrib. Germ. part. 2.285. Emperours servants, that by drawing one cord, it was all taken away, and so Ottocar presented on his knees doing his homage, to the view of three Armies [Page 390] in presence. Thus God at last shall uncase the closest dissembler to the sight of men angels and devils, ha­ving removed all veils and pretences of piety: no goat in a sheepskin shall steal on his right hand at the last day of judgement.

CHAP. 9. The life of Iehu.

IEhu the sonne of Jehosaphat, the sonne of Nimshi, was one of an active spirit, and therefore employed to confound the house of Ahab; for God, when he means to shave clear, chooses a razour with a sharp edge, and never sendeth a slug on a message that requi­reth haste.

A sonne of the Prophets sent by Elisha privately anointed him King at Ramoth Gilead, whereupon he was proclaimed King by the consent of the army. Surely God sent also an invisible messenger to the souls of his fellow-captains, and anointed their hearts with the oyl of Subjection, as he did Jehu's head with the oyl of Sovereignty.

Secrecie and celerity are the two wheels of great actions. Jehu had both: he marched to Jezreel faster then Fame could flie, whose wings he had clipt by stop­ping all intelligence, that so at once he might be seen and felt of his enemies. In the way meeting with Jeho­ram and Ahaziah, he conjoyned them in their deaths who consorted together in idolatrie. The corps of Je­horam he orders to be cast into Nabaoths vineyard, a garden of herbs royally dung'd, and watered with bloud.

Next he revengeth Gods Prophets on cruell Jezabell, whose wicked carcase was devoured by dogs to a small reversion, as if a head that plotted, & hands that practis'd so much mischief, & feet so swift to shed bloud were not meat good enough for dogs to eat. Then by a letter he commands [Page 391] the heads of Ahabs seventy sonnes (their Guar­dians turning their executioners) whose heads being laid on two heaps at the gate of Jezreel served for two soft pillows for Jehu to sleep sweetly upon, having all those corrivalls to the Crown taken away.

The Priests of Baal follow after. With a prettywile he fetches them all into the temple of their Idole, where having ended their sacrifice, they themselves were sa­crificed. However I dare not acquit Jehu herein. In Holy Fraud I like the Christian but not the sirname thereof, and wonder how any can marry these two together in the same action, seeing surely the parties were never agreed. This I dare say, Be it unjust in Je­hu, it was just with God, that the worshippers of a false God should be deceived with a feigned wor­ship.

Hitherto I like Jehu as well as Josiah; his zeal bla­zed as much: But having now got the Crown, he discovers himself a dissembling Hypocrite. It was an ill signe when he said to Jonadab the sonne of Rechab, Come with me, and see my zeal for the Lord. Bad inviting guests to feed their eyes on our goodnesse. But Hypo­crites rather then they will lose a drop of praise will lick it up with their own tongue.

Before, he had dissembled with Baal, now he coun­terfeits with God. He took no heed to walk in the way of the Lord God of Israel with all his heart: formerly his sword had two edges, one cut for Gods glory, the other for his own preferment. He that before drove so furiously, whilest his private ends whipt on his horses, now will not go a footpace in Gods commandments, He departed not from the golden calves in Dan and Bethel.

I know what Flesh will object, that this State-sinne Jehu must commit to maintain his kingdome: for the lions of gold did support the throne of Solomon, but the calves of gold the throne of Jeroboam and his Successours. Should he suffer his Subjects to go up to Jeru­salem [Page 392] thrice a yeare (as the Law Exod. 34.23. of Moses command­ed) this would un-King him in effect, as leaving him no able Subjects to command. And as one in the heathen Poet complains,

So thrice a yeare should Jehu onely be King over such an impotent company of old men, women, and chil­dren. Besides, it was to be feared that the ten Tribes going to Jerusalem to worship, where they fetch'd their God, would also have their King.

But Faith will answer, that God that built Jehu's throne without hands, could support it without but­tresses, or being beholden to idolatry: And therefore herein Jehu, who would needs piece out Gods providence with his own carnall policie, was like a foolish greedy gamester, who having all the game in his own hand steals a needlesse card to assure himself of winning the stake, and thereby loses all. For this deep diver was drown'd in his own policie, and Ha­zael King of Syria was raised up by God to trouble and molest them. Yet God rewarded him with a lease of the Kingdome of foure successive lives, who had he been sincere would have assured him of a Crown here and hereafter.

Chap. 10. The Heretick.

IT is very difficult accurately to define him. Amongst the Heathen Atheist was, and amongst Christians Heretick is the disgracefull word of course, alwayes cast upon those who dissent from the predominant current of the time. Thus those who in matters of opinion varied from the Hic videtur quòd omnis qui non obe­dit statutis Romanae sedis sit Haereticus, Glossa in C. nulli dist. 19. in verbo Pro­stratus. Popes copie the least hair-stroke, are condemned for Hereticks. Yea, Virgilius Bishop of Saltzburg was branded with that censure for main­taining that there were Ioh. Avent. lib. 3. Annal. [...]ior. Antipodes opposite to the then known world. It may be, as Alexander, hearing the Philosophers dispute of more worlds, wept that he had conquered no part of them; so it grieved the Pope that these Antipodes were not subject to his jurisdicti­on, which much incensed his Holinesse against that strange opinion. We will branch the description of an Heretick into these three parts.

• First, he is one that formerly hath been of the true Church:
  1. John 2.19.
  They went out from us, but they were not of us. These afterwards prove more offensive to the Church then very Pagans; as the English-Irish, descended anciently of English Parentage (be it spoken with the more shame to them, and sor­row to us) turning wild become worse enemies to our Nation then the Native Irish themselves.
• 2. Maintaining a Fundamentall errour. Every scratch in the hand is not a stab to the heart; nor doth every false opinion make a Heretick.
• 3. With obstinacy. Which is the dead flesh, ma­king the green wound of an errour fester into the old soare of an Heresie.

It matters not much what manner of person he hath. Maxime 1. If beau­tifull, perchance the more attractive of feminine fol­lowers: [Page 394] If deformed, so that his body is as odde as his opinions, he is the more properly entitled to the repu­tation of crooked Saint.

2 His naturall parts are quick and able. Yet he that shall ride on a winged horse to tell him thereof, shall but come too late to bring him stale news of what he knew too well before.

3 Learning is necessary in him if he trades in a criticall errour: but if he onely broches dregs, and deals in some dull sottish opinion, a trovell will serve as well as a pencill to daub on such thick course colours. Yea in some Heresies deep studying is so uselesse, that the first thing they learn, is to inveigh against all learning.

4 However some smattering in the originall tongues will do well. On occasion he will let flie whole vollies of Greek and Hebrew words, whereby he not onely amazeth his ignorant Auditours, but also in conferences daunteth many of his opposers, who (though in all other learn­ing farre his superiours) may perchance be conscious of want of skill in those languages, whilest the Here­tick hereby gains credit to his cause and person.

5 His behaviour is seemingly very pious and devout. How foul soever the postern and backdoore be, the gate opening to the street is swept and garnished, and his outside adorned with pretended austerity.

6 He is extremely proud and discontented with the times, quar­relling that many beneath him in piety are above him in place. This pride hath caused many men which otherwise might have been shining lights prove smoak­ing firebrands in the Church.

7 Having first hammered the heresie in himself, he then falls to seducing of others: so hard it is for one to have the itch and not to scratch. Yea Babylon her self will alledge, that for Sions sake she will not hold her peace. The necessity of propogating the truth is errours plea to divulge her falshoods. Men, as naturally they desire to know, so they desire what they know should be known.

[Page 395] If challenged to a private dispute, 8 his impudence bears him out. He counts it the onely errour to confesse he hath erred. His face is of brasse, which may be said either ever or never to blush. In disputing his Modus is sine modo; and as if all figures (even in Logick) were magicall, he neglects all forms of reasoning, count­ing that the onely Syllogisme which is his conclusion.

He slights any Synod if condemning his opinions;9 esteeming the decisions thereof no more then the forfeits in a barbers shop, where a Gentlemans pleasure is all the obligation to pay, and none are bound except they will bind themselves.

Sometimes he comes to be put to death for his obstinacy. 10 In­deed some charitable Divines have counted it incon­sistent with the lenity of the Gospel, which is to ex­pect and endeavour the amendment of all, to put any to death for their false opinions; and we reade of S. Paul (though the Papists paint him alwayes with a sword) that he onely came with a rod. However the Gerards Common places de Magistrat. Polit. p. 1047. mildest Authours allow that the Magistrate may in­flict capitall punishment on Hereticks, in cases of

• 1. Sedition against the State wherein he lives. And indeed such is the sympathy betwixt Church and Commonwealth that there are few Heresies, except they be purely speculative (and so I may say have heads without hands or any practicall influence) but in time the violent maintainers of them may make a dangerous impression in the State.
• 2. Blasphemy against God, and those points of religion which are awfully to be believed.

For either of these our Heretick sometimes willing­ly undergoes death, and then in the Calendar of his own conceit he canonizeth himself for a Saint, yea a Martyr.

CHAP. 11. The rigid Donatists.

Anno Domini 331.THe Donatists were so called from a double Do­natus, whereof the one planted the sect, the other water'd it, & the devil by Gods permission gave the in­crease. The elder Donatus being one of tolerable parts, and intolerable pride, rais'd a Schisme in Car­thage against good Cecilian the Bishop there, whom he loaded unjustly with many crimes, which he was not able to prove; and vexed with this disgrace he thought to right his credit by wronging religion, and so began the Augustin. ad Quod vult Deum. heresie of Donatists.

His most dominative tenet was, that the Church was perished from the face of the earth, the reliques thereof onely remaining in his party. I instance the ra­ther on this Heresie, because the reviving thereof is the new disease of our times. One Valer. Max. lib. 9. cap. 15. Vibius in Rome was so like unto Pompey, ut permutato statu Pompeius in illo, & ille in Pompeio salutari possit: Thus the Anabaptists of our dayes, and such as are Anabaptistically inclin'd, in all particulars resemble the old Donatists, abating onely that difference which is necessarily required to make them alike.

The epithet of rigid I therefore do adde, to seperate the Donatists from themselves, who seperated them­selves from all other Christians. For there were two principall sides of them: first, the Rogatists, from Ro­gatus their teacher, to whom S. Augustine beareth witnesse that they had zeal but not according to knowledge. These were pious people for their lives, hating bloudy practices, though erroneous in their doctrine. The learned Ipsum Fra­ternitatis no­men u [...]cunque Donatistis fa­stidiosum, est tamen ortho­doxis erga ip­sos Donatistas necessarium, Optat. lib. 3. init. Fathers of that age count them part of the true Church, and their brethren, though they them­selves disclaim'd any such brotherhood with other [Page 397] Christians. Oh the sacred violence of such worthy mens charity in plucking those to them which thrust themselves away! But there was another sort of Jesu­ited Donatists, as I may say, whom they called Circum­cellions, though as little reason can be given of their S. August. in Psal. 132. quia circum cel [...]as vagantur, count them so called; which i [...] rather his Allusion then the true Etymologie. name as of their opinions, whom we principally in­tend at this time.

Their number in short time grew not onely to be considerable but terrible: their tenet was plausible and winning; and that Faith is easily wrought which teacheth men to believe well of themselves. From Numidia, where they began, they overspread Africa, Spain, France, Italie and Rome it self. We find not any in Brittain, where S [...] H. Spelman Councells, pag. 446. Pelagianisme mightily reigned: either because God in his goodnesse would not have one countrey at the same time visited with a double plague, or else because this infection was to come to this Iland in after-ages, furbished up under a new name.

Their greatest increase was under Julian the Empe­rour. This Apostate next to no religion loved the worst religion best, and was a profess'd friend to all foes of goodnesse. The Donatists, being punished under for­mer Christian Emperours, repaired to him for succour, not caring whether it was an Olive or a Bramble they fled to, so be it afforded them shelter. They extoll'd him for such a godly man (flattery and false doctrine go ever together) with whom alone Quòd apud eum solum ju­stitia locum habe et, Aug. contra literas Petil. lib. 2. cap. 97. justice did remain, and he restored them their good Churches again, & armed them with many priviledges against Christians. Here­upon they raised a cruell persecution, killing many men in the very Churches, murthering women and infants, defiling virgins, or ravishing them rather, for consent onely defiles. God keep us from standing in the way where blind zeal is to passe, for it will tram­ple down all before it, and mercy shall as soon be found at the hands of prevailing cowards. What the [Page 398] Anabaptists did in Germany, we know; what they would do here, had they power, God knows. The best security we have they will do no harm is because they cannot.

We come to set down some of their principall opi­nions: I say, Principall; for at last they did enterfere with all Hereticks, Arians, Macedonians, &c. igno­rant zeal is too blind to go right, and too active to stand still: yea all errours are of kinne, at the farthest but cousens once removed; and when men have once left the truth, their onely quiet home, they will take up their lodging under any opinion which hath the least shadow of probability. We will also set down some of their reasons, and how they torture Scripture with vio­lent interpretations to wrest from it a confession on their side, yet all in vain.

CHAP. 12. The Lyer

IS one that makes a trade to tell falshoods with in­tent to deceive. He is either open or secret. A se­cret Lyer or Equivocatour is such a one as by mentall reservations and other tricks deceives him to whom he speaks, being lawfully called to deliver all the truth. And sure speech being but a coppy of the heart, it can­not be avouched for a true coppy, that hath lesse in it then the originall. Hence it often comes to passe,

Such an Equivocatour we leave, more needing a Book then Character to describe him. The open Lyer is first, either Mischievous, condemn'd by all; second­ly, Officious, unlawfull also, because doing ill for good to come of it; thirdly, Jesting, when in sport and merriment. And though some count a Jesting lie to be like the dirt of oysters, which (they say) never stains, yet is it a sinne in earnest. What Policie is it for one to wound himself to tickle others, and to stab his own soul to make the standers by sport? We come to describe the Lyer.

Maxime 1. At first he telles a lie with some shame and reluctancy. For then if he cuts off but a lap of Truths garment his heart smites him; but in processe of time he conquers his Conscience, and from quenching it there ariseth a smoak which soots and fouls his soul, so that afterwards he lyes without any regret.

2 Having made one lye he is fain to make more to maintain it. For an untruth wanting a firm foundation needs ma­ny buttresses. The honour and happinesse of the Deut. 7.14. Israelites is the misery and mischief of lyes, Not one amongst them shall be barren, but miraculously procreative to beget others.

[Page 407] He hath a good memory which he badly abuseth. 3 Memory in a Lyer is no more then needs. For first lies are hard to be remembred, because many, whereas truth is but one: secondly, because a lie cursorily told takes little footing and settled fastnesse in the tellers memory, but prints it self deeper in the hearers, who take the great­er notice because of the improbability and deformity thereof; and one will remember the sight of a monster longer then the sight of an handsome body. Hence comes it to passe that when the Lyer hath forgotten himself, his Auditours put him in mind of the lye, and take him therein.

Sometimes though his memory cannot help him from being ar­rested for lying, 4 his wit rescues him: which needs a long reach to bring all ends presently and probably toge­ther, gluing the splinters of his tales so cunningly that the cracks cannot be perceived. Thus a relique-monger bragg'd he could shew a feather of the dove at Christs baptisme; but being to shew it to the peo­ple, a wag had stollen away the feather and put a coal in the room of it. Well, quoth he to the Specta­tours, I cannot be so good as my word for the present; but here is one of the coals Chamnitius in exam. cont. Trident. pa [...]t. 4. p. 12. that broil'd S. Laurence, and that's worth the seeing.

Being challenged for telling a lye no man is more furiously an­gry. 5 Then he draws his sword and threatens, because he thinks that an offer of revenge, to shew himself moved at the accusation, doth in some sort discharge him of the imputation; as if the condemning of the sinne in appearance acquitted him in effect: or else because he that is call'd a Lyer to his face, is also call'd a Coward in the same breath if he swallows it; and the party charged doth conceive that if he vindicates his valour, his truth will be given him into the bar­gain.

At last he believes his own lies to be true. 6 He hath told them over and over so often, that prescription makes [Page 408] a right, and he verily believes that at the first he gather­ed the story out of some authenticall Authour, which onely grew in his own brain.

7 No man else believes him when he speaks the truth. How much gold soever he hath in his chest, his word is but brasse, and passeth for nothing: yea he is dumb in effect, for it is all one whether one cannot speak, or cannot be believed.

To conclude: Some of the west Indians to expiate their sinne of lying use to let themselves bloud in their tongues, and to offer the bloud to their idols: A good cure for the squinancie, but no satisfaction for lying. Gods word hath taught us better, What profit is there in my bloud? The true repentance of the party wash'd in the bloud of Christ can onely obtain pardon for this sinne.

CHAP. 13. The common Barreter.

A Barreter is an horseleach that onely sucks the corrupted bloud of the Law. He trades onely in tricks and quirks: His highway is in by-paths, and he loveth a cavill better then an argument, an evasion then an answer. There be two kinds of them: either such as fight themselves, or are trumpeters in a battel to set on others. The former is a profest dueller in the Law that will challenge any, and in all suite-combats be either principall or second.

Maxime 1 References & compositions he hates as bad as an hangman hates a pardon. Had he been a Scholar, he would have main­tained all paradoxes; if a Chirurgion, he would never have cured a wound but alwayes kept it raw; if a Souldier, he would have been excellent at a siege, no­thing but ejectio firma would out him.

2 He is half starv'd in the lent of a long vacation for want of [Page 409] imployment; save onely that then he brews work to broach in Term-time. I find one so much delighted in Law-sport, that when Stephens Apol. for He­rodotus. Lewis the King of France offered to ease him of a number of suits, he earnestly besought his Highnesse to leave him some twenty or thirty behind, wherewith he might merrily passe away the time.

He hath this property of an honest man, 3 that his word is as good as his band; for he will pick the lock of the strong­est conveiance, or creep out at the lattice of a word. Wherefore he counts to enter common with others as good as his own severall; for he will so vex his partners, that they had rather forgoe their right, then undergoe a suit with him. As for the trumpeter Barre­tour,

He falls in with all his neighbours that fall out, 4 and spurres them on to go to law. A Gentleman, who in a duell was rather scratcht then wounded, sent for a Chirurgion, who having opened the wound, charged his man with all speed to fetch such a salve from such a place in his study. Why (said the Gentleman) is the hurt so dangerous? Oh yes (answered the Chirurgion) if he re­turns not in post-hast the wound will cure it self, and so I shall lose my fee. Thus the Barretour posts to the houses of his neighbours, lest the sparks of their small discords should go out before he brings them fuell, and so he be broken by their making up. Surely he loves not to have the bells rung in a peal, but he likes it rather when they are jangled backward, himself having kindled the fire of dissension amongst his neighbours.

He lives till his clothes have as many rents as himself hath made dissensions. 5 I wonder any should be of this trade, when none ever thrived on't, paying dear rates for their counsells: for bringing many crack'd titles, they are fain to fill up their gaping chinks with the more gold.

But I have done with this wrangling companion, half afraid to meddle with him any longer lest [Page 410] he should commence a suit against me for describing him.

The Reader may easily perceive how this Book of the Profane State would swell to a great proportion, should we therein character all the kinds of vicious persons which stand in opposition to those which are good. But this pains may well be spared, seeing that rectum est index sui & obliqui; and the lustre of the good formerly described will sufficiently discover the enor­mity of those which are otherwise. We will therefore instance in three principall offenders, and so con­clude.

CHAP. 14. The Degenerous Gentleman.

SOme will chalenge this title of incongruity, as if those two words were so dissonant, that a whole sentence cannot hold them; for sure where the Gen­tleman is the root, Degenerous cannot be the fruit. But if any quarrell with my words, Valerius Maximus shall be my champion, who styleth such, Valer. Max. lib. 3 cap. 5. Nobilia Por­tenta. By Gentleman we understand one whom the He­ralds (except they will deny their best Records) must allow of ancient parentage. Such a one, when a child, being kept the devils Nazarite, that no razor of cor­rection must come upon his head in his fathers family, see what he proves in the processe of time, brought to extreme poverty. Herein we intend no invective glance on those pious Gentlemen, whose states are con­sumed through Gods secret judgement, and none of the owners visible default; onely we meddle with such as by carelesnesse and riot cause their own ruine.

Maxime 1. He goes to school to learn in jest and play in earnest. Now this Gentleman, now that Gentlewoman begges him a playday, and now the book must be thrown away, that he may see the buck hunted. He comes to school [Page 411] late, departs soon, and the whole yeare with him (like the fortnight when Christmas day falls on a tuesday) is all Holidayes and half-Holidayes. And as the Poets feigne of Thetis, that she drench'd Achilles her sonne in the Stygian waters, that he might not be wounded with any weapon; so cockering mothers inchant their sonnes to make them rod-free, which they do by ma­king some golden circles in the hand of the Schoolma­ster: thus these two conjoyning together make the indentures to bind the youth to eternall ignorance; yet perchance he may get some almes of learning, here a snap, there a piece of knowledge, but nothing to purpose.

His fathers Servingmen (which he counts no mean prefer­ment) admit him into their society. 2 Going to a drinking match they carry him with them to enter him, and ap­plaud his hopefulnesse, finding him vicious beyond his age. The Butler makes him free (having first pai'd his fees accustomed) of his own fathers cellar, and guesseth the profoundnesse of his young masters capa­city by the depth of the whole-ones he fetcheth off.

Coming to the University, 3 his chief study is to study nothing. What is Learning but a cloakbag of books, cumber­some for a Gentleman to carry? and the Muses fit to make wives for Farmers sonnes: perchance his own Tutour, for the promise of the next living (which not­withstanding his promise he afterwards sells to ano­ther) contributes to his undoing, letting him live as he list: yea, perhaps his own mother (whilest his father diets him for his health with a moderate allowance) makes him surfet underhand by sending him money. Thus whilest some complain that the University in­fected him, he infected the Universitie, from which he suck'd no milk but poysoned her nipples.

At the Innes of Court under pretence to learn Law, 4 he learns to be lawlesse; not knowing by his study so much as what an Execution means, till he learns it by his own [Page 412] dear experience. Here he grows acquainted with the Roaring Boyes, I am afraid so called by a wofull Prolep­sis, Here, for Hereafter. What formerly was counted the chief credit of an Oratour, these esteem the honour of a Swearer, Pronunciation, to mouth an oath with a gracelesse grace. These (as David saith) cloath them­selves with curses as with a garment, and therefore desire to be in the latest fashion both in their cloaths and cur­ses: These infuse all their skill into their young novice, who shortly proves such a proficient, that he exceeds his Masters in all kinds of vicious courses.

5 Through the mediation of a Scrivener he grows acquainted with some great Usurer. Nor is this youngster so ravenous, as the other is ready to feed him with money, some­times with a courteous violence forcing on him more then he desires, provided the security be good, except the Usurer be so valiant as to hazard the losing of a small hook to catch a great fish, and will adventure to trust him, if his estate in hope be overmeasure, though he himself be under age. Now the greater part of the money he takes up is not for his own spending, but to pay the shot of other mens riot.

6 After his fathers death he flies out more then ever before. Formerly he took care for means for his spending, now he takes care for spending for his means. His wealth is so deep a gulf, no riot can ever sound the bottome of it. To make his guests drunk is the onely seal of their welcome. His very meanest servant may be master of the cellar, and those who deserve no beere may com­mand the best wine: such dancing by day, such masking by night, such roaring, such revelling, able to awake the sleeping ashes of his Great-great-grand­father, and to fright all blessing from his house.

7 Mean time the old soare of his London-debts corrupts and festers. He is carelesse to take out the dead flesh, or to discharge either principall or interest. Such small leaks are not worth the stopping or searching for till they be [Page 413] greater; he should undervalue himself to pay a summe before it grew considerable for a man of his estate. Nor can he be more carelesse to pay, then the Usurer is willing to continue the debt, knowing that his bands, like infants, battle best with sleeping.

Vacation is his vocation, 8 and he scorns to follow any profession; and will not be confin'd to any laudable employment. But they who count a calling a prison, shall at last make a prison their calling. He instills also his lazie principles into his children, being of the same opinion with the Neapolitane Gentry, who stand so on the S^r William Segar in his Honours milit. and civill. puntoes of their honour, that they preferre robbery before industry, and will rather suffer their daughter to make merchandise of her chastity, then marry the rich­est merchant.

Drinking is one of the principall Liberall Sciences he professeth. 9 A most ungentile quality, fit to be banished to rogues and rags. It was anciently counted a Dutch vice, and swarmed most in that countrey. I remember a sad accident which hapned to Fliolmus King of Gothland, who whilest a Lord of misrule ruled in his Court, and both he and his servants were drunk, in mere merri­ment, meaning no harm, they took the King and put him in Olaus m [...]g. Hist. septent. p. 531. jest into a great vessel of beere, and drowned him in earnest. But Versteg. resti­tut. of de [...]aid intellig. p. 53. one tells us that this ancient and habited vice is amongst the Dutch of late years much decreased: which if it be not, would it were. Sure our Mariners observe that as the sea grows dayly shal­lower and shallower on the shoars of Holland and Zeland, so the channell of late waxeth deeper on the coasts of Kent and Essex. I pray God if drunkennesse ebbes in Dutchland, it doth not flow in England, and gain not in the Iland what it loseth in the Continent. Yea some plead, when overwhelm'd with liquour, that their thirst is but quenched: as well may they say, that in Noahs floud the dust was but sufficiently allay­ed.

[Page 414] 10 Gaming is another art he studies much: an enticing witch, that hath caused the ruine of many. Liv. lib. 27. Hanni­ball said of Marcellus, that nec bonam nec malam fortunam ferre potest, he could be quiet neither conquerour nor conquered; thus such is the itch of play, that Game­sters neither winning nor losing can rest contented. One propounded this question, Whether men in ships on sea were to be accounted among the living or the dead, because there were but few inches betwixt them and drowning. The same scruple may be made of great Gamesters, though their estates be never so great, whether they are to be esteemed poore or rich, there being but a few casts at dice betwixt a Gentleman (in great game) and a begger. Our Gallant games deeply, and makes no doubt in conscience to adventure Ad­vousands, Patronages, and Church-livings in gaming. He might call to mind S^r Miles Pateridge, who (as the Souldiers cast lots for Christ his coat) plaid at dice for These were foure bells the greatest in London hang­ing in a fair Tower in Pauls Churchyard, Stowes Survey of London, pag. 357. Jesus bells with King Henry the eighth, & wonne them of him. Thus he brought the bells to ring in his pocket, but the ropes afterwards catch'd about his neck, and for some offenses he was hang'd in the dayes of King Edward the sixth.

11 Then first he sells the outworks of his state, some stragling man­nour. Nor is he sensible of this sale, which makes his means more entire, as counting the gathering of such scattering rents rather burdensome then profitable. This he sells at half the value, so that the feathers will buy the goose, and the wood will pay for the ground: with this money if he stops the hole to one Creditour, by his prodigality he presently opens a wider gappe to another.

12 By this time the long dormant Usurer ramps for the payment of his money. The Principall, the grandmother, and the Use, the daughter, and the Use upon use, the grand­child, and perchance a generation farther, hath swell'd the debt to an incredible summe, for the satisfying [Page 415] whereof our Gallant sells the moity of his estate.

Having sold half his land he abates nothing of his expenses:13 but thinks five hundred pounds a yeare will be enough to maintain that for which a thousand pound was too little. He will not stoop till he falls, nor lessen his kennell of dogs, till with Acteon he be eaten up with his own hounds.

Being about to sink he catcheth at every rush to save himself. 14 Perchance sometimes he snatcheth at the thistle of a project, which first pricks his hands, and then breaks. Herein it may be he adventured on a matter wherein he had no skill himself (hoping by letting the Com­monwealth bloud to fill up his own veins again) and therefore trades with his partners brains, as his partner with his purse, till both miscarry together: or else it may be he catcheth hold on the heel of another man, who is in as dangerous a case as himself, and they em­bracing each other in mutuall bands hasten their drowning together. His last mannour he sells twice, to a countrey-Gentleman, and a London-usurer, though the last, as having the first title, prevails to possesse it: Usurers herein being like unto Foxes; they seldome take pains to digge any holes themselves, but earth in that which the foolish Badger made for them, and dwell in the mannours and fair houses which others have built and provided.

Having lost his own legs, he relyes on the staff of his kinred; 15 first visiting them as an intermitting ague, but after­wards turns a quotidian, wearing their thresholds as bare as his own coat. At last he is as welcome as a storm; he that is abroad shelters himself from it, and he that is at home shuts the doore. If he intrudes himself, yet some with their jeering tongues give him many a gird, but his brazen impudence feels nothing; and let him be arm'd on free-cost with the pot and the pipe, he will give them leave to shoot their flouts at him till they be weary. Sometimes he sadly paceth over the ground [Page 416] he sold, and is on fire with anger with himself for his folly, but presently quencheth it at the next ale­house.

16 Having undone himself, he sets up the trade to undoe others. If he can but scrue himself into the acquaintance of a rich heir, he rejoyceth as much at the prize as the Hol­landers when they had intercepted the Plate-Fleet. He tutours this young Gamester in vice, leading him a more compendious way to his ruine then possibly he could find out of himself. And doth not the guide de­serve good wages for his direction?

17 Perhaps he behaves himself so basely that he is degraded; the sad and solemn Ceremonies whereof we may meet with in old Presidents: but of them all, in my appre­hension, none should make deeper impression in an ingenuous soul then this one, That at the solemn de­gradation of a Knight for high misdemeanour, the Markams De­cads of Honour, pag. 76. King and twelve Knights more did put on mourn­ing garments, as an embleme of sorrow for this injury to honour, that a man Gentile by birth and bloud, or honoured by a Princes favour, should so farre forget not onely himself but his Order, as to deserve so severe pu­nishment.

18 His death is as miserable, as his life hath been vicious. An Ho­spitall is the height he hopes to be advanced to: But commonly he dies not in so charitable a prison, but sings his last note in a cage. Nor is it impossible, but that wanting land of his own he may incroch on the Kings high-way, and there, taking himself to be Lord of the soyl, seise on Travellers as Strayes due unto him, and so the hangman give him a wreath more then he had in his Armes before. If he dyes at liberty in his pilgrimage betwixt the houses of his acquaintance, per­haps some well-disposed Gentleman may pay for his buriall, and truly mourn at the funerall of an ancient Family. His children, if any, must seek their fortunes the farther off, because their father found his too soon, [Page 417] before he had wisdome to manage them. Within two generations his name is quite forgotten that ever any such was in the place, except some Herald in his visita­tion passe by, and chance to spell his broken Arms in a Church-window. And then how weak a thing is Gen­try, then which (if it wants virtue) brittle glasse is the more lasting monument?

We forbear to give an instance of a degenerous Gentle­man; would to God the world gave no examples of them. If any please to look into the forenamed Loco priùs citato. Vale­rius Maximus, he shall there find the base son of Scipio Africanus, the conquerour of Hanniball and Africk, so ill imitating his father, that for his viciousnes he recei­ved many disgracefull repulses from the people of Rome, the fragrant smell of his Fathers memory ma­king him to stink the more in their nostrils; yea they forced him to pluck off from his finger a signet-ring, whereon the face of his Father was engraven, as counting him unworthy to wear his picture who would not resemble his virtue.

CHAP. 15. The Traytour.

A Traitour He is either against the So­vereigne Per­son alone, or a­gainst the State wherein he lives. We deal onely in describing the former, because to character the other, ex­act skil in the Municipal Laws of that State is re­quired, where­in he is charged of treason. works by fraud as a Rebell does by force, and in this respect is more dangerous, because there's lesse stock required to set him up: Rebellion must be managed with many swords, Treason to his Princes person may be with one knife. Generally their successe is as bad as their cause, being either detected before, defeated in, or punished after their part acted; detected before, ei­ther by wilfulnesse or weaknesse of those which are privie to it.

A plotter of Treason puts his head into the halter, and the halter into his hand to whom he first imparts it. Maxime 1. He oftentimes reveals it, and by making a foot-stool of his friends head, climbs up the higher into the Princes favour.

2 Some mens souls are not strong enough, but that a weigh­ty secret will work a hole through them. These rather out of folly then falsenesse, unawares let fall words, which are taken up by the judicious eares of suc who can spell Treason by putting together distra­cted syllables, and by piecing of broken senten­ces. Others have their hearts swoln so great with hope of what they shall get, that their bodyes are too little to hold them, and so betray themselves by threatnings and blustring language. Others have cut their throats with their own hands, their own writings, the best records, being produced a­gainst them. And here we must know, That

3 Strong presumptions sometimes serve for proofs in point of Treason: For it being a deed of darknesse, it is madnesse to look that the Sunne should shine at midnight, and to expect evident proof. Should [Page 419] Princes delay till they did plainly see Treason, they might chance to feel it first. If this semiplena pro­batio lights on a party suspected before, the partie himself is the other part of the proof, and makes it complete. And here the Rack, though Fame-like it be

is often used; and the wooden horse hath told strange secrets. But grant it passe undiscovered in the plotting, it is commonly prevented in the pra­ctising,

By the Majestie, 4 Innocency, or Valour of the Prince, or his attendants. Some have been dazeled with the divine beams shining in a Princes face, so that coming to command his life, they could not be masters of their own senses. Innocency hath pro­tected others, and made their enemies relent; and pitie (though a stranger to him for many years before) hath visited a Traitours heart in that very instant. If these fail, a Kings valour hath defend­ed him; it being most true of a King, what Pli­nie reports of a Nat. hist. lib. 8. cap. 16. lion, in hunting if he be wound­ed and not killed, he will be sure to eye and kill him that wounded him.

Some by flourishing aforehand, 5 have never stricken a blow: but by warning have armed those to whom they threatned. Thus madde Somervile, coming to kill Queen Elizabeth, by the way (belike to trie whether his sword would cut) quarrelled with and wounded one or two, and therefore was ap­prehended before he came to the Court.

The palsie of guiltinesse hath made the stoutest Traitours hands to shake, 6 sometimes to misse their mark. Their conscience sleeping before, is then awakened with this crying sinne. The way seems but short to a Traveller when he views it from the top of an hill, who finds it very long when he comes into the [Page 420] plain: so Treason surveyed in the heat of bloud, and from the height of passion, seems easie to be effected; which reviewed in cold bloud on even terms, is full of dangers and difficulties. If it speed in the acting, generally it's revenged after­wards: For,

7 A King though killed is not killed, so long as he hath sonne or subject surviving. Many who have thought they have discharged the debt, have been broken afterwards with the arrearages. As for journey­men-Traytours who work for others, their wages are ever paid them with an halter; and where one gaineth a garland of bayes, hundreds have had a wreath of hemp.

CHAP. 16. The Pazzians conspiracie.

IN the city of Anno 1478. A­pril 26. The summe hereof is taken out of Machi­avels Florent. Hist lib. 8. pag. 407. & se­quent. Florence, being then a Popular State, the honourable familie de-Medices ma­naged all chief affairs, so beloved of the people for their bounty, that the honour they had was not extorted by their greatnesse, but seemed due to their goodnesse. These Mediceans depressed the Pazzians, another familie in that State, as big set, though not so high grown, as the Medicei them­selves, loading them with injuries, and debarring them not onely from Offices in the city, but their own right. The Pazzians, though highly wrong'd, counterfeited much patience, and, which was a wonder, though malice boyled hot in their hearts, yet no scumme ran over in their mouthes.

At last, meeting together, they concluded, that seeing the Legall way was stopp'd with violence, the violent way was become Legall, whereby they must right themselves; and they determined to in­vite Julian and Laurence Medices, the Gover­nours of the State, to dinner, with Cardinall Ra­phael Riarius, and there to murther them. The matter was counted easie, because these two bre­thren were but one in effect, their heads in a manner standing on the same shoulders, because they alwayes went together, and were never asunder. Fifty were privy to this plot; each had his office assigned him. Baptista Monteseccius was to kill Laurence, Francis Pazzius and Bernardus Ban­dinius were to set on Julian, whilest the Arch­bishop of Pisa, one of their allies, was with a band of men to seise on the Senate-house. Car­dinall Raphaels company rather then assistance [Page 422] was required, being neither to hunt, nor kill, but onely to start the game, and by his pre­sence to bring the two brothers to the din­ner. All appointed the next morning to meet at Masse, in the chief Church of S. Repara­ta.

Here meeting together, all the designe was dash'd: for here they remembred that Julian de Medices never used to Machiav. disput. de Re­pub. lib. 3. cap. 6. pag. 397. dine. This they knew before, but considered not till now, as if for­merly the vapours arising out of their ambitious hearts had clouded their understanding. Some ad­vised to referre it to another time, which others thought dangerous, conceiving they had sprung so many leaks of suspition, it was impossible to stop them, and feared, there being so many privie to the plot, that if they suffered them to consult with their pillows, their pillows would advise them to make much of their heads; wherefore not daring to stay the seasonable ri­pening of their designe, they were forced in heat of passion to parch it up presently, and they resolved to take the matter at the first bound, and to commit the murther (they intended at dinner) here in the Church, taking it for grant­ed, the two Mediceans would come to Masse, according to their dayly custome.

But changing their stage, they were fain also to alter their Actours. Monteseccius would not be employed in the businesse, to stain a sacred place with bloud; and the breaking of this string put their plot quite out of tune. And though Anthony Volateran and Stephen a Priest were substituted in his room, yet these two made not one fit person; so great is the difference betwixt a choice and a shift. When the Host was elevated, they were to assault them; and the Sacra­ment [Page 423] was a signe to them, not of Christs death past, but of a murther they were to com­mit.

But here again they were at a losse. Treason, like Pope Adrian, may be choak'd with a flie, and marr'd with the least unexpected casualtie. Though Laurence was at Church, Julian was absent. And yet by beating about, they recover'd this again: for Francis Pazzius and Bernard Bandinius going home to his house, with comple­ments and courteous discourse brought him to the Church. Then Bandinius with a dagger stabb'd him to the heart, so that he fell down dead, and Francis Pazzius insulting over his corps (now no object of valour but cruelty) gave it many wounds, till blinded with re­venge, he strook a deep gash into his own thigh.

But what was over-measure in them, in over­acting their parts, was wanting in Anthony and Stephen, who were to kill Laurence in the Quire. You Machiav. disp. de Repub. lib. 3. cap. 6. pag. 399. Traitour, said Anthony; and with that Lau­rence starting back avoided the strength of the blow, and was wounded onely to honour, not danger, and so recovered a strong chapell. Thus Malice, which vents it self in threatning, warns men to shun it, and like hollow singing bullets, flies but halfway to the mark. With as bad suc­cesse did the Archbishop of Pisa seise on the Senate-house, being conquered by the Lords there­in assembled, and, with many of his Complices, hung out of a window.

The Pazzians now betake themselves to their last refuge which their desperate courses had left them. James the chief of their family with one hundred more repair to the market-place, and there crie, Liberty, Liberty. A few followed them at first, [Page 424] but the snow-ball by rolling did rather melt then ga­ther, and those, who before had seen the foul face of their treason naked, would not be allured to love it now masked with the pretences of the publick good; and at last, the whole strength of the State subdued them.

Every tree about the city bare the fruit of mens heads, and limbes: many were put to death with torment, more with shame, and onely one Renatus Pazzius with pity, who loved his conscience bet­ter then his kinred, that he would not be active in the conspiracy; and yet his kinred better then his conscience, that he would not reveal it; Treason being like some kind of strong poyson, which though never taken inwardly by cordiall consent­ing unto it, yet kill's by being held in ones hand, and concealing it.

Chap. 17. The Tyrant.

A Tyrant He is two-fold, 1. In Titulo, (properly an Usurper.2. In Exerci­tio, whom we onely describe. is one whose list is his law, making his subjects his slaves. Yet that is but a totter­ing Kingdome which is founded on trembling peo­ple, which fear and hate their Sovereigne.

He gets all places of advantage into his own hands: yea he would disarm his subjects of all sythes and pru­ning hooks,Maxime 1. but for fear of a generall rebellion of weeds and thistles in the land.

He takes the Laws at the first, 2 rather by undermining then assault: And therefore to do unjustly with the more justice, he counterfeits a legalitie in all his proceedings, and will not butcher a man without a Statute for it.

Afterwards he rageth freely in innocent bloud. 3 Is any man vertuous? then he is a Traytour, and let him die for it, who durst presume to be good when his Prince is bad. Is he beloved? he is a rebell, hath proclaimed himself King, and reignes already in peoples affections, it must cost him his life. Is he of kinne to the Crown, though so farre off that his alliance is scarce to be derived? all the veins of his body must be dreined, and emptyed to find there and fetch thence that dangerous drop of roy­all bloud. And thus having taken the prime men away, the rest are easily subdued. In all these par­ticulars Machiavell is his onely Confessour, who in his Prince seems to him to resolve all these cases of conscience to be very lawfull.

Worst men are his greatest favourites. 4 He keeps a constant kennel of bloud-hounds to accuse whom he pleaseth. These will depose more then any can suppose, not sticking to swear that they heard fishes [Page 426] speak, and saw through a mil-stone at mid-night: these fear not to forswear, but fear they shall not forswear enough, to cleave the pinne and do the deed. The lesse credit they have, the more they are believed, and their very accusation is held a proof.

5 He leaves nothing that his poore subjects can call their own but their miseries. And as in the West-Indies thou­sands of kine are killed for their tallow alone, and their flesh cast away: so many men are murdered merely for their wealth, that other men may make mummey of the fat of their estates.

6 He counts men in miserie the most melodious instruments: Especially if they be well tuned and play'd upon by cunning Musicians, who are artificiall in tor­menting them, the more the merrier, and if he hath a set, and full consort of such tortur'd mise­rable souls, he danceth most cheerfully at the plea­sant dittie of their dying grones. He loves not to be prodigall of mens lives, but thriftily improves the objects of his cruelty, spending them by de­grees, and epicurizing on their pain: So that as Philoxenus wished a cranes throat, he could desire asses eares, the longer to entertain their hydeous and miserable roaring. Thus Nature had not racks enough for men (the Colick, Gout, Stone, &c.) but Art must adde to them, and devils in flesh an­tedate hell here in inventing torments; which when inflicted on malefactours, extort pitie fom merci­full beholders, (and make them give what is not due) but when used by Tyrants on innocent peo­ple, such tender hearts as stand by suffer what they see, and by the proxie of sympathy feel what they behold.

7 He seeks to suppresse all memorialls and writings of his actions: And as wicked Tereus after he had ravished Philomela cut out her tongue; so when Tyrants [Page 427] have wronged and abused the times they live in, they endeavour to make them speechlesse to tell no tales to posterity. Herein their folly is more to be admired then their malice, for learning can never be dreined dry: though it may be dambd up for one Age, yet it will break over; and Historians pens, being long kept fasting, will afterwards feed more greedily on the memories of Tyrants, and describe them to the full. Yea, I believe their ink hath made some Tyrants blacker then they were in their true complexion.

At last he is haunted with the terrours of his own con­science. 7 If any two do but whisper together (what­soever the Propositions be) he conceives their dis­course concludes against him. Company and soli­tarinesse are equally dreadfull unto him, being never safe; and he wants a Guard to guard him from his Guard, and so proceeds in infinitum. Comineus Comment. lib. 1. juxta finem The Scouts of Charles Duke of Burgundy brought him news that the French army was hard by, being nothing else but a field full of high thistles, whose tops they mistook for so many spears: On lesser ground this Tyrant conceives greater fears. Thus in vain doth he seek to fence himself from without, whose foe is within him.

He is glad to patch up a bad nights sleep, 8 out of pieces of slumber. They seldome sleep soundly, who have bloud for their bolster. His phansie presents him with strange masques, wherein onely Fiends and Furies are actours. The fright awakes him, and he is no sooner glad that it was a dream, but fears it is propheticall.

In vain he courts the friendship of forrein Princes. 9 They defie his amity, and will not joyn their clean hands with his bloudy ones. Sometimes to in­gratiate himself he doth some good acts, but vir­tue becomes him worse then vice, for all know he [Page 428] counterfeits it for his own ends.

10 Having lived in other mens bloud, he dies commonly in his own. He had his will all his life, but seldome makes his Testament at his death, being suddenly taken away either by a private hand, or a publick insurrection. It is observed of the camell that it lies quietly down till it hath its full load, and then ri­seth up. But this Vulgus is a kind of beast, which riseth up soonest when it is overladen; immode­rate cruelty causing it to rebell. Yet Fero is a fitter motto then Ferio for Christians in their carriage towards lawfull Authoritie, though unlawfully u­sed.

We will give a double example of a Tyrant: the one an absolute Sovereigne, the other a Sub­stitute or Vice-roy under an absolute Prince.

CHAP. 18. The life of ANDRONICUS.

ANdronicus Comnenus, The summe of this chapter is taken out of Nicetas Choni­ates his An­nalls lib. 1. & 2. of Andro­nic. Comnenus. descended of the Gre­cian Emperiall bloud, was a Prince most vicious in his life, and perfidious in his dealing, and for his severall offenses, after long banishment, was at length by Emmanuel the Grecian Emperour, his kinsman, confined to a private city in Paphlagonia.

Here Andronicus hugg'd himself in his privacie, though all that time he did but levell, and take aim, intending at last to shoot at the Empire, though for a while he lay very still, and with the Hedgehog seem­ingly dead, he rounded himself up in his own prickles without any motion.

Leave we him there, and come to behold the face of the Grecian Empire, which presents us with all the Symptomes of a dying State. Emmanuell being dead Alexius his sonne succeeds him, a Minor of twelve years of age, wanting wit to guide himself, and his friends care to govern him. Xena the Mother-Em­presse wholly given to her pleasures, with her minion Alexius Protosebastus, who ruled all in the State. The Nobility factious, snatching what they could get, and counting violent possession the best and onely title. The people of Constantinople valiant onely to make mutinies on every occasion, in confused multitudes, without any Martiall discipline; as who could expect that a rolling snow-ball should have any curi­ous fashion?

Andronicus, hearing of these misdemeanours, found that opportunity courted him to procure the Empire for himself. Wherefore he remonstrates to the whole world the great grief he conceived at these disorders: For though patience had made him past feeling of any [Page 430] private injuries offered to himself, yet he must be stark dead indeed, if he were not moved with these generall miseries of the Empire. He being a Prince of the bloud could not without grief behold how Xena the Em­presse, and Protosebastus had conspired to abuse the tender age of young Alexius, so to draw all dominion to themselves; and who kowing that their strength consisted in the young Emperours weaknesse, intend­ed so to breed him, that in point of judgement he should never be of age, and onely able in pleasures. Whereupon Andronicus resolved to free his young kinsman, and the Empire from this thraldome. Trea­son is so uggly in her self, that every one that sees it will cast stones at it, which makes her seldome appear but with a borrowed face, for the good of the Com­monwealth; but especially when ambition hath caught hold on pretended religion, how fast will it climbe?

Andronicus with an army of Paphlagonians march­ed to Constantinople, in which city he had a great party on his side, Maria Cesarissa, half sister to the Emperour, with her husband, and many other good Patriots, which bemoaned the distempers in the State, applying themselves to Andronicus for help, counting a bad physician better then none at all. Besides, there were in the city many turbulent spirits, desirous of al­terations, as profitable unto them, counting themselves the petty-Landlords of the times, to whom rich fines and herriots would accrue upon every exchange, and all those took part with Andronicus.

Many more did Andronicus winne to his party by his cunning behaviour, for he could speak both elo­quently and religiously. He would ordinarily talk Scripture-language (often fouly misapplyed) as if his memory were a Concordance of the whole Bible, but especially of S. Pauls Epistles, which he had by heart. Besides, no man had better command of rain and [Page 431] sunshine in his face, to smile and weep at pleasure: his tears flowed at will, which caught the affections of many, though others, better acquainted with his tricks, no more pitied his weeping, then they bemoan­ed the moist dropping of stone walls against rainy weather.

Small resistance was made against him, onely some seemed to fight against him in complement, so that with ease he made himself master of Constantinople, and not long after he caused Xena the Empresse to be choked, the eyes of whose Favourite Protosebastus he had formerly bored out.

The next care of Andronicus was to cut off all those steps by which he had ascended to this height, lest leaving those stairs still standing, others also might climbe up the same way. All those friends who had assisted him in this his designe, he reward­ed with death: yea though at first his cruelty might seem to shoot at a mark, in taking of some prime men, for whose death some reason might be rendred, his malice afterwards shot at rovers, as if he had a quar­rell at mankind, killing all he came near. When any party accused recriminated the accuser, the sword of Andronicus cut on both sides; the accuser and accused were sent the same way, and what cup one began, the other was made to pledge. Those Sycophants which ingratiated themselves with him, escaped no better then others, it being equally dangerous to please and displease him. Men met every where with his cruel­ty, but no where with the reasons thereof. But who can expect other reasons of Tyrants actions, but that they are Tyrants actions?

But his dealing with young Alexius the Emperour (whose death was methodically contrived with some politick pauses) deserves observation. At first en­trance into the city, Andronicus observed his awfull distance towards the Emperour, teaching others that [Page 433] the minority of Princes ought not to lessen their Sub­jects reverence unto them. Afterwards, he emboldned himself to make his nearer approches, chalenging in young Alexius that interest which carefull tutours claim in those whose protection they tender. Hence he pro­ceeded to set a guard about him, not to defend but watch him, and to guard him from his friends; who, though allowed to follow his sports in hunting, was indeed made sport of himself, and the hunter kept in a net. Then Andronicus was forced by his friends im­portunity (whom he himself had secretly impor­tun'd) to be elected joynt-Emperour with Alexius, and with much unwillingnesse this great dissembler (who could have taught Tiberius craft, and Nero cruelty) was driven up the Emperiall throne. Next day in all publick Edicts the name of An­dronicus was set before Alexius, it seeming preposte­rous that a child should be preferred before so sage and grave a man.

Hitherto the life of Alexius was profitable to An­dronicus, but now his death would be more behoof­full. Wherefore Andronicus counting it cumbersome now any longer to wear a cloke in the sunshine and heat of his happinesse, abandoned all uselesse dissem­bling, and appear'd like himself. The next news we heare of Alexius, is that his neck is broken with a bowstring by command from Andronicus;1181 his body was spurn'd and abus'd, a hole bored in his ear with a spit, his head cut off, and shamefully dealt with, his body cast into the sea, with many more cruell out­rages, as much against policie as piety, and not onely needlesse, but scandalous to Andronicus. Thus Ty­rants, having once given the rains to their cruelty, are not able to stop themselves.

But this innocent bloud cryed to God for revenge, and obtained it. Next yeare Isaacius Angelus was chosen Emperour by the people, and Andronicus [Page 434] chased out of the city and pursued after. Andronicus got into a ship, and had conveyed himself away, had not the winds and the waves (as if knowing him though disguis'd) refused to be accessary to his escape, and beaten him back again, till he was taken by his pursuers. Being carried into the presence of Isaacius the new Emperour, he there was beaten, spurn'd, kick'd on, and had an arm cut off, and an eye bored out. But all this was mercy, in respect of what he next day suffered by the rascall multitude, being carried on a scabb'd Camell thorow Constantinople, happy he that could do most unhappinesse unto him: all sorts of people sought to mischief him, throwing that upon him, in comparison whereof that which runneth in the channell may be counted rosewater. Thus orphanes thought to revenge the death of their fathers, widows of their husbands: one ran him thorow with a spit, another threw scalding water in his face. At last he could hardly die, being hang'd up by the feet betwixt two pillars after a thousand abuses offer'd unto him.

It may seem miraculous how his body could make room for all their blows, or that he so old a man could find so many lives for their cruelty, were it not that passing with some speed thorow the city, few had their full blows at him; and they were somewhat mannerly in their revenge, in that they would not take all to themselves, but leave some to others. And in­deed after long throwing of dirt upon him, their darts became his shield, being so covered over with the filth, that the mire kept him from the mire.

All which time he brake not out into any impati­ence, but still cryed, Lord have mercy upon me, and, Why break you a bruised reed? and bore all with an invincible quietnesse of mind. Surely God measured unto him a time of repentance by a large houreglasse; and haply (it were tyranny to think otherwise of the worst Ty­rant) the tempest of the peoples fury might drive his [Page 434] soul to the best See bow cha­ritably Drex­elius is opini­on'd of him in his book de Aeternitate, Consider. 5. Sect. 3. shelter, the mercy of the God of hea­ven. It is a good signe when one hath his hell in this world, and true repentance is never too late. As for those that hold repentance on the death-bed unprofit­able, by this their tenet they would make heaven very empty, and yet never a whit the more room therein for the maintainers of so uncharitable an opinion.

Andronicus reigned two years, having a beautifull aspect, and majestick stature, almost ten foot high, of a strong constitution, advantaged by the temperate­nesse of his diet. In all his life time he took but one antidote, and never purged but once, and then the Physick found no obnoxious humour to work upon, so healthfull was his temper. His death happened Anno Dom. 1183.

CHAP. 19. The life of Duke D'ALVA.

FErdinand Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva, one bred abroad in the world in severall warres (whom Charles the fifth more employed, then affect­ed, using his churlish nature to hew knotty service) was by Philip the second, King of Spain, appointed Gover­nour of the Netherlands.

At his first arrivall there, the loyalty of the Nether­landers to the King of Spain was rather out of joint, [Page 436] then broken off, as not being weary of his government but their own grievances. The wound was rather painfull then deadly, onely the skirts of their lungs were tainted, sending out discontented not rebellious breath, much regretting that their Priviledges, Civil and Ecclesiasticall, were infringed, and they grinded with exactions against their Laws and Liberties.

But now Duke D'Alva coming amongst them, he intended to cancell all their charters with his sword, and to reduce them to absolute obedience. And whereas every city was fenced not onely with severall walls, but different locall liberties, and municipall im­munities, he meant to lay all their priviledges levell, and casting them into a flat to stretch a line of absolute command over them. He accounted them a Nation rather stubborn then valiant, and that not from stout­nesse of nature, but want of correction, through the long indulgence of their late Governours. He secretly accused Margaret Dutchesse of Parma, the last Gover­nesse, for too much gentlenesse towards them, as if she meant to cure a gangren'd arm with a lenitive plaister, & affirmed that a Ladies hands were too soft to pluck up such thistles by the root. Wherefore the said Dut­chesse, soon after D'Alva's arrivall (counting it lesse shame to set, then to be outshin'd) petitioned to re­signe her regencie, and return'd into Italie.

To welcome the Duke at his entrance, he was enter­tain'd with prodigies and monstrous Famianus Stra. de Bell [...] Belgico, p. 430. births,Ann. Dom. 1568. which hapned in sundry places; as if Nature on set purpose mistook her mark, and made her hand to swerve, that she might shoot a warning-piece to these coun­treys, and give them a watch-word of the future cala­mities they were to expect. The Duke, nothing moved hereat, proceeds to effect his project, and first sets up the Counsell of troubles, consisting of twelve, the Duke being the President. And this Counsell was to order all things in an arbitrary way, without any appeal [Page 436] from them. Of these twelve some were strangers, such as should not sympathize with the miseries of the countrey; others were upstarts, men of no bloud, and therefore most bloudy; who being themselves grown up in a day, cared not how many they cut down in an houre. And now rather to give some colour, then any virtue to this new composition of counsellours, foure Dutch Lords were mingled with them, that the native Nobility might not seem wholly neglected. Castles were built in every city to bridle the inhabitants, and Garisons put into them. New Bishops Seas erected in severall cities, and the Inquisition brought into the countrey. This Inquisition, first invented against the Moores, as a trappe to catch vermine, was afterwards used as a snare to catch sheep, yea they made it heresie for to be rich. And though all these proceedings were contrary to the solemn oath King Philip had taken, yet the Pope (who onely keeps an Oath-office, and takes power to dispence with mens consciences) grant­ed him a faculty to set him free from his promise.

Sure as some adventurous Physicians, when they are posed with a mungrell disease, drive it on set purpose into a fever, that so knowing the kind of the maladie they may the better apply the cure: So Duke D'Alva was minded by his cruell usage to force their discon­tents into open rebellion, hoping the better to come to quench the fire when it blazed out, then when it smok'd and smother'd.

And now to frighten the rest, with a subtle train he seiseth on the Earls of Egmond and Horn. These counted themselves armed with innocencie and de­sert, having performed most excellent service for the King of Spain. But when subjects deserts are above their Princes requitall, oftentimes they study not so much to pay their debts, as to make away their credi­tours. All these victories could not excuse them, nor the laurel wreaths on their heads keep their necks from the ax, and the rather, because their eyes must first be [Page 437] closed up, which would never have patiently beheld the enslaving of their countrey. The French Embassa­dour was at their execution, and wrote to his Master Charles the ninth, King of France, concerning the Earl of Egmond, Fam. Strad. de bell. Belgico, pag. 449. That he saw that head struck off in the Market­place of Brussels, whose valour had twice made France to shake.

This Counsell of troubles having once tasted Noble bloud, drank their belly-fulls afterwards. Then de­scending to inferiour persons by apprehensions, execu­tions, confiscations, and banishments, they raged on mens lives and states. Such as upon the vain hope of pardon returned to their houses, were apprehended, and executed by fire, water, gibbets, and the sword, and other kinds of deaths and torments: yea the bo­dyes of the dead (on whom the earth as their com­mon mother bestowed a grave for a childs portion) were cast out of their Grimst. Hist. of the Ne­therlands, pag. 413. tombes by the Dukes com­mand, whose cruelty outstunk the noysomnesse of their carcases.

And lest the maintaining of Garisons might be bur­densome to the King his Master, he laid heavy impo­sitions on the people: the Duke affirming that these countreys were fat enough to be stewed in their own liquour, & that the Souldiers here might be maintain­ed by the profits arising hence; yea he boasted that he had found the mines of Peru in the Low-countreys, though the digging of them out never quitted the cost. He demanded the hundredth peny of all their move­able and immoveable goods, and besides that, the tenth peny of their moveable goods that should be bought and sold, with the twentieth peny of their immove­able goods; without any mention of any time, how long those taxes and exactions should continue.

The States protested against the injustice hereof, alledging that all trading would be press'd to death under the weight of this taxation: weaving of stuffs (their staple trade) would soon decay, and their shut­tles [Page 438] would be very slow, having so heavy a clog hang­ing on them; yea hereby the same commodity must pay a new tole at every passage into a new trade. This would dishearten all industry, and make lazinesse and painfulnesse both of a rate, when beggery was the re­ward of both, by reason of this heavy imposition, which made men pay dear for the sweat of their own brows. And yet the weight did not grieve them so much, as the hand which laid it on, being impos'd by a forein power against their ancient priviledge. Here­upon many Netherlanders, finding their own coun­trey too hot, because of intolerable taxes, sought out a more temperate climate, and fled over into England.

As for such as stayed behind, their hearts being brimfull before with discontents, now ran over. 'Tis plain these warres had their originall, not out of the Church, but the State-house. Liberty was true doctrine to Papist and Protestant, Jew and Christian. It is probable that in Noahs Ark the wolf agreed with the lambe, and that all creatures drowned their antipathy, whilest all were in danger of drowning. Thus all se­verall religions made up one Commonwealth to op­pose the Spaniard: and they thought it high time for the Cow to find her horns, when others not content to milk her, went about to cut off her bag.

It was a rare happinesse that so many should meet in one chief, William of Nassaw, Prince of Orange, whom they chose their Governour. Yea he met their affections more then halfway in his loving behavi­our; so that Alva's cruelty did not drive more from him, then Nassaw's courtesie invited to him. His po­pular nature was of such receipt, that he had room to lodge all comers. In peoples eyes his light shined bright, yet dazled none, all having free accesse unto him: every one was as well pleased as if he had been Prince himself, because he might be so familiar with the Prince. He was wont to content those, who re­proved [Page 439] his too much humanity, with this saying,Bar [...]l. Icon. Anim. cap. 5. That man is cheap bought, who costs but a salutation.

I report the Reader to the Belgian Histories, where he may see the changes of warre betwixt these two sides. We will onely observe that Duke D'Alva's co­vetousnesse was above his policy in fencing the rich inland and neglecting the barren maritime places. He onely look'd on the broad gates of the countrey whereby it openeth to the continent of Germany and France, whilest in the mean time almost half the Ne­therlands ran out at the postern doore towards the sea. Nassaw's side then wounded Achilles in the heel in­deed, and touch'd the Spaniard to the quick, when on Palm-sunday (as if the day promised victory) at Brill they took the first livery and seasin of the land, and got soon after most cities towards the sea. Had Alva here­in prevented him, probably he had made those Pro­vinces as low in subjection as situation.

Now at last he began to be sensible of his errour, and grew weary of his command, desiring to hold that staff no longer, which he perceived he had taken by the wrong end. He saw that going about to bridle the Netherlanders with building of castles in many places, they had gotten the bit into their own teeth: He saw that warre was not quickly to be hunted out of that countrey, where it had taken covert in a wood of ci­ties: He saw the cost of some one cities siege would pave the streets thereof with silver, each city, [...]ort, and sconce being a Gordian knot, which would make Alexanders sword turn edge before he could cut tho­row it, so that this warre and the world were likely to end together, these Netherlands being like the head­block in the chimney, where the fire of warre is al­wayes kept in (though out every where else) never quite quench'd though rak'd up sometimes in the ashes of a truce. Besides, he saw that the subdued part of the Netherlands obeyed more for fear then love, and [Page 440] their loyalty did rather lie in the Spanish Garisons, then their own hearts, and that in their sighes they breathed many a prosperous gale to Nassaw's party: Lastly, he saw that forrein Princes, having the Spani­ards greatnesse in suspicion, desired he might long be digesting this break-fast, lest he should make his din­ner on them, both France and England counting the Low-countreys their outworks to defend their walls: wherefore he petitioned the King of Spain his Master to call him home from this unprofitable service.

Then was he called home, and lived some years af­ter in Spain, being well respected of the King, and em­ployed by him in conquering Portugall, contrary to the expectation of most, who look'd that the Kings displeasure would fall heavy on him, for causing by his cruelty the defection of so many countreys; yet the King favourably reflected on him, perchance to fru­strate on purpose the hopes of many, and to shew that Kings affections will not tread in the beaten path of vulgar expectation: or seeing that the Dukes life and state could amount to poore satisfaction for his own losses, he thought it more Princely to remit the whole, then to be revenged but in part: or lastly, because he would not measure his servants loyalty by the successe, and lay the unexpected rubs in the allie to the bowlers fault, who took good aim though missing the mark. This led many to believe that Alva onely acted the Kings will, and not willed his acts, following the in­structions he received, and rather going beyond then against his Commission.

However most barbarous was his cruelty. He bragg'd as he sate at dinner (and was it not a good grace after meat) that he had caused eighteen thousand to be execu­ted by the ordinary minister of justice within the space of six years, besides an infinite more murthered by other tyrannous means. Yea some men he killed many times, giving order to the executioners to [Page 441] pronounce each syllable of torment long upon them, that the thred of their life might not be cut off but un­ravell'd, as counting it no pain for men to die, except they dyed with pain; witnesse Anthony Utenhow, whom he caused to be tied to a stake with a chain in Grimst. Hist. of the Nether­lands, pag. 411. Brussells, compassing him about with a great fire, but not touching him, turning him round about like a poore beast, who was forced to live in that great torment and extremity, roasting before the fire so long, untill the Halberdiers themselves, having compassion on him, thrust him through, contrary to the will both of the Duke and the Spanish Priests.

When the city of Harlem surrendred themselves unto him on condition to have their lives, he suffered some of the Souldiers and Burgers thereof to be starved to death, saying that though he promised to give them their lives, he did not promise to find them meat. The Netherlanders used to fright their children with telling them, Duke. D'Al­va was coming; and no wonder if children were sca­red with him, of whom their fathers were afraid.

He was one of a lean body and visage, as if his eager soul, biting for anger at the clog of his body, desired to fret a passage through it. He had this humour, that he neglected the good counsel of others, especially if gi­ven him before he ask'd it, and had rather stumble then beware of a block of another mans telling.

But as his life was a miroir of cruelty, so was his death of Gods patience. It was admirable, that his tra­gicall acts should have a comicall end; that he that sent so many to the grave, should go to his own, & die in peace. But Gods justice on offenders goes not alwayes in the same path, nor the same pace: And he is not par­doned for the fault, who is for a while reprived from the punishment; yea sometimes the guest in the inne goes quietly to bed, before the reckoning for his supper is brought to him to discharge.