THE Holy Catholick Church of our Blessed Lord and Savi­our, had now allmost defeated the Rage of it's Persecutors, for the space of nigh 300 years, and Gentil­ism was now advanc'd to ti's last ef­forts of malice and cruelty, when our blessed Martyr Saint Agnes was dis­clos'd to the world, in the Reign of [Page 2] Dioclesian and Maximian, or if you please to obleige them with those godly Titles of their own coining, Jovius and Herculeus. You might justly wonder that so sweet a Jewel was plac'd in so troublesome a Ge­neration, did not adversity give a new lustre to all that is worthy and excellent. Those petty twinckling eies of night, that so beautifully a­dorn the face of Heaven, when sur­rounded by obscurity, cannot so much as be seen, when the Sun ap­proaches, and if you take away the Jet from the sparkling Diamond, you will rob it of the greatest part of those glories, that you see it adorn'd withall. So Holy a Virgin , so un­daunted a Martyr, so Chast a Lady, in a word, so good a Christian, could stand the Shock of Ten Thousand Dioclesians, and being supported by the Grace of her dearest Saviour, could still preserve her faith and honour, and remain as good a Virgin, as a [Page 3]Christian, maugre all the vain assaults of lust and cruelty. Her very Ene­mies, though unwillingly, extreamly oblig'd her, and their very opposi­tion, furnish'd her with matter for a Triumph.

St. Agnes was Born at Rome, of a Noble Family, though the Names of her Parents I cannot possibly ac­quaint you with, nor precisely in what year of our Lord it was, St. Ambrose and all that have oblig'd the world with the History of our blessed Mar­tyr, being herein unanimously silent, nor ought our curiosity to engage us in an unnecessary search of things of such indifference, and that when kown cannot yeild us any considera­ble advantages. The Nile enrich'd the Egyptians never the less because his head was undiscovered, And the Life of the holy Agnes may stir us to as great a piety, as if we knew her Pa­tents most exactly. How she spent [Page 4]her Youth, her Pious Life, and most Christian Death, may give us reason to conjecture, though all the Au­thours I could meet with, have not spoke a word of it in particular; and since I dare not assume the liberty of foisting any in thing that the authori­ty of St. Ambrose &c. would nor justi­fie, I shall pass it over, and advance to the more important parts of her Life, where we shall make a full dis­covery of all those Beauties, Charms, and Graces that a Crucified Saviour can present us with, in comparison of which all our worldly pleasures must loose their relish, and a Hea­venly Spouse be preferr'd to all out earthly enjoyments. But 'tis very certain that our holy Martyr, when she was very Young, had dedicated her Virginity to her sweet Redeemer, and made a formal Vow of perpetual Chastitie, which may clearly be dis­covered by the sequal of this dis­course, and therefore it would be very [Page 5]impertinent to insist long upon it.

Pious Lady, Thou at those years hadst fix'd thy thoughts on Heaven, and wast engag'd in the contemplati­on of the Holy Jesus, which we com­monly spend in gratifying our corrupt Affections, thou did'st anticipate thy years, and without an absurdity, I may justlie say, thou wast old even in thy childhood, and had'st the pru­dence and all that was to be esteem'd of that age, without any of it's incon­veniencies. Who dare say she was Young and Childish, that was allready ripe for Heaven, and had finish'd her glorious course of Christianity. She was now about Thirteen years of age, when all the temptations imaginable conspired to Divorce her from her Saviour. Love (that potent Passion, that hath occasion'd so dismal effects in the world, that by a sweet insinu­ation betrays us to our ruine, and pleases into our destruction) was the first obstacle that was opposed to her [Page 6]flight to Heaven, and that endeavou­red to retard her pursuit of a blessed Eternity; which was thus.

As she was returning home from School, a Young Gentleman, the Son of one Symphronius, at that time Go­verour of the Citie, young and hand­some, and Master of all those excellen­cies that render one of his years ac­complish'd, and that might have en­slaved any Soul but St. Agnes's, unfor­tunately chanc'd to see her: He saw her, he admir'd her, he lov'd her, all in an instant: That crowd of Beauties that Heaven had endow'd her with, to render her fair body a worthy ha­bitation of it's fairer inhabitant, were not long in producing their effect. Ladies less considerable could not have done that in an Age, that her fair eies effected in a moment. The Sun illustrates all the Horizon at once, and that Affection our Gal­lant had for Saint Agnes, at it's first [Page 7]Creation (I can justly term it no o­ther, that was a motion so instanta­neous) was not any longer capable of degrees. In fine, he loved her, he doted on her, be preferr'd her to half his Heathen Deities, and in her fruition he placed his only felicity. He had not now opportunity either to spake to her, or enquire of what Familie she was, And indeed, had all the opportunities in Nature courted him at that time, he could scarce have made any benefit of them, being sur­prised with the greatest astonishment that can be imagined.

However after some time having made enquirie who she was (a Star of so great magnitude could not pos­siblie long be hid) he understood she was of a Noble Familie, and born in that Citie, and what ever else he learned of her, from his intelligence, gave him all the satisfaction that his Soul was capable of receiving. She's [Page 8]Noblie Born, said he, clapping his hand on his breast, after a profound Réverie, and now I may justlie Court her Affections; I may own my Love without dishonour, and my Father, my indulgent Father, will never op­pose himself to my Intentions. But Villain (continued he with a great deal of vehemence) how was it pos­sible she should be otherwise, or how could one imagine that the bountiful Gods, would throw away so many perfections on an ignoble Person. No, what ever her Familie was, or could be, she would sufficiently en­noble it, and transfund an excellence into all about her; she must necessa­rily either find her Kindred Noble, or make them so. The most pittiful Rock in the Ocean can borrow lustre from it's bright Native, the Pearl that grows upon it, and the most craggy Shelves can gain worth and esteem from their Diamonds, their Illustrious Inhabitants. Well 'tis so, [Page 9]and I have nothing to conquer, but the heart of that Fair one, to com­pleat my happiness. Whereupon our young Inamorato, spur'd on by his Passion, and arm'd with Confi­dence, that his Fathers power in the Cittie at that time, might extreamly advance his design, he is resolv'd to address himself to the fair Agnes, and having signified the desire he had to wait upon her, with all the respects in the world, and humbly begged her permission, at last he acquainted her with his Passion in the most mov­ing words that could be used in that conjuncture; and when he had said what he would, and expected her Answer; what hopes and fears was he then engaged in? But his eies with their dumb Rhethorick still pursu'd his Petition.

The poor Lady, surprised at this so displeasing a proposal, stood in the greatest amazement that ever soul was troubled with, and if I should tell [Page 10]you it was not unlike that astonish­ment which a poor Traveller resents, when at midnight he sees his fellow thunder-strook just by his side, I should make you but a faint resem­blance of it. But after some few mi­nutes recollecting her scattered Spi­rits, and looking upon him with an eye that at once pitied and condemned his passion, she thus answer'd him.

Remove (noble Sir) that Afffecti­on, that will be equally troublesome to both of us. I cannot imagine how this Miserable Face should gain me that esteem, you are pleas'd to ob­leige me with; and I think more Cha­ritably of all Men, then to think any one can be so much mistaken, and have forfeited their Reason and Judg­ment as to Love her, who may justly be contem'd of all the World, and there to place an Obligation, where it would be counted an injurie. In a word for that very Love's sake, you [Page 11]say you have for me, forgo it utterly, banish it, and with it all the train of Jealousies, Fears, Hopes, and o­ther Distractions, that will undoubt­edly pursue it. This, Sir, is the means to obleige me, and this is the greatest Testimony, I can demand of your Af­fection.

Ah! Madam, reply'd our Gallant, how unjust you are in this demand? Should Love destroy it self, to show it's sincerity? And is there no other way to manifest the truth of it, but by those Acts of indifference you mention? Stay Madam, for Heavens sake, that— He was vehement­ly continuing his discourse, when the Lady interrupted him. No Sir, (said she) 'tis my final resolution, suspend your ardour, or if you will continue your Affection , which I cannot re­compence; expect no mutual return from her, that avows to you and all the world, she is already dispos'd of, my Soul's too free and open to make [Page 12]use of Artifice, and draw you on in­to a Passion, that it is possible may ruin you; and I too much esteem that Obligation you have laid upon me, to think you a fit Person to be so de­ceiv'd Be assur'd then, that my Soul is prepossess'd, and being enga­ged elsewhere cannot comply with your desires; you are Honorable I must avow it, and Rich, and your Person is really Amiable, but since my Faith is already ty'd else where, these accomplishments and advantages, will prove ineffectual to shock my fidelity. Give over then in time and let your Duty comply with your Interests.

No Madam (cry'd out the Lover) I must still Love, while you are still amiable; Blame not the excess of my Passion, while you are Lovely to Ad­miration. You may forbid me to hope for a suitable return, but know that despair it self cannot make me cease to love and adore you, and though others are the most happy, I may be the most faithful of your Servants.

He was Retreating, having said thus, with a most profound respect, but in the most disconsolate conditi­on that ever poor Lover was in, when St. Agnes pitying his misfortunes, wherein she found her self too deeply concern'd, pul'd him back and sweet­ning all that Rigour she had put on not long before; Stay dear Sir, said she, And pardon me that seeming cruelty, which you think me guilty of, my Soul is as capable of resenting, your favours as you your self could wish. I esteem you, Sir; and will love you too, but as a Sister. Content your self with all I can render you. Leave your Love, for God's sake, or place it on some more worthy Ob­ject, my choice cannot, must not be alter'd; He must have my whole Af­fection, that's only worthy of it; He must indeed, Sir, and you must no longer pretend to her, that will ac­knowledge no other Lord and Master, but him that Heaven hath already as­sing'd her.

Who ever that happy person be, reply'd our Amorist, let him not think that I will tamely endure his happy­ness. No, Madam, your Love cannot protect him. Since he hath the hap­piness to be belov'd of the fair Agnes, he shall also have the honour to die for her.

He spoke this with the greatest fu­ry he could, and without taking the least leave away he flung, rowling in his Breast revenge on his unknown Rival. Whilst our holy Votary in vain recalling him, after she had bestow'd a Shower of Tears on his Misfortunes, which though unwillingly, she was the unhappy cause of, she went into her Closet, seating her self in a posture fit for her Devotion.

Sweet Jesu, cry'd she, thou art my dear Master, to thee have I dedi­cated my Life and Honour; Accept of this poor Sacrifice, which is my reasonable service. Preserve what my free gift, and thy gracious Redemp­tion [Page 15]hath made thine, and let not the Devil withal his gaudy Temptations, pull me from thy sacred Protection, No, dear Saviour, he shall not by thy Help; I am in thy hands, and all the fury, the rage, as well as subtlety of Men and Divels, shall never remove me from so agreeable a refuge. My Virginity is now no longer my own, keep me chaste, and inviolate, and render me a fit Vestal for thy service, should I having ty'd my self to my ob­liging Saviour, desert him for a frail peice of mortality? And having tast­ed those preparations of Eternal Bliss and Glory, run after those dull and insignificant contentments that so a­buse the world with their pleasing appearances? No gracious Lord, I'le accept of no Spouse but thee, and how unworthy so ever of thy Love and Favour, my sins have render'd me, I will in my Chastity Imitate thy Ho­ly Mother. And though I cannot be at once a Virgin and a Mother, pure [Page 16]and Fruitful at the same Instant, which is the blessed Lady's Prero­gative, I will be a Wife and Virgin and with thy holy consent too, nay and by thy command, preserve my Virginity even after my Espousals. Yes, blessed Jesu, I will by thy help and favour, nor shall either Love or Pity perswade me to any thing, that may offend my love to thee or my Duty.

Having said either this or some­thing like it, she rose extreamly satis­fi'd, and the holy Spirit furnish'd her with all those graces that were neces­sary for her in that conjuncture, which gently gliding through her Soul, ra­vish'd her with all the delights that Saints were ever blest withal.

And then after somtime having paid her Devotion to Heaven, she reflected on what the Young Gentle­man had said to her. Fond Man, said she, how do thy Love and Anger delude thee, to what folly alas do they betray thee; Thy Rival fears [Page 17]not what thy Sword can do against him, he will keep himself and me too, (if it be his holy pleasure) from those dismal effects of thy fury that thou so vainly threaten'st. Do what thy Rage shall dictate to thee, and at last learn to acknowledge that I had infinite reason to contemn thee, and dote upon so Gracious, so Almighty a Redeemer. You may very well imagine with what Vehemence the Lady utter'd these words, and what sorrows she then was perplex'd with, both in pitying the Young Lover, since she had bin the innocent cause of his mirfortunes, and in deploring her own unhappiness; and you may (if you please) hear her thus express­ing her resentments.

WHilst the blessed Saint does thus entertain her Pious Soul; let us see how our passionate Gentle­man spends his hours, whose every minute seems an Age, in the absence of his Mistress: He went away posses'd with the greatest fury that ever Soul was in. He stamp'd, he Beat his Breast, and did whatever a Furious Person is us'd to doe in such encoun­ters; He Imprecated his Heathen Deities to assist him in his Revenge. He vow'd the utter ruine of his un­known Adversary, notwithstanding all the difficulties he might meet with­al, and posting home with all the speed he could make, having lock'd himself up in his Chamber, he was somenting the most dreadful resoluti­ons, that ever can be conceived.

Must I then be unhappy, said he, and live the most unfortunate Person that ever Breath'd? Must I draw on my life in all the extreams of misery, to a period no less unfortunate? Must [Page 21]I do thus, and can't it be otherwise; No, it cannot, I must live and die a Wretch, and do all this, for an un­grateful Woman, and long of one perhaps less worthy then my self. He stop'd here, and the vehemence of his resentments was better express'd by this silence, then it would have bin by all the words in the World. He continu'd not long so however, when beating his Breast he forc'd his Tongue in some measure to unravel his thoughts. But since I cannot en­joy her, continued he, and I am doom'd to my misfortunes, by a per­son notwithstanding all her cruelty; so dear and agreeable to me, that even Death it self would not be unwel­come when it proceeded from her: I will however have some Companion in my unhappiness, and involve my envied Rival, for all her Love and Favour, in that Calamity, she hath damn'd me to. I will do so, pursu'd he vehemently, Base and Ungrateful [Page 22]Woman, in spite of that Respect I have for thee, that troublesome Love and Respect that hath betray'd me into the worst condition in the World. But can I thus injure him (continu'd he, after he had been silent for some moments) that she is pleas'd to bless with her particular Affection? Yes, I can do more then injure him, that hath deprived me of the most su­pream happiness, my Ambition could aspire to.

I should be extreamly tedious, should I trouble the Reader, and my self, with an exact account of all his Passion made him then utter. I shall therefore content my self to acquaint him that after a nights rest (if I can properly term that so, that was on­ly a repetition of his former distur­bances) he rose, and laid out to all he could learn who this Favourite of his Mistriss was; But with what suc­cess you may easily imagine, though 'tis possible had there been any and he [Page 23]capable of discovery, he might have setv'd himself with the greatest Effi­cacy; since a Rival in such a case, as being most interess'd, was most like­ly to find it out.

But after a tedious enquiry to no purpose, which though it infinitely discourag'd him, as depriving him of that Revenge he had already pro­mis'd himself, it did not a little en­courage him, and gave him some hopes, that only out of Design, and Artifice she had told him so, when really it was otherwise. Having half perswaded himself to believe, what his hopes suggested to him, he reas­sures himself, ventures upon a Se­cond Visit, which considering his Qualities, could not be well refus'd him. I shall leave you to guess what St. Agnes sense was of it, she trem­bled, she changed her Colour, but still for the better, and her very a­mazement and surprisal, did very much increase her Beauty, and ren­derd [Page 24]her more Lovely in the eies of our Young Amorist, that alas was but too too Lovely to him before. She was in this condition when our Young Roman accosting her, assum'd the con­fidence to tell her, notwithstanding he held her as infallible as his Divini­ties, who could not but be peswad­ed that she had abus'd into an er­rour, which was extreamly prejudici­al to his repose, and that he had troubled himself with the fear of a Rival to no purpose, since he was the only person that Love had inspir'd with the assurance to lift up his eies to so much excellence. Be pleas'd therefore Madam, continu'd he in an extraordinary transport, to rid me of this doubt, and assure me of a truth, then the knowledg of which nothing can make me more happy, but the assurance of your mutual Af­fection.

He staid his discourse here, and the Pious Lady not without some dif­ficulty [Page 25]assum'd it. Know Sir, reply'd she, you have still a Rival and such a one as all your Interests in Rome; how considerable so ever, cannot remove him, did you know what sin­cerity I alwaies make use of you would not have doubted of the truth of that, which I assur'd you of. Oh! Madam, answer'd the Lover hastely, why should you so soon return me to my former Apprehensions, and disa­buse me of an oppinion so advantage­ous to my repose? I am not acquaint­ed with those Arts, reply'd the Lady very sharply, that abuse Men into happiness. Know fond Man, thou hast a Rival; Know I Love him, and pre­fer him to all the World; and when thou know'st this, if thou wilt still pursue a fruitless passion, never expect any thing from me but scorn and con­tempt. Dismiss thy troublesome Af­fection, and retrive thy Liberty. I conjure thee to it by all that's Sacred, by thy own Interest, and if that be of [Page 26]any force with thee, for my sake, desist to trouble me any more with thy addresses. Assure thy self this will be the greatest engagement thou can'st make me receive, and which will equally conduce to thy felicitie and my own.

She was retreating then into her Closet, when our most disconsolate Lover cried out with some vehe­mence; I cannot cease to Love thee, for all thy crueltie, but my addresses shall no more trouble thee. I can Die to please my self, as well as thee, and my Death perhaps may give me as great a contentment, as it will thee, Cruel Creature; since it will free me from a Passion, that nothing else can Rob me of. He departed imme­diately huri'd in a most fatal grief. You may justly wonder he should so soon run desperate, and at his se­cond visit abandon himself to so abso­lute a despair; but be pleas'd to know he had before made her several Pre­sents, [Page 27]and spoke to her very often too, all which I omitted as having nothing in them extraordinary. The Gifts he made her, with which Ladies of her years, are easily deceiv'd, with all his fair and foul Words, Promises, and Threats, could not perswade her to his desires. She despis'd them all, and continually told him what Noble Presents her Spouse would make her, which I shall not here reckon up, both because you may have them infinitely better exprest'd in the Divine St. Ambrose, as because I will by no means debauch those Christian ex­pressions with that, which we of this Age call Eloquence; since they shine far brighter in their native Purity. As Adam and the first Woman were fai­rest, before they came to their Figg­leaves.

If the Gentleman was afflicted, he left the Holy Maid no less; She pour'd out all her sorrows into the Bosome of her Blessed Saviour, for whose sake [Page 28]she was thus Cruel in appearances; She prai'd for her Loving Enemy; She pitied him, but all was to little to break her Resolution of a perpetual Chastity. No, Blessed Lord, (would she Cry out oftentime) neither Loves, nor Pitty, with all their soft Insinua­tions shall storm my consent to an Act, that would rob Thee of thy Right. My Vow, and my Virginitie must be kept inviolate, and with thy Grace they shall, Holy Jesu, my poor and unworthy Sacrifice.

Thus wast thou, Pious Votary, peircing Heaven with thy Pious eja­culations, while thy disconsolate Lover was engag'd in a very different ployment. His Soul possess'd with the greatest Grief, Anger, Love, and Fury, that ever the world saw, was travers'd with all most contrary com­motions, and those too almost in­compatible, at the same Instant. He curs'd his Stars, and yet in Spite of all his Rage and Fury, he could not [Page 29]so much as have an ill thought of her that in his Opinion, was the Cru­elest thing that ever breath'd. How often was he deploring his own Cala­mitie, and then on the suddain enjoy­ing his Rival's happiness, and per­haps scarce two Minutes after all this, complaining of his Mistresse's unkindness. In so miserable a distra­ction as his Soul then was, his Body could not chuse but partake of the common miserie. Their was as great Revolutions in his humours as in his thoughts, and that profound Melan­cholie that had seis'd his Soul; gave but too dismal Effects not to be dis­covered. I shall wave those discour­ses he then made use of, both because they concern not so imediatelie our Holie Agnes, as because other per­sons in the same conditions might probablie speak some thing like them.

He was got into his Chamber, there to entertain his thoughts with [Page 30]the greater Libertie, where alas what felt he not, what said he not, and what extravagancies was not he then guiltie of; But he was not long there before his Father was acquaint­ed with his disturbance; When hur­ri'd on by that indulgence, he alwaies had had for him, pursu'd him into his Chamber, and taking him by the hand, with the greatest tenderness, that ever Father yet discover'd, He asks him of the cause of his Melan­cholie; he intreated him to cashier it, as he faithfullie promises, he will en­deavour to do the cause of it. And then seeing him in a deep Réverie he claspes his hand somthing faster, and with tears in his eies, which expness'd his sentiments in their mute dialect, better then all the Elegance in the World. What means this silence, my Dear Boy; said he, why dost conceal thy misfortunes from a Fa­ther, that would sacrifice his Life and Interests to pull thee thence? for [Page 31]Heav'ns sake tell me what powerful cause hath oppress'd thee with so kil­ling a Melancholie, Let me partake of thy misfortunes, as thou alwaies most dutifullie hast of mine. Make thy Father thy Confident, and assure thy self that I will omit nothing that may re-instate thee in thy former tran­quillitie.

Thus did the tender Father, caress his Son, but could not yet extort a word from him; But continuing still importunate, when the Young Man perceiv'd his Father would have an answer, with a Voice that easilie shew'd, what the thoughts were he was to express with it. For the Gods sake, let me alone, Sir, cried he out, and he pleased to pardon a diso­bedience that only my respect to my Father could have produc'd. He said no more, nor could the poor Sym­phronius make any probable Conje­cture yet, whence his Sons misfor­tunes and his own proceeded. And [Page 32]after having made a Hundred (Questi­ons, to no purpose, he was forc'd to leave him to his Solitude, where not long after he found him in a very vehe­ment Indisposition, which gave him the most fatal Apprehensions, that he was ever capable of conceiving.

Ah! Unjust Gods, would he often Cry out, and did that Pietie I have alwaies had for you, deserve such a recompence? Could not all my In­cence, and Sacrifices divert your Fu­rie; Was there not Jews enough, and Christians that scorn you, and all your Deities, to Plague with your Calamities, that you dispence them so prodigallie on your most Religious Observers? Had you but that com­passion you have planted in Human Breasts, and were you not either a­bove or below it, (for I cannot tell which to term it) you never would have injur'd so much Goodness and Innocence; at least if you would but look upon him with the eies of a Fa­ther, [Page 33]of so indulgent a Father as Sym­phronious. And thus did the unhap­pie Father make the Gods acquain­ted with his sorrows, which had it been directed to a Dietie, that could have heard, and had any power to succour him, might have prov'd effica­tious, for all his Blasphemies. But in vain he Cri'd, he Pray'd, he Curs'd; his Cries, his Praiers, and his Cur­ses were like those of Romantick A­mourists, that compliment the Woods, the Seas and Rocks, that they fancie are less cruel, then their cruel Fair Ones; sance they give them the hear­ing, which their Ladies will not do, and the complaisant Eccho gives them a favourable answer to all their Petitions. But had not the careful Symphronious taken a greater care of his Son, than his Gods did, a Feaver might have dispatch'd him out of the World, that was to fall by the im­mediate hand of the Almightie.

Our old Governour staies not long [Page 34]this condition, but procuring the best Physitians that were in Rome at that time, he endeavours by them to learn the cause of his Sons distemper. They felt his Pulse, they consulted his U­rine; but all their endeavours, accord­ing to the precepts of their Art, pro­ved ineffectual, which renderd the Old Gentleman a meer Desperado, and I perswade my self that that grief which was derived to him from his Son, was of the nature of some plants, a slip whereof will make a more good­lie Bodie than the Mother-stock, from whence it was taken: Since his Sons extravagant sorrows were mo­derate in comparison of his.

The Young Symphronius still pind away, and the Physitians being igno­rant of the cause of it, durst not make use of any Remedies. The Loving Father was yet the more un­fortunate, in that he was enforcd by another's Pulse to feel for his own indisposition. The Physitians ac­quainted [Page 35]the Governer with all they had done, and avow'd that the Soul was more disturb'd then the Bodie, that it exceeded their power, to applie Remedies to that, they expressed their sorrow that they could not serve him, and protested that except his Son were better satisfied, it was impossible he should stay long in the World.

You may give a guess at what Sym­phronius suffer'd at so unwelcome news as this, if you consider a loving and indulgent Mother, that was a little before made a Widdow by the Death of her beloved Husband, at­tending the Bed of her only Son that she now tenderlie dotes on, who just now in the Flower of his Age, and when she had provided some Lovlie Ladie to make happie with her chast Embraces, lies engag'd in a cruel Feavor, which either over vehement Exercises or some Surfeit may, it's possible have produc'd; and just now [Page 36]expiring his latest Breath, which his good Mother stands readie to receive, and catches at his Soul in it's excursion into Eternitie. Thus stood the poor Old Gentleman, and 'tis possible som­thing more afflicted, in that he had somthing yet left to fear, whereas the unhappie Mother was freed from so troublesome a Passion, and she had lost so much she need not any longer fear the furie of her enrag'd Fortune.

But Symphronious rather then per­ish was resolv'd to do his utmost, to extort this secret from his Son, and thence learn the cause of their com­mon unhappiness, and he usd such address, that the effect could not well be otherwise then what it was. He sat him down on the Lover's Bed­side, and takeing him by the hand with the tears trickling down his reve­rend Cheeks. Must we Dye then, my Boy, said he with a sigh, have Heaven and you decreed it so? He [Page 37]was going on, but a World of sighs broke off his discourse, and looking on his Son with all the markes of sorrow and compassion, he heard him with a low voice thus Answer him: we must dye, Sir, when Heaven is pleas'd to call us hence. No, cruel Child, re­ply'd the sad Symphronius hastilie, we must not dye yet, the Gods will not have it so. I conjure thee, by all that Religion Esteems obliging, by that Dutie thou ow'st me, by the consi­deration of thy own Interests, as well as mine, discover this secret, that will undo us all, if it any longer be conceal'd. 'Tis base and cowardly, 'tis impious and irreligious to dye, when we can help our selves, and to creep into the Grave for fear of our Misfortunes.

He made a pause here, and looking attentive upon our poor Lover, seeing him in suspence what he ought to do. Out with it for the sake of the Gods pursu'd he; Publish that Enemy to thy [Page 38]Repose, Banish it thence, and lodg it no longer in thy breast, to thy ut­ter ruin and my own. He spake this with all the earnestness imaginable, and allmost frighted the young man to a confession, that it's possible had never else been made. Ah! Sir, an­swered he, and sigh'd, why should you be thus urgent to know that, which when known you cannot re­medie. Thou knowest not what an afflicted Father, in his extreamitie, replyed Symphronius, with a great deal of precipitation, can do for a Son that he loves better than all the world. I can do any thing for my dear Child; my Love and Pitty shal render me allmost Omnipotent, and where my power shall prove de­ficient, the Gods shall second me, those Gods I have hitherto served with such Devotion. and that could never exert their power in a more glorious occasion than this. Good Sir, omit your importunitie, answer­ed [Page 39]then young Symphronius almost a­stonished. No Child, replied the Father. I must never omit it till I know, what it is afflicts you so. Will you know then, said the Lover very passionately. Know it at once, 'tis this; I Love. Is this that secret, cri­ed the Father, with a smile, that must be extorted from you with so much violence? Hath this cost me so many tears▪ Hath this so much im­paird your health, and disturb'd my contentment? Yes Sir, replyed the Lover, with a languishing tone, (for now he dare himself avow it) that love which I have preserved in my breast in the midst of all my sorrows, hath been the cause of all: But this is such a Love, as when you shall have learned it's Nature, and all it's circumstances, you will undoubtedlie pronounce it the most fatal, & me the most unfortunate Lover in the world. What some Coy Maid hath refused your addresses, said the kind Father, [Page 40]and you like a poor whining Lover must go and die fort? Is that all? Nay answer me. And is not that sufficient Sir, replied the Lover. But that's not all. She hath scorn'd me indeed and forbid my addresses, but my ill For­tune hath led me further. She Loves, but not me; She saies she's disposed of, and that to a person that she pre­fers to all the world, and Vows this Love shall, as she pretends it ought to be, be Eternal: And what now could render me more unhappy than I am? I Love, and must do so while I breath. She Scorns me, and will do do so Eternally. Now having learnt this, Sir, trouble not your self with him that is not only himself so unhap­py, but will infect all about him with his unhappiness. No Son, answerd Symphronius, I must not yet leave you, my pietie shall yet find some meanes to make you fortunate. On­ly tell me who this fair Tyrant is, and then if there's no other way 'tis but [Page 41]dying afterwards. 'Tis, Sir, you may easily guess her, the Handso­mest Lady in Rome, said the Inama­rato should I name the most glorious Light in the Heavens, you'd imme­diately say it was the Sun I meant, and when I shall tell you she is the most beautiful Lady in Rome, you may easily imagine 'tis Agnes. The good Father was extreamly satisfi'd, when he knew she was a Roman and no ignoble one, so that smilling, If Agnes said he be the Person that en­slav'd you, you shall see e're long what I can do for you, and assure your self I am not so much displeas'd at your Love, as the concealing of it.

Hereupon he went out immediate­ly towards the advancing his Design, and left our amorous Desperado in as great a contentment, as his condition was then capable to admit.

He flatter'd himself with somthing like what we call hope, and though he knew no reason for it, and was [Page 42]confident that Agnes's resolution was unalterable. Yet however he com­forted himself, since his Father was stirring in the business, and that in a place where his Interests might make him hope for all things from his help; where I shall leave him deluding him­self with his pretty fancies, and see what Symphronius is now adoing.

You may very probablie conjecture what address and industrie the Gover­nour made use of, in a Design that so nearlie concern'd him. He search'd out for the Ladie's Father and com­municated his intentions to him, to make a perpetual amitie between their two Families. He made clear to him the advantages of such a necessitude, and in a word did all he possibly could, to perswade him to what he said did very much conduce to their common happiness. The discreet Father of our blessed Votary, entertain'd his proposal with all the civility imagi­nable, and avowing to him, that it [Page 43]would be the most welcome thing in the world to him, to see his Daughter so well disposd of, assurd him he would use all his endeavours to per­swade her to it, and though she seem'd to have a resolution never to Marry; he doubted not but he might induce her to it. But if I cannot prevail by this Fatherly method of perswasion continu'd he, you must excuse me, if I want the power to serve you, and content your self with that hearty de­sire, I shall ever preserve, to favour both you and yours. And this, Sir, is my final resolution, and from which all the Arguments in Nature shall ne­ver be able to dissawde me, never to descend to any violent means; and force my dear Agnes to any Act, wherein her happiness is so highly con­cern'd. The Governour was not ex­treamly satisfi'd, with these last words of the discreet Father, and the joy that he resented at the first part of his discourse, was very much abated by [Page 44]what follow'd, considering what his Son had told of the obstinacy, (for so he term'd it) of his beloved Agnes; Nevertheless not to betray the cause he was engag'd in, I cannot chuse, said he, after a small silence, but con­demn that over scrupulous discretion of yours. Have you liv'd so long in the World, and are yet ignorant, that Maids must be forced to what they most desire, and that their formal mo­desty oftentimes makes them refuse that, which they pine and whine for ever after? No, Symphronius, I've often heard that piece of Raillery, re­ply'd the other, but can easily distin­guish between that force you speak of, and which you say will be so a­greeable, from that which hath pro­duc'd so dismal effects in the World. Our Marriages still represent the rape of the Sabines; but they do but re­present them; and there would not be so much jollity at our Nuptial So­lemnities, were the violence as real [Page 45]as then it was, you may assure your self, I shall oblige you with that per­sonated cruelty, and will do all that a Father lawfully can, to favour the Roman Governour.

Symphronius receivd his Civilities very Courteously, and after having once more conjur'd him to forward his Design, and protested it was the infallible means to make him his eter­nally; and it is more then probable, acquainted him with the danger his Son was in at that very Moment, and the cause of it; (which really seems to me, the most perswasive Argument that could be us'd in that conjun­ction;) he departed home-ward, as fast as his Love could carry him, and coming to our languishing Lover, he cry'd out very chearfully, Courage, my Symphronius, hope still. Thy Agnes must be thine, only live and recover, that thou mayst be in a con­dition to receive her favours. He spake this with so much satisfaction, [Page 46]that the Young Gentleman raising himself from his Pillow, as much as his weakness would permit him, and Reading his Destiny in the Air of his Father. Do not abuse me, Sir, said he, out of an Oppinion, that I fear I have too much reason to retain. Is it possible I should obtain my wishes? Can Agnes then be flexible, and pitty one that her Divine Beauty has al­most drag'd to his Grave? Oh! answer me, Sir, but with Sincerity and use not any Artifice to appease my Passi­on, that must have real blisses, or it will never cease its cruelty. No, Child, answer'd the Loving Father, there is no need of Artifice, only con­fide in me, and minde thy recovery, & thy Agnes shall be sooner ready to re­ceive thy Caresses; then thou to Em­brace, and thank her for her Kind­ness.

Thus did the obliging Symphroni­us comfort the drooping Lover, who though he intreated him to tell him [Page 47]his success, could by no means per­swade him to it. Only his Father acquainted him with the greatest part of the discourse that he had with the Ladies Father, so much I mean as made for his purpose, but he did it, as it were unwillingly, or before he was aware, which made the abusd Lover believe his affairs were in a bet­ter condition, then at first, he could hope they would ever come to. So that relying on his Father, and re­commending his Love to him, and desiring him never to use any vio­lence against the Fair Agnes, he de­sisted any longer to importune him, And the old Symphronius not long af­ter left him to ruminate on his ima­ginarie pleasures, and expected with all the impatience in the world, what answer he should receive from St. Ag­nes's Father; who was really no ill agent in the buisness, but press'd his Fair Daughter to a Marriage, that he told her was very advantagious to [Page 48]her. But meeting so uncommon a re­pugnance in her, and being at last ac­quainted with that sacred vow she had made of perpetual Virginity, he not only left off his perswasions, which he knew would prove useless, but al­so encourag'd her to keep her Vow, notwithstanding all the violence of Symphronius. He promis'd her all the help, he could render her, and flat­terd himself into a fond Opinion, that he being of a Noble Family, and of no small Interest in the City; the Governour durst not assault either him or his. But the Sequel baffled his presumption, and hath left us a dread­ful Example, of what a man is capa­ble of performing; when hurri'd on by the sudden Violence of some do­mineering Passion. But I must not prevent my Story.

The two Fathers not long after had a meeting, which doubtless was infi­nitely pleasing. At the first indeed their discourse was very obliging, [Page 49]but their common civilities once past over, where Symphronius urg'd the o­ther to some Positive answer, the brave Roman after some such short preamble, as we commonly usher in ill news withal, told him plainly his Daughter's repugnance to the Proposition, not out of any disre­spect to the Young Symphronius: whom all the City for his many excel­lent accomplishments both Lov'd and admir'd; but out of a most fix'd deter­mination, never to alter her Condi­tion. And would you rest satisfi'd with such an answer; reply'd Sym­phronius. How unkind are you to a person, that you were pleas'd once to call Friend, and to one that al­waies most dearly Lov'd you? This was only a formal Piece of Modesty: why would you not use that power, that Heaven and Nature have furnish­ed you withal? Why would you not treat her as a Daughter? She is all o­bedience, and a Father might per­swade [Page 50]her to any thing. No, reply'd the other with some precipitation, I will never abuse so much Innocence, nor force her to any thing that would meet the most cruel of Deaths to pre­serve her Father. I promis'd you to do what I could by softness and per­swasion, and Heaven knows I have exactly performd it, but to wrong so sweet a Daughter by forcing her Inclinations, and so consequently to engage her in an Eternal series of Mi­sery, is that, which I shall never en­dure to put in practise against my dear Agnes. Cruel Friend, is this all you will do for me in this Extre­mity? Answerd the Governour and sigh'd; are those all your endeavours to retreive my dear Boy from the Grave? For Heavens sake desist not at the first repulse. She may at last alter her resolution, and you may save my dear Symphronius, and ren­der me the most happy, as the most oblig'd, man in the World. Pro­pose [Page 51]not such impossibilities for a manifest of my Friend-ship, cry'd out the good Father of St. Agnes, and let not that amity I have for you, Ba­nish the Sentiments of Nature; let me continue a Father as well as a Friend, and have some consideration of my dear Child , my good Agnes, as well as of the Noble Symphronius.

These things are not so incompati­ble as you imagine, repli'd the Go­vernour; 'tis as much for her advan­tage as my Sons, and it will be your duty to dispose of your Daughter for the best, as well as an Obligation to succur a dying Son, and a distressed Father. Her resolution is but too just to be ever removed, said the other, and it would be too plain an injustice in me to oppose it; And since you will not otherwise be satisfid be plea­sed to know; She hath already got her a Husband, and such a one, as I cannot refuse. His worth, his Riches, his Virtues, his most No­ble [Page 52]Love and Affection, are too con­siderable not to make him receiv'd. And I must avow to you, that my Agnes scarce Loves him with a grea­ter Passion than my self. Fals un­kind Man said Symphronius; And who can this worthy Person be, that you despise the Son of the Roman Go­vernour for his sake? Whoever he be, answer'd the other very sharply, I do, and must prefer him to all the world. Nor shall my Love of Sym­phronius, nor all his menaces make me do any otherwise.

They parted immediately upon this, and though the discreet Father of the blessed St. Agnes, had done nothing but upon Mature deliberati­on, he half repented of what he had said, and wish'd his Duty would have suffered himself to speak something more agreeable. But then remem­bring his. Dear Saviour, his Holy Daughters Pious Protestations, and that Noble perswasion, that it was [Page 53]better to have a Daughter a Holy Virgin, then to see her in all the pomp in the World. He immediate­ly repented again, of his easy and in­considerate repentance it self, and more fully resolved to further his Daughters Piety. But Symphronius was not so much at rest: How many dreadful thoughts had he then in his Breast, what Designs was he contri­ving against the fair Agnes and her good Father: How often did he damn that Rival, that stood in his way be­tween him, and happines; But at last after many abortive contrivances, and a Thousand Menaces that came to nothing, he began to recollect him­self, and considering what an infinite displeasure it would be to his Son, to hear such unwelcome news as this, he resolved to conceal it, and make him believe his Love Affairs were in a very good posture. And to this end, putting on a good Face, and suppres­sing that sorrow which was at present [Page 54]but too visible all about him, and looking as Merrily as he possibly could, he came to his Son, and assu­red him by a very Pious Imposture, that his Mistrisse's Rigour, and Mai­den modesty was at last conquered; that so soon as he was recovered, he might take Possession of his own cru­el fair one.

The Young Man could not pre­sently believe him, and the greatness of his happiness made him suspect the truth of it; but being it was his Father that told him so, (that Loving and Dear Father, that had so tender­ly doted on him, ever since the first Minute of his Life, and had given such pregnant Proofs of his incompa­rable Affection so lately;) he esteem­ed it impious to suspect him of any deceit, and gave a blind consent to all he said, and with tears of joy in his languishing eies, he tendered his humble thanks, and duty Ten Thou­sand times. Just so some Merchant's [Page 55]Darling dearly caresses his Loving Father, when he is after the absence of some Years, returned from a dan­gerous Voyage. When the Boy and his Mother are in a pretty contest, which shall best express an unfeigned Joy, and Loving Resentments.

If ever the quiet of the Soul did extreamly advance the help of the body, it was in our lover at that time, and those two familiar Neigh­bours, the Soul and the Bodie, did so equally share each others Joyes, as well as Sorrows, that as soon as the Soul return'd to it's former tranquili­tie, the humours reassumed their tem­perament, and the whole Bodie in­sensiblie recover'd it's strength and vigour. But his Malancholy had so weakned him, that he vvas confined to his Chamber for some time, vvhere vve shall leave him pleasing himself vvith God knovvs vvhat thoughts, and pursue his careful Father, vvho is novv employ'd to compass his design, [Page 56]and make good his vvord to his Son at his recovery.

To this end, he made it his first buisness to hunt out this unknovvn Rival, or rather this too happie pos­sessor of so fair a Treasure. He had spent some time to no purpose, when at last by accident he met a friend of his, vvho enquiring after the cause of his unusual Malancholy, and hav­ing heard at last the vvhole Storie, surprized him vvith the strangest nevvs imaginable. 'Tis no vvonder, Sir, said he, if your Intelligence hath faild you; this is no such Rival as you expected, and to clear what I tell you, be assured from me, She is one of the Sect vve call Christians, and being besotted vvith that foolish and ridiculous persvvasion, she boasts that Jesus, their great Prophet, or their Divinitie, or vvhatever he be, that they vvorship, that Jesus, that they say vvas Crucyfied, and tell us a hundred strange Stories of, is her Husband, [Page 57]that she hath Vovved her Virginitie to him, as many more of them do; and this Vow, she saies, sheis resolv­ed never to violate. Now, Sir, if you can draw any thing hence for your advantage, I dare witness what I say, and will embrace this opportu­nitie, as I shall all other, wherein I may serve you most willingly.

The Governour could scarce be­lieve this at first hearing, but being confirmed by Oaths, and Protesta­tions, and those too the most Sacred that their Religion could furnish them with, he began to think, that some plot might be built upon this, and the thing being not verie difficult, be re­solved on it immediatelie; and thank­ing his Friend for his Intelligence, and conjuring him by their former Friend­ship, and what ever else he thought was perswasive, to keep all secret, and to be with him on the morrow somthing earlie, he departed, and laid all in readiness for his proceed­ing [Page 58]But he took all the care in the world that Young Symphronius should not know of it, who not dreaming of any thing else but his Mistrisse's fa­vour, their Nuptials, and all that Train of Delights he might ex­pect from thence, was enjoying his imaginarie pleasures that never must have any other. Fond Men, how do we pursue we know not what, and place our selves upon a Precipeice? Little thought he of a destroying An­gel, or that Calamitie that hung o­ver his head.

The Governour at the time of Ju­dicature dispatch'd his Officers to bring the Holie Votary to his Tri­bunal, who, when they came to her Fathers house, and demanded her in the Name of the Governour, would not perhaps so easilie have got her thence, had not the Blessed Martyr her self been consenting to it. Her Father was providing for Resistance, and imagining what was the reason [Page 59]she was sent for, he could not easilie be induced to part with his Pious, O­bedient Child. The Mothers senti­ments were not much diffetent from his. She wept, she lift up her eies to Heaven, and with a thousand pierc­ing Ejaculations, invok'd the Holie Jesus to her rescue; she recommen­ded her Child no longer hers, but his Spouse, into his Sacred protection; nor did her Devotion hinder her En­deavours. It was in the midst of these preparations that the Holie Saint was acquainted with the Officers de­mands, and perswaded her self that Christianity was the Crime she was to answer for, and then kneeling down most devoutlie, and directing her fair eies to Heaven. The hour is com­ing, Sweet Jesu (she cri'd out) when my Soul shall take it's flight to Thee and Glorie. Lord preserve thy ser­vent in this my last encounter against our common Enemies. Continue thy Gracious Goodness, let me not faint [Page 60]in my last effort of Piety Preserve me to thy self sweet Jesu, I am thine, my Vow and thy Goodness have made me so; O do not desert me in my last Extremity, but be pleased to lead me from one Crown to another, from that of Martyrdom to that of thy Eternal Glory. What a sweet Joy and pleasure did the good Lady then resent; what an agreeable ear­nest did she then receive of a blessed Eternity, in spite of her Body, that clog to her ardent Soul, that hung on it's Wings when it took any brave flight towards Heaven: In spite of it, and all its Passions, she was almost ravished in to Happiness, and saw her Blessed Lord even before her Matyr­dom.

But she staid not long here, before she went to meet her ruine, as others would interpret it, but as her Pious Soul thought, her way to Glory. She found her Father in the midst of his Preparations, and looking upon him [Page 61]with a Face as gay, an Air as brisk and lively as ever she had in her Life. Stay dear Sir, said she, stay, and be pleased to remember that we call our selves Christians. This is not that resistance that our blessed Lord hath taught us both by his word and his Example. He that could summon all the Angels in the Heaven, and make all the World assist him, died quietlie, and suffered tamelie the rage and fury of Men and Divels, He did so good sir, and let us for Gods sake do no otherwise.

The Father was very much surpri­sed at so charming a perswasion, and was in a doubtful suspence how to be­have himself, when his blessed Daugh­ter pursued her petition. Ah! can you doubt, Sir, whether you ought to follow so glorious an example. Let us go and stem the fury of our Adver­saries; but let our Tears and Praiers be the only Arms against them. Let me go, Sir, and be more nearly united [Page 62]to my dear Redeemer and let me testi­fie to all the World, that neither Love nor Fury can separate me from so good a Master: wilt thou go then dear Child, and leave thy wretched Father, replied he with a languishing Accent. Yes. Sir, I will fly to my sweet Saviour, cried out St. Agnes. I will perform his holy pleasure with all alacrity, I have hitherto waited with patience for the happy hour, wherein he would be pleased to take me out of this miserable Life; but since the time is come, I will not by an un-Christian resistance, stop up my passage to Glory. 'Tis my Interest, as well as my Duty, that invites me to it, and your extravagant Love would be infinitely prejudicious to the, should it any longer oppose those Superiours, that God hath command­ed us to obey. I must consent then, I see, said her Father throwing down his Arms, with an action wholy dis­consolate, and taking my last fare­well [Page 63]of my Dear, my Obedient, my Christian Agnes. Go then to that Glory, which thy Lord hath provi­ded for thee, and leave thy Parents here in tears, while thou art advan'd to a place, where all tears shall be wiped from our eies. I should never have done should I tell all the passio­nate and pious discourses of the good Mother to her blessed Child, who hanging about her fair Neck, took a Thousand Farewels, and would ne­ver have left her, had not the Officers been urgent to hasten her delivery. At last they parted, but with no less pain and trouble then ever Soul and Bodie did in the Rigour of Youth, af­ter the familiour acquaintance of Thirtie Years. Her Father would accompanie her, though she expres­sed a great deal of repugnance to it, fearing least his immoderate Love might hurrie him on to some Vio­lence, and make him endeavour to retard her Martyrdom.

But go he did, and led his fair Sa­crifice to her Stage of Glory, where the Governour sat expecting her, and according to the usual formalitie, (which was but too too common in those daies; that is about the Tenth Persecution) demanding what she was whether a Christian or otherwise? She confidence avowed it, and that with as much courage and assurance, as if she had expected the greatest honour in the world, from her Confession; Symphronius seeing her Noble Confi­dence, began to shew her the danger of her obstinacy, and with a malici­ous kind of kindness, advised her to de­sert it. He promised her she should be pardoned her crime, did she not continue in it, and allured her to this Apostasie by a magnificent promise of honours and preferments, and spoke really so obliginglie to the fair Mar­tyr, that any Soul but hers, which yet had not arived to her Thirteenth Year, would have been perverted. [Page 65]But she brave Lady kept her undaun­ted assurance, she firmlie stood the Shock of all his Insinuations, & like a Christian Heroine looking upon her Judge with eies that had prevented her words, she made him see but too visibly the effect of his perswasions. No Governour, cried she out, omit thy promises, unless thy Liberalitie could Enrich me with better things, then those thou mention'st. My God hath prepared a more Glorious Pos­session for his Servants, and though my Christianitie must expose me to Death, with all it's terrible appen­dages, know, I will still preserve it, and when I have by all the tortures thou canst Plague me with, ended my miserable Life, to be Translated to a better; I will still hug my per­swasion, and bless my Holy Jesus, that for so small a suffering is pleased to place me in an Eternal State of Glory; I'le expire my Breath though it be in the midst of Flames and Racks, [Page 66]and all those Instruments of Cruelty, that your Ingenious Villanie can possibly invent, with an incomparable joy, and a transcendent content­ment; since I must die for my dearest Lord, who was graciously pleased to do more then die for me; Yes Sweet Saviour, I will, if it be thy Holie plea­sure, and manifest to those Infidels, that all their Persecutions shall never divide thy Church and Thee. And since that if I lived with Thee, in my death I will never be divided.

She said this, with so Heroick a boldness, that the people could not chuse but admire her, and wish with all their Hearts she were disingag'd of that bewitching peice of Follie (for so they called Christianity) that ex­posed her to so manifest a danger. But the Governour had very differ­ent thoughts of her, and called her Brave boldness, Sawciness, and Ob­stinacy, and said her Christianity had made her Beside her self, and since [Page 67]his Promises proved ineffectual, he resolved to take a rougher course with her, and see what Menaces and Threats would do. He esteemed all her Protestations as vain, idle Rho­domantado's, which a few harsh words, and the very Sight of Tor­tures might force her to forsake. To which purpose, we shall, cried he, in a transport of Fury, see whether you will preserve this rashness in the midst of punishments, and what a firm constancy you'l present us with, when the Flames are about your ears. Know therefore my young Stoick of the long Robe, except you imme­diately Sacrifice to the Gods, and Abjure your Foppery, that hath trou­bled the world for almost 300 years, I will proceed against you according to the course of Justice, and revenge my self and the Gods on our common Enemie. Do, cruel man, replyed the Fair Agnes very vehemently, abandon thy self to thy Furie, provide [Page 68]more and more exquisite Utensils of Crueltie, then have ever yet been invented. I will suffer all thou can'st inflict, and in the midst of all, I will contemn thy Gods as much as now I do. Thou may'st rob me of this poor & transitory life, which is a thing I never valued nor esteemed, but thou shalt then, though unwillingly, advance me to an Eternal one. Thou may'st sepe­rate this Soul from it's Bodie, but thou shalt joyn it then to it's Dear Master. In a word, what ever thou can'st do to me shall never deprive me of my Sourse of Comforts. I will still hold fast my Belief of my Savi­our, while I keep my breath, and when I have parted with that servant of life, and life together, I will still continue what I am, and glorie to be called a Christian.

The Governour was astonished to find so much courage in a Woman. He could not chuse, maugre all his re­sistance, but admire her: He began [Page 69]his heart to disesteem the Regulus's Cato's, Rutullus, and Socrates, and those Prodigies of constancy, that the Ancients boasted of, to see a feeble Woman Rival them in their Glories, and be readie to march to the Flames, with a truer contentment, then ever Socrates drank up his Poyson, or Cato stab'd himself. He then began to e­steem her too, and to wish he could perswade her to save her Life at the expence of her Christianitie; and considering his Sons happiness was very much concerned in her safety, he could not absolutely resolve on her Death, without the greatest re­gret that can be imagin'd. Besides the promise he had made his Son con­founded him, and the bad success of his Intrigue; for he verily believed if he could but once make her cease to be a Christian, she would dispense with her vow, and immediately con­sent to his desires. He thereupon assumed a Milder Countenance, and [Page 70]banishing that fiercness he had a little before, he descends again to his Mild­er way of perswasion. Come you must live, said he, I cannot have the heart to doom so Brave a Spirit to the Flames. I will save you, in de­spite of you, and must have you leave your foolish perswasion, that tells you of impossibilities to come, and thereupon engages you to deny your self all the pleasures of this present life. I will furnish you with more certain delights, and bring you to a love of that life, which now you so little care for. Do no more blas­pheme our Gods, though they are merciful, they will at last revenge these injuries; but come and Wor­ship them, and let your Repentance shew your sorrow for your impieties.

Peace unjust Governour, cried out the Saint, with indignation, and do no more strive to divorce me from my happiness, my Dear Saviour. Thy sly insinuations shall prove as useless [Page 71]as thy menaces, and both together, with all thou can'st do beside, shall never induce me to abjure my Chri­stianitie, or to embrace a Religion that bids me worship Stocks, and pay Devotion to the work of Artists. I defie the Anger of thy Gods, go fright poor Ignorant Superstitious Fools with Jupiter's Bolt, and Neptune's Tri­dent; I fear them less then thee, and dare blaspheme them with far greater securitie, than abuse the weakest of thy people. Let thy injured Divini­ties vindicate their honour, with all the power they can. I am protected, and dare bid defiance to them and their Idolators. She spoke this with all the vehemence she could, and strook a secret terrour into all that heard her, who stopping their ears, and stamping on the ground, to sig­nifie they detested her Blasphemies, cry'd out, Away with her to the Stake, and let her punishment expiate her Im­pietie, lest the Gods plague us with some [Page 72]signal Judgment, if we let such wicked­ness goe unpunished.

Symphronius was very much dis­pleased to see the people in such a disturbance, and to see himself almost enforced to deliver her to the Execu­tioner. But causing a silence to be made. Romans, said he, content your selves, you shall either see her die, or recant her blasphemies. The Gods will be better satisfied with her Re­pentance, then her punishment, and since upon better consideration she may alter her resolution, she shall be conveighed hence to prison, and here to morrow we shall expect her final determination, and thence proceed ei­ther in her favour, or to her prejudice. The Proposition pleased the people, and they expressed their approbation by their Acclamations, and solemn Euge's. Whereupon Symphronius ad­dressing himself to the Saint. We give you this night to consider better on it, and hope your reason will per­swade [Page 73]you rather to accept your life with Honours and Preferments, than a Death as Painful as Ignominious. That shameful Death, replied the ho­lie Votary very brisklie, I prefer to all thou can'st bestow upon me. You need not delay your cruelties, you have my Answer, which the fear of Ten Thousand Deaths shall never al­ter. She was proceeding, when the Governour gave order to have her ta­ken away to Prison. She went with­out the least repugnance, and consi­dered her Prison as the Preludium to her Martyrdom.

It will not be difficult to imagine how her good Father resented all this. He was going to speak in her defence a Hundred times, but consi­dering it would be only an impru­dence to involve himself in her Cala­mitie without any hopes of helping her, he stood astonished; and in the midst of all his sorrows, a secret joy would often surprise him, to see his [Page 74]Daughters pious assurance, which he could not chuse but applaud and admire, though he knew it would rob him infalliblie of what was dearest to him in the world; his dearest Agnes. In this Condition he stood, when the Virgin was carried away, and though he was resolved to follow her, he could not go a step in her per­suit, and then it was when Symphroni­us chanced to see him, who coming to him said very mildly. Go, Sir, and perswade your Daughter not to throw away her Life. My Symphronius would be a better Companion then the Stake, and a Nuptial Torch, then a Funeral Flame. He said no more, but im­mediately left him least he should an­swer unpleasantly as indeed with rea­son he could expect no other.

He might have spared himself the trouble of this admonition, and the Loving Father needed not much per­swasion, to do what his Love com­pelled him to. He presenly follow­ed [Page 75]the Young Lady to her Prison, and I should give my self an unnecessary trouble, to tell you all their Holy Communication. Her Mother was not long absent, who being inform­ed of all that was past, ran to the Pri­son. Never was such dear and ob­liging Discourses, such Pious Conso­lations, such Affectionate Tears in the World, as then that Prison was Conscious of. And I should never Have done, should I insist on the par­ticulars. It shall therefore suffice to say, that at last her Parents withdrew, To leave her to her Devotions, which 'tis possible, no other consideration could have induced them to. What Pious Raptures had our Good Agnes, when she considered her approaching Martyrdom. Ah! good God, would she somtimes say, 'tis in vain they ex­pect I should renounce my right in thee; they shall never force me to disclaim the Interest I have in thee. The more I consider thy incompara­ble [Page 76]goodness, the more I am con­firmed in my holie resolutions, to Live and Dye a Christian; I did not imbrace Christianitie to desert it shamefullie. No Dear Lord, I will never stain my former Life with so black an Apostasie. I will not, sweet Jesu, by thy gracious assistance, and Flesh and Blood, Durst and Ashes as I am, by thy help I will carrie away the Victorie from the conspiring fury of Hell and Earth. Then got long after in a deep Reverie would she be almost transla ted into Glory, and inticipate that Heaven she was going to possess.

THus did the Holy Votary keep the Vigil to that Glorious Festi­val of her Martyrdom, after the pri­mitive custome of the Church, before Superstition or Profainess had de­bauched the true Christian Piety.

But the Morning was at last come, and Symphronius at the accustomed hour seated on his Tribunal; com­maded the Prisoner to be brought. He had taken infinite care to conceal from his Son what had past the day before, and left him now engaged in as plea­sant imaginations as ever, while his own Soul, God knows, was travers'd with the greatest distrac­tions imagi­nable. [Page 79]Somtimes Piety prevailed, and presented him with the fair Idea of the Chast Virgin, tyed to a Stake with the Flames all about her, and then starting up on the suddain, she must not dye, would he cry out, that is so Lovly in the midst of all her Sor­rows. If the Sun shining through a watry Cloud dazles our eies, what would he do in a clear Heaven, and at his full Meridian. While pitty thus wholly possessed his Soul, and controlled all his other Passions, Ju­stice began to oppose it, he consider­ed her then as the Blasphemer of the Gods, and then presently damming his guilty Pitty; he resolved to see her die or hear her recant. And then the next minute he looked upon her as his Sons Mistress, in whose ruine he should infallibly bury his own and his Son's contentment; In such a distracti­on as this did he ascend the Tribunal, whither the chast Agnes was not long after brought. I need not tell you [Page 80]her Parents accompani'd her, since their former affection may make you very confident of it.

She came with her former courage, and her Air so lively, and so nobly confident, did very well inform the Judge, and all the People of her Con­stancy. Her eies proclaimed her no A postate, and a Tyrant after he hath waded through Seas of Blood, to ac­quire a Crown, never hug'd it with a greater Satisfaction, than she did her Persecutions. When Symphronius demanded whether she did yet repent of her impieties, and would accept her Life upon his conditions, you would have admired her Christian answer. The brave Heroine still avow'd her perseverance in that Opinion, which he falsly called Impiety, she pursued their Gods with new Injuries, and after a noble Harangue looking upon the Governour with a Christian assu­rance. Thou hast my final answer, continued she, proceed now to my [Page 81]Condemnation. I am as guilty as Christianity can make me. I shall never accept my Life upon such base Conditions, as thou proposest; I scorne to court thy favour, my God if he please can protect me, and if he wils my Death, I will willingly and joyfully entertain it. Prepare those Stakes and Faggots now, expose me to the wild Beasts, and take away my Life the next moment, I will not dis­grace my Obedience with a murmur; Thou canst but make me dye, som­thing sooner then Nature requires. All thy cruelties can give me but one Death, that's all thy tortures can at the utmost amount to. But that Death with all it's frightful adjuncts, shall never deprive me of my bountiful Sa­viour, that will instate me in Eternal Life and Glory.

Symphronius was more confounded then ever, at so unparallel'd a con­stancy, but staying some minutes in a deep astonishment, at last he rose up [Page 82]and looking upon the Saint. Since Death is a thing you so much desire, said he with a malicious laughter, you shall Live somthing longer. We can touch you in a more sensible part, and the Honour and Chastity you have vowed to preserve, and thereupon dispised a person you were wholy un­worthy of, shall be a Sacrifice to the fury of the Gods. Is this the last ef­fort of thy Malice? Answered the Saint, and smil'd, do, Prosecute thy Design, my God to whom I have vow­ed my Chastity, is able to preserve it. This is too weak an Engine to storm my Faith, and though I prefer my Honour Ten Thousand times to Life, and all thy gawdy Possessions, be assured that the fear of losing it shall never induce me to sacrifice to a Stone. My Chastity is in too safe hands for thou, or all the world to violate it. Since you are so mightily taken with this Honour and Virginity, said the Governour, go sacrifice to the God­dess [Page 83] Vesta, and so preserve both your Life and Honour. Become one of her holy Vestals, and direct your Devotion to it's right end. If I for my dear Saviour, replyed the Lady, despis'd thy Son, that lived and mov­ed, and was informed by a reasonable Soul, and endowed with all ac­complishments desirable in his age; think not thy Goddess, as thou call'st her, the Creature of some Work­man, that neither sees nor hears me, that neither sent's your Sacrifices, nor is conscious of the Honours you do her, shall ever bring me to Aposta­sie. I contemn thy Gods more, than thee, those useless, nay more, those destructive pieces of Stone, and me­tal: Your foolish Legends of the mi­serable Niobe, and the unfortunate Actaeon shall never fright me into an Opinion, as Impious as 'tis Ridicu­lous. You must needs adore a whole Troop of Gods, though your Philo­sophers laugh at many Infinites. Nor [Page 84]really can I conceive a God of a cir­cumscrib'd power, and jurisdiction. Brake down their Altars, then deface their Imagies, and convert their God­ships, that have lain fallow for so many Ages, at last to some use; go pave the Streets with them, you need not fear what a Stone can do to you, and you may trample on them with greater security, then adore them; since there's no fear they should rise up to revenge themselves, but 'tis not impossible, that their Images, may, as Nero's once did, fall down, and destroy their Votaries.

The Governour and the People were so exasperated at her sawcy Blas­phemies, as they seemed not a­ble to contain themselves, they a­bandoned themselves to their fury, which at that time they thought was too just, and reasonable to be con­demned. Symphronius rose up like a Mad-man, and cried out with the greatest fury in the world. We shall [Page 85]see how your God will protect your Life and Honour, that could not save himself from the Cross, And then without delay he commanded her to be stript of all her Cloths, and then to be led Naked to the common Bordelli, and there to be exposed to the lust of all comers. Which com­mand of the Tyrant was so readily obeyed, that the Holy Agnes had no time to make an answer. The Barba­rous Ruffins had in a moment per­formed their Office, and left the Pi­ous Creature without any covering but her Innocency. But her heaven­ly Husband did not here desert her, for her hair fell down so long, so thick, and shady, that not the least part of her Body could be seen. The People were amazed at the sight, and imagined it was a trick of her Witche­rie (for Christians at that time were commonly branded with the name of Witches and Wizards) and notwith­standing so signal a miracle pursued [Page 86]their Villanies. But be pleased La­dies to consider the chast Virgin in this condititon.

THus was the fair Agnes led along towards the place of dishonour. Whilst the People, even the most zealous among them, that is the most savage and impions could not chuse but commiserate her condition. The Roman Ladies, though they were as great Sticklers for their Paganism, as their Husbands, rag'd and condemn'd the Governour. They blush'd to see one of their own Sex thus exposed to the sight and laughter of all the world, and though they condemned her blas­phemies, they could not think, that she deserved so cruel a treatment. [Page 88]However they said it was infinitely uh­just to punish the whole Sex, for the fault of a single Person; and after these considerations what lamentati­ons, what distractions were amongst them? Nay those that were the most prudent and stay'd Persons, could not moderate their Passions in so strange reencounter.

Thus did the Ladies express their sentiments of their Husbands cruelty, but the poor Agnes was not the better for them. The savage Ruffins led her along for all the cries of the Di­stracted Matrons, though common modesty, and that respect her brave deportment had strook into them, had made the more civil part of the Peo­ple to depart, or hide their eies from so uncommon and unbeseeming a Spe­ctacle.

And now at last our chast Votary was brought into the Bordelli. She blushed, she trembled at the sight of it, but after some minutes astonish­ment. [Page 89]'Tis for thy sake, my dear Lord, she cried out, that I enter in­to this place of pollution, preserve thou my Chastity, thou that mak'st the Sun shine on a Dunghill without defiling it, let not my Virtue contract a stain from this place and be pleased to keep me chast, where hitherto there was nothing but abomination. She would have proceeded had not the rabble disturbed her by their out­cry. She was then led into her Cham­ber, which was formerly dedicated to uncleaness, but her very presence sanctified the place. The Sun can make day in Green-land after the night hath continued for Six Months together, and our Saint can transfund a Sanctity into a Bawdy House, where virtue was never thought of. Who would not wonder to see one on his Knees there to any thing but his Mi­stress? To hear Praiers instead of Oaths, and instead of a Damn, a Lord deliver me.

THus did she spend her minutes in that place of wickedness, her Pi­ous Soul retaind its native purity, & never entertained her Lord with more Devotion than at that time. Her piety I perswade my self was natural to her, and like all natural Motions moved swiftest towards the end. Her Mar­tyrdom now approaching, her Devo­tion was more vigorous, and the pie­ty of all the time she might have lived, had not the Tyrant robd the world of so bright a Jewel, being contracted into so short a time, was infinitely aug­mented. She assaulted the Almighty with so agreeable a violence, that he showed his approbation of her petiti­ons in a manner very miraculuos.

While she was intent upon her De­votion, casting her eies by chance on one side; she espied hanging on the wall a pure white Garment, whereas when she came in, there was none there, She was at first surprised both with the incomparable whiteness and [Page 93]pureness of it, and wondered how so much cleaness should come into so de­filed a place. But immediately re­flecting on her own Nakedness, she acknowledged it was the goodness of her Lord, that did not forsake her in that condition. She took it, and putting it on, with her bright eies lift up to Heaven, Dear Lord , said she, how infinite is thy goodness , it still pursues me. Thou art pleased to succour thy poor and unworthy Ser­vant in a Stew, and hast sent thy Holy Angel with this Heavenly Garment to cover my Nakedness. Lord make me worthy of these thy favours, keep me pure and immaculate, and trans­late me hence into that place of puri­tie, where no fear of Stews, nor ap­prehension of Governours, with their Sons may molest me. Where in that Virgin Quire, whereof thy blessed Mother is the chief; I may caroll out thy praises, and in a long white Robe be ever happy in the contemplation of thy Divine Excellence.

THus did she thankfully resent the Divine Goodness, and expressed her gratitude. And now what Cen­sorious and rigid Christian would not consent to the Consecration of this Brothel-house, and make a Christian Church of a Pagan Whore-house.

While the Saint was thus employ­ed, the People were not engaged in so Pious an employment. They had not left the Stew, but staid attend­ing at the Door, least she should make an escape, and I conjecture too, it was partly out of respect that they did not go in too her, till the Young [Page 96] Symphronius had had his desires. But some of the boldest of them came con­fidently in to look upon her, and feed their eies with so unhandsome a sight. But they staid not long there, for our blessed Saviour had invested his Saint with so heavnly a lustre, that they fell upon their Faces and retird with all the hast and respect they could. Thus our bountiful Redeemer was pleased to communicate his Heavenly Wardrobe, and wipe all tears from her eies, or if any remaind there, they turned into Christian Jewels, while the Glory of her countenance illustra­ted them. As the Sun turns an in­comparable Jeweller, when it shines through a waterie Cloud, and makes every drop a Diamant, resplendent in its native dew. Our bold intruders came out again, not so brisk as they went in, which gave the People a fresh cause of Admiration. They asked them a Hundred times what was the matter, but could not receive a [Page 97]word in answer; whereupon some bold Ruffins among them resolved to march in, and see if the Sorceress (for so they called her) would send them back in the same condition. But their confidence had the same issue, for they returned, as much surprised as the former, so that they desisted from such Intrusions.

Go now, foolish Tyrant, pursue thy crueltie, deprive her of all her Garments; her God shall supplie her; expose her to the lust of all the world, set the doors open, and invite all the Roman Gentlemen to the fruition of a Young and Handsome Lady, her God shall still preserve her, and her Guar­dian Angel defeat all thy projects a­gainst her. Yes Tyrant, in spite of all thy fury she still preserves her Chastity, even in a Stew, and remains there a purer Virgin, then thy Vestal Recluses are in their private Apart­ment. But thou alas art not now in a condition to hear good advice, thy [Page 98]cares are directed to a very different end, and instead of freeing the Inno­cent Lady, thou art now coining her some new Destruction.

The Young Lover that had flatter­ed himself for some time with the fair hopes of enjoying his wishes, was now in a condition to leave his Chamber, and take Possession of his Mistress, as his Father had promisd him he should; He was thinking of nothing else, when Symphronius entered the Chamber, who looking upon his Son very ear­nestly. Go dear Boy, said he, and injoy thy Agnes she cannot now op­pose thy wishes, and thou hast all the conveniences in the world of making thy self as happy, as Agnes can make thee. The Young Man was so over joyed at so welcome a Proposition, that he could not find his Tongue im­mediately to thank his Father, and shew with what willingness he would obey him; but after some time look­ing on his Father with eies that lan­guished [Page 66]with desire. Igo, Sir, said he, both because my own Inclinati­ons invite me thither, and you are pleased to command me. He said no more but was leaving his Chamber to fly to the Arms of his Agnes, when his Father staid him, and looking on him with more distraction then be­fore. But you must enjoy her in a Stew then, said the Governour. Our Lover was confounded at so strange an advertisement. Is Agnes fals then? Cried he out, very furiously; has she violated her Innocence? and ru­ined her honour? that honour that she opposed me with for so long a time, and that though it hindered my happiness, I could not but admire. Is the Lovly, Virtuous Agnes, turned a strumpet, and was she only a fair Hypocrite when she stood most upon her Virtue? Was all her Piety but a personated peice of goodness? Ah! Sir, tis impossible for the best of Wo­men to remain innocent for a moment [Page 100]after the Beautiful Agnes hath left her Goodness by so shameful an Apostasie. No, Child, you mistake your self, an­swerd the Governour: Ay, I do mistake my self, replied the Lover hastily, tis impossible she should be guilty of such a wickedness, Villain that durst suspect her, and durst believe all the world to her disadvantage. Agnes can ne­ver be in a Stew, till it cease to be so, and it must first be made Virtuous be­fore Agnes can be brought to it. As our noble part, the Soul, is never in­funded, till the Mass of matter be furnished with convenient Organs for it's reception. He was so transported in his Harangue, that his Father could not stop him, till he came hither; but perceiving him stay a little, he said. Your Agnes is indeed in a Stew, but she hath still kept her honour, and were Lust the only crime she could be accused of, she were the greatest peice of Excellence in the world. Good, Sir, abuse me not, replied the Lover somthing more mildly than [Page 101]before, with your pleasing Paradoxe: Though were that possible, continu­ed he, you tell me of, it would be possible to none but my dear Agnes, and she would be the only person in the world, that could declame De­bauchery, and transfund Virtue in­to the Stews. His Father seeing him now somthing pacified and in a condi­tion to hear him, assum'd the discourse, and told him all that had past; he ac­quainted him with her Christianity, and what had past, very faithfully. And at last looking upon his Son with all the fury in the world. Go revenge us, said he, on that fair Enemy of Heaven take thy satisfaction, Fruition is the same all the world over, whe­ther in a Stew, or private Apart­ment. Stand not now upon your Punctilio's of Honour: I conjure you to it by your duty, by that Piety you owe the Gods, and the satisfaction you owe your self, and me. It would be impossible for me, sully to describe [Page 102]our Lover's confusion. He grew pale, and red again, he tremb­led, and when he endeavoured to speak, he falter'd, and his Tongue could not then serve him, with that Office he requir'd of it. His Father made use of his silence, and pressed him so vehemently to a thing, that were it not for some unhandsome cir­cumstances, he desir'd above any thing in the world, that at last his reason retir'd, and his Passion hurried him on to the performance of it. How did his Father then imbrace and ca­ress him, and forthwith sent him out to the the accomplishment of what he so much desir'd.

The Young Man no longer made any scruple to obey him, but enter'd into the Stew, as he would into that Elizium their Religion told them of. He entered indeed, for nothing now could stop him, but with the same success as that Roman Emperour, the Noble Julius, did into the Senate, [Page 103]to be ruined in that place, where he expected the crowning of his wishes. He was no sooner in the Chamber, but seeing his beloved Agnes, (he could not possibly mistake her, that carried her Beautiful Idea in his Heart continually,) he spied her Heavenly Vestment, and her surrounding Glo­ry; he was surprised at this; but he reassum'd his courage, and ad­vanced towards his Mistres, and his Destruction. For the Devil by the Permission of the Almighty, strangled him. The Holy Maid was extream­ly troubled at it, but considering all this was done for the preservation of her Chastity, she blessed her Saviour for his wonderful assistance, and could not but admire his infinite Power and Goodness, that made e­ven the Devil destroy their common Enemies.

THe Lady continued in her Devoti­on, and the People out of respect to the Young Symphronius ceased their Incivilities, and seeing him stay somthing long within, imagined he was about his pleasures, and there­fore entered not in for a considerable time. But at last seeing he came not out, suspecting by the success of the former Intruders, that the fair Witch (for they could not allow any better Title) might have kil'd him, they rush'd in, and found the poor Lover cold and pale upon the Ground, and immediately cried out, the Sorceress hath kil'd the Son of the Governour: they all pursued to the Stake with her, to revenge the Gods and the Governour.

This lamentable news presently ar­rived at the Governours ears, who half Distracted at it, run furiously to the Stew, and approaching the Holy Agnes, Dam'd Sorceress, cried he out, why shouldst thou destroy a Per­son, [Page 106]whose only fault was his too well loving thee? Is this your Christian Conscience? And could his Affecti­on render him so great a Criminel? Ah! cruel, ungrateful Woman! He was going on, when the good Lady extreamly afflicted too hear her Inno­cence abus'd so, No Sir, she cried out, and interrupted him. I did not kill your Son, but that Master he serv'd, the Devil; Blast not my Innocence, but impute the Death of your Sym­phronius to him, that was the cause of it. No, cruel one, said he, impatient­ly, thy Sorceries have produc'd it, and rob'd me of the greatest comfort I had in the world. But why, for Hea­vens sake, did'st thou spare, the rest that came into the Chamber to thee, and only destine my poor Boy to so severe a Punishment? The rest, said the Lady, came not upon so bad a Design as thy Son did, and the just God would seperate the guitly from the Innocent. Thou lyest, said the [Page 107]enrag'd Father. He was not guilty, he was Good and Innocent, and thou art the only Criminel, or if thou wilt clear thy Innnocence, and shew what thy God can do, of whose power you talke of so much, give me my Son a­live again, and I will pronounce thee guiltless. Christians talk much of Mercy and Compassion, shew us now a Proof of it, and succour the most miserable Father that ever breath'd.

Though your Infidelity deserve it not, answer'd the Holy Saint, yet, to shew the power and mercy of my dear Saviour, I will beg his Life, and doubt not but my Praiers shall re­store him. But think not Governour of Rome, that I do this to oblige thee to rescue me. No, my Piety shall not be so mercinary. It troubles me that that fatal Love, which your Son conceiv­ed for me, should render him guilty of such a Vilanie, and then deliver him up to be strangled by the hands of the Devil, and though I did not [Page 108]willingy produce that guilty Flame, and though I caused it, was the In­nocent cause of it, yet I would have procured him his Libertie by any o­ther means then leaving my blessed Saviour, and violating my most sa­cred Vow of a perpetual Virginitie. I will therefore humblie intreat my bountiful and Almightie Lord to re­store him to his Life again, and that antient tranquilitie he enjoyed, be­fore my unhappie eies had destroy­ed it.

The Governour hereupon imme­diately retir'd, and left the Saint to her Praiers. It would be impossi­ble for me to express her Pious Orai­sons, her Almightie Tears and Sighs, that could extort what she desir'd from her blessed Jesus. The Primi­tive method of Christian Devotion was then Vigorous, and Regular, and not capable to be desir'd by us that live in so prophane a Generation. Her Praiers were not long, they were con­tracted, [Page 109]and therefore the more strong and valid; A Period was included in a Word, and a whole Discourse inclos'd in a Period. Such powerful Petitions could not be long in producing their effects, as really they were not, for the Young Gentleman presently arose, and to prove that the Heathen only had died, and the Old Man been Buried in him, he Rose up to a Chri­stian, and running out into the Street, where his Father expected what the Ladies Praiers could effect, he cried out with a loud voice there is only one God, and that God is the God of the Christians.

PIous Martyr, thou for all his out­rages and violence which his ex­travagant Love made him commit, dost graciously pardon him, and by thy holy Praiers, freest him from that Death he had endured, and deserv­ed, to give him the hopes of Eternal Life and Glory, in making him com­mence a Christian. How Divine is this Act of thine gracious Lady, how well dost thou Imitate thy God in this? That oftentimes denies us what we desire, when we beg those things that may hurt us, and gives us what his infinite Wisedom knows most convenient. Thou would'st not grant him, what his immoderate affection [Page 112]made him desire; thou woul'st not cease to be what thou wast, but mad'st thy Lover like thy self, a Christian, and mad'st him approve of thy blessed choice, and Love thy dearest Lord, almost as ardently as thy self.

The People were distracted, at so strange an incounter. The Priests, being the most concern'd Persons, were the first that demanded St. Ag­nes, and cried out, that her Sorceries and Blasphemies could no other way be expiated but by Flames, and then threatned them with the fury of the Gods; if such offences were left un­punish'd. The giddy Rabble secon­ded their zealous Priests, and all the City, almost urg'd the necessity of punishing St. Agnes. The Gover­nour being now frighted by so many Signal Miracles, did all he could to retrive her from those dangers he had engag'd her in, but all was to no purpose. He could not resist the fu­ry of an incens'd Rabble. So that [Page 113]seeing his impuissance to rescue her, and perform his promise; which though the good Agnes never men­tioned it, he still remembred, he forthwith retir'd, and committed the management of the buisness to his Substitute one Aspasius, that neither was willing to save the Saint, as be­ing a notable Zealot for their supersti­tion, and no friend to the Christians, and had he desir'd it the most in the world, he durst not have resisted the multitude. Where [...] he immediate­ly consented to her punishment with­out repugnance, and formally con­demn'd her to be burn.

TIs to no purpose to speak any lon­ger to the mad Rabble, and their madder Governour. They are not at leasure to hear any thing in the fa­vour of St. Agnes. The buisy Priests think not themselves secure, nor their Gods safe at their Altars, till she was dispatched out of the world. The People apprehended strange Judgments, if such unheard of Blas­phemies should go unpunish'd. So that the conspiring fury of Priests and People, hurried our holy Votary to the place of Execution; Be pleased to consider her Noble Constancy, she comes, her eies shine brighter then those Flames that are provided for her punishment, and her Heart burns, with a noble ardor; but all these charms cannot prevail with the cruel Villians, to remit her punish­ment: they persist in their cruelty, as much as she does in her Devotion, and here it was that she gain'd a noble Victory, and kept her Christianity [Page 116]with as much constancy as they op­posed it: She was now brought to the Stake, and the Faggots placed round about her, but all could not tempt nor terrify this Heroick Martyr of Christ Jesus, she lift up her hands her eies towards Heaven, where her Heart had rested more then in her Body many Years before. I come sweet Jesu she cried out; receive thy Martyr into Glory; while she was saying this, the People to stop her Mouth put Fire to the Faggots which immediately were all in a Flame; but the Pious Agnes still continued her Devotions, all the crackling of the Flames and out-cries of the People, could not distract her. So I perswade my self in that dreadful day of Judg­ment, thy Good Elect sweet Re­deemer, will servently Pray unto thee, while all the World is on Fire about their ears, and the miserable Reprobates make the most woeful la­mentations, that their dispair and [Page 117]Anguish, and the worm of Consci­ence can suggest them. The Pious Agnes still praied and sighed and re­commended her Soul to Heaven, but her merciful Lord, freed her from the violence of the Fire. How were the Flames then divided and only warned the Saint, and then dapart­ed, and what need a Christian, one that deserve that Glorious Title, fear and tremble when the Waters and Seas retired at the Praiers of a Moses, and the Fire at the Praiers of the Three Children, and St. Agnes. While she thus continued her fervent Ejaculations, the Flames were quite extinguished, and not one spark could be found in the Ashes.

ANd now the Fire was quite extin­guish'd, and the Saint stood Pryaing in the midst of it's Ashes, like some brave Heroe, that stands en­compas'd by those Carkasses, that his Victorious Arm hath made so.

The People were so astonish'd at so manifest a miracle, that they stood silent for a long time, and had, I be­lieve, scarce ever pursu'd their cruel­ties, had not the barbarous Priests imputed this miracle to her Sorceries. The Governour Aspasius seem'd to favour their Opinion, and the fool­ish Vulgar as they are easily perswaded into any thing, embraced it, and suffer'd themselves to be abus'd into an Errour as Ridiculous, as Damna­ble. Holy Agnes what were thy sen­timents of their cruelty? How didst thou entertain those Scandals? And with what patience couldst thou hear thy purest Innocence so stain'd and blasted? My Lord, thou cridst out in the midst of the Multitude, where [Page 120]thou then wast, with what ease and pleasure do I follow thy holy Exam­ple? They call'd thee Belzebub, and accuse me for a Sorceress: thou knowst my Innocence, thou my Master, to whom I must stand or fall. I can de­spise the living imputations of mali­cious men, when I suffer for thy sake, and nothing can be disagreea­ble to me, that so dear a hand as thine is pleased to lay upon me.

Since their first effort of crueltie had fail'd the Villains, they resolved to make use of another, and after some deliberations fix'd upon behead­ing. The Proposition was approv'd of the People, and without any lon­ger delay they led our holy Martyr to the Scaffold. At last, brave Chri­stian, have I brought thee to the place of Martyrdom, whence thy Pious Soul must fly into the Bosome of thy Saviour. Aspasius made use of the Peoples Pious Fury, and least their minds should alter, commanded the [Page 121]Exec [...]ioner immediately to perform his o [...]e, who after the Saint had re­commended her Soul to the Almigh­ty, once again (so good a deed could not be iterated to often by so good a Person) and laid down her fair Neck on the Block, with as much tranqui­lity, as she us'd to do on her Pillow, after she had spent the greatest part of the night in her private Devotions, he gave the fatal blow, and sever'd her Head from her Body.

Thus fell that constant Martyr of Christ Jesus, the blessed St. Agnes, not yet fully arriv'd to the Thirteenth Year of her Age. You may justly now admire her admirable constancy at those Years. But she good Lady had prevented her Age, and become a perfect Woman, and most consum­mate Saint and Martyr, before other Ladies as Old as she then was, give themselves the trouble of one serious thought, or an hour of regular Devo­tion. Her Constancy her Chastity, [Page 122]but above all her Devotion, and all therest of her Christian Virtues were so admirable, and shone with so great a lustre, that it would seem almost as Ridiculous in me to shew them di­stinctly, as to point out the Sun at Noon, or the Moon at Midnight.

SHe [...]ed in the 300^th Year of our Lord or there about, and the Church Celebrates her Festival opon he day of Martyrdom, which is the Twenty Frist day of January.

And now to make this History compleat, I should tell you, what became of the Governour's Son, that was now very happily cur'd of his Passion, by the Praiers of the good Martyr, his dear Mistress. But re­ally there is so little to be found a­mongst Authors, that I judged it better to omit it, then to bring any conjectures of my own, without any grounds for them in St Ambrse, &c. But it seems to be more then probable, that he lived a very good Christian ever after, and when he could not see his dear Agnes any longer, (for she was now without question more Lovely to him then before, since he must needs esteem those Christian Vir­tues before any of those accomplish­ments, he had before so much ad­mir'd [Page 124]in her, though form [...]ly he had injurously term'd them Impieties [...] when I say he could not enjoy her ho­ly Company, he still preserved her Memory very tenderly, and did still Imitate her Christian Virtues, which would open him an infallibe Passage to our fair Martyr.

There is somthing more of certain­ty concerning her good Parents: they buried her pure and Chast Body in Via Numentana not far from Rome, where they commonly, according to the Primitive custome, came to perform their Devotions and lament the loss of their holy Daughter. One might easily pardon them without doubt for so just a sorrow, and he must needs be insensible that was not infinitely afflicted at so vast a loss as this. But our holy Saint to comfort her distres­sed Parents, was pleased to appear to them at her own Tomb, accompa­nied with a Glorious Troop of blessed Virgins all in white, and desire them [Page 125] [...] as ever she had done in [...] cease their useless Lamen­ca [...]. She told them, these irregu­lar sorrows very much injur'd her, and made them seem to doubt of her blessed Condition. All the cruelty, continued she, that they us'd against me, hath turned extreamly to my ad­vantage, and that Death that extru­ded me out of the World, hath seat­ed me in a Place of Glory; where if any thing could molest and afflict me, and Heaven could admit of any vexa­tion, be assur'd your sorows would effect it. And really I know not what can be the Subject of all your Tears and Sighs, and your Greif that is the cause of both, your Agnes still lives, and lives most Glorious in the Holy Company of these good Virgins, and in the service of our common Master the Holy Jesu. What Parent would shed his unseasonable Tears at his Sons advancement to a Throne, or if he needs must weep would shed [Page 126]any other then those of [...] Crown of Martyrdom I [...] the Caesars ever had, and [...] more August as well as ha [...]y, the all the Livia's and Mesalina's, in the World; and might more justly seem (if there be any Justice in any thing that is vicious;) an Object of your Envie, then your Lamentations. For Christ's sake, therefore give over your more then unnecessary sorrows: weep not for Agnes, but bestow your Tears on a fitter Subject, and wash away your Impieties that make our Saviours Wounds deeper then the Jews did make them. In am happy, and those good drops of Christian Penitence will make you so, and securely bring you to the Beatifick Vision of our Heavenly Redeemer. The Saint said thus and then immediatly vanish'd a­way, and her Friends returned home, full of unspeakable consolation. And hence our Holy Mother the Church hath ordered the second Festival of [Page 127] [...] be kept on the Second [...] [...]hich was the day when [...] her Parents.

[...] here insert the Life of her good Foster Sister, St. Emerentiana, that was Martyr'd at the Tomb of St. Agnes, with the miraculous cure and conversion of Constantina, where­upon she built a Temple in the place, where the Chast Body lay, but it be­ing my purpose only to bring the Lady to her Glorious Martyrdom. I shall refer you to the Authors, of the Lives of the Saints, and conclude this Histo­ry with a Praier to Almighty God of his Infinite Goodness to give us his Heavenly Graces, that we may Imitate the Holy Life and Constant Death of his Blessed Martyr Saint Agnes.