Bentivolio and Urania in four bookes / by N.I. D.D.

Bentivolio and Urania in four bookes / by N.I. D.D.

Table of contents

[1]

Title page

TO THE HONOURABLE WILLIAM BRERETON Esq Eldest Son of the Right Honourable WILLIAM Lord BRERETON of Brereton In CHESHIRE.

A PREFACE TO THE READER, CONCERNING The DESIGN of this BOOK.

AN ALPHABETICAL INDEX, In which the obscure Words of this Book are explained.

ERRATA.

THE FIRST BOOK: OR, ARGENTORA.

THE SECOND BOOK, OR PIACENZA.

THE THIRD BOOK, OR VANASEMBLA.

THE FOURTH BOOK, OR THEOPREPIA.

[2]

Title page

To the Right Honourable JOHN Earl of LAUDER DAILL, Secretary of State to His Majesty for the Kingdom of Scotland, Gentleman of His Majesty's Bed-Chamber, and one of His most Honourable Privy Council in both Kingdoms.

A PREFACE TO THE READER.

THE FIFTH BOOK: OR, THE RIAGENE.

THE SIXTH BOOK: OR, ELENCHUS.

The History of ANAXANACTON.

AN ALPHABETICAL INDEX,

§

§

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BENTIVOLIO AND URANIA, IN FOUR BOOKES.

By N. I. D. D.

LONDON: Printed by J. G. for RICHARD MARRIOT, and are to be sold at his shop in Saint Dunstans Church-yard Fleetstreet.

MDCLX.

TO THE HONOURABLE WILLIAM BRERETON Esq Eldest Son of the Right Honourable WILLIAM Lord BRERETON of Brereton In CHESHIRE.

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SIR,

I Have not plac'd your Name before these Papers, that from thence I might take an Occasion to flatter you with that sort of lavish Praise by which many make their Epistles Dedicatory Romances. The Notices of your Generous Temper which I have received in your Acquaintance would forbid that Vanity, if nothing else hindred me; For they have assured me that you are rai'sd far above such a Lowness of Spirit as will be taken with Adulations. The Worth which deserves highest Praises doth most scorn Flattery.

Neither do I design the Patronage of my Imperfections by devoting to you the Book in which they are discovered. If I should have forgotten my self so far as to have made such an unworthy Application of your Name, I should have abus'd you, I confess: For, as he said, Nè si deve chiamar un Giove per [...] un' Pigmeo, and my Expectation would have been frustrate; for the world is not so foolish as to think it a part of the Homage [Page] which it owes to Illustrious Persons, to judge every thing Excellent which hath put on their Livery.

My desire is to manifest a sincere Resentment of the Civilities which I have received from you, and to reveal the inward Sense of my Heart in which I do unfeignedly honour your True Worth, which is made up of a Great Wisdome and Much Goodness. Not that I presume so much upon the Value of these Leaves, as to think that they either carry any Obligation or pay much respect: but I send them as Instances of that Good will, which wanting more acceptable Expressions bespeaks your favourable Reception for these.

If they had any Worth, I should have thought none fitter to whom I might commend them then your self, who have patroniz'd Wisdom with your Noble Choice, and honour'd Vertue with an Exemplary Life. As you are grac'd with the Nobility of your Birth, so you are deservedly loved by many who accompany their Affections with Judgement, because you have adorn'd your Quality with those Excellent Accomplishments, by whose absence Nobility is dishonour'd.

Those which unwisely lean upon the Fame of their Ancestors, and make boasts of Honour which is not supported with their own Vertues, but only derived with the Bloud which they received from others, whilst they are themselves destitute of those Heroick Graces for which their Fathers or Grandfathers were justly admired; they overturn their Statues, prophane their Urns, and blast the Glory of [Page] their Memories by Ignoble Practises: as the Poet reprov'd the degenerate Roman,

Squalentes traducit Avos, emptorque veneni

Frangendâ miseram funestat Imagine Gentem.

It afflicts Ingenuous Persons when they see the Ancient Splendour of Great Families eclips'd by those which should make them more Illustrious; especially when they consider those slight Motives by which they suffer themselves to be withdrawn from the Pursuit of true Glory. For, as the Philosopher observ'd concerning such in his Time, [...], they are cheated with soft Pleasures, specious Evils. But no body must tell them of it. For though they condemn, and, it may be, punish their own Sins, when they are committed by Pesants;

At vos Trojugenae vobis ignoscitis, & quae

Turpia Cerdoni, Volesos Brutumque decebunt.

By which means though they might in regard of the Advantages of their Higher Condition be most like unto God, that is, Saviours of their Country, which Title is not unjustly given to some; yet many slighting the Deserts of Noble Vertues, augment the Miseries of the World both with the particular Harms which necessarily go along with Vitious Actions, as also by the Contagious Influence which falls from the evil Examples of Great Persons.

But what do I talk to you of this Mischief, who have so advanc'd your Mind by the Study of the [Page] best Knowledg, and perfected your Faculties with those Vertuous Habits which become a Christian and a Gentleman, that I may not only call you, as the Emperour modestly limited his own Praises, [...], a Lover of Philosophy, but rather, in regard of your rare Attainments, the Love of Philosophers?

I will not be further troublesome unto you. That you may enjoy a good Health and a long Life; that you may encrease the Honour of your Family and promote the Good of Your Country, and at length be received into the Regions of Immortall Glory, is the hearty Prayer of

Sir,

Your most Humble and Affectionate Servant N. INGELO.

A PREFACE TO THE READER, CONCERNING The DESIGN of this BOOK.

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IT is justly esteemed by those which know themselves, as the onely work that is worthy of wise men, so to employ their better faculties and improve their time, that at last they may obtain an End, in which they may rejoyce eternally: After a sincere intention of this End, to prosecute it with a constant use of fit means, is the Character of a Prudent and Good man. Those which govern not their life by this Principle, do either suffer themselves to be benum'd with Idleness, or abuse the activity of their Souls in some vain employment.

The first of these two out of their great love to do nothing, can make no better wish for themselves, then that they might sleep out the other half of their time; and it is rationall to do so, if his Rule were good for any thing, who said, He values his life at a just rate, who would be content to forgoe it for a Dream.

The other make their bargain but a little better; far whilest they entertain themselves with things which correspond not with the Dignity of Reasonable Souls, instead [Page] of perfecting those rare Capacities with which their Natures are invested, by a generous endeavour to obtain that Happiness which God doth not envy us, they lessen themselves, clip the wings of their Souls, and bring them down from those degrees of Excellency which they actually enjoy, and make them degenerate into a brutish incapacity, though many times they take no notice of the weakness of their judgements: till they meet it in the miserable Consequences of their Actions.

It is not my purpose here to reckon up all the impertinencies of Mankind, which are the several instances of the forementioned folly, I would onely give a charitable notice of one, viz. the VVriting and Reading of Romances. This I put into the number, because for the most part it is verified in them what Justin Martyr said of Homers Poetry, [...], i.e. The whole Rhapsody of Homers Iliads and Odysseis, beginning and end, is but a VVoman. Yet they dote so much upon that subject, that they think with those amorous Trojans, that Helen was not onely worthy of all the labours of Homers Quill, but alfo of the sharp contentions of the Greek and Trojan swords.

[...]

[...]:

i.e.

A ten years VVar is no unworthy sight,

VVhen Greece and Troy for such a VVoman fight.

She was a brave Woman indeed, and it was but fit that so many Gallant men should destroy one another [Page] in the Revenge and Defence of her Adultery. But Maximus Tyrius in his 15th. Dissertation doth justly reprove the folly of their opinion, and condemn the unreasonablenesse of that lavish praise.

I am not ignorant that Homer wrote upon another design, then to tell so many tales of Helen and Paris, and that Horace hath said in his Commendation,

Qui quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,

Plenius ac melius Chrysippo & Crantore dicit:

i.e.

He what is fair, what foul, what good, what not,

Better then Crantor and Chrysippus wrot.

It may be so; for though Chrysippus was so great a man, that he was esteemed the onely support of the Stoick School, according to the Proverbiall speech recorded by Diogenes Laertius, [...]. Yet quite contrary to the vertuous design of prudent Socrates, he spoil'd the Doctrine of good manners, and unwisely changed the substantiall precepts of a morall life for the uselesse subtilties of nice disputation. Or what if Crantor, whom he yokes with him in the disparagement, made no great proficiency either by Plato, to whose School he belonged, or Homer himself, who was his delight? For all this fair verdict, which Horace hath passed in favour of his Brother Poet, the Morall Vertues, which so highly concern the felicity of the World, ought to be discours'd in another manner then he useth; for he, as it may be said also of other Romancers, hath made the fabulous [Page] rind so thick, that few can see through it into the usefull sense. I do not deny what Plutarch saies, that his Verses were not written onely for pleasure, [...], i.e. but that a deeper meaning is hid under his Poems; but he hath sunk it so deep, that very few can come at it. And some of those who applaud him for a Philosopher, confesse that such onely can make a gain of him, that have already attain'd a mature judgement by long study; that is, such may possibly learn of him, who are able to teach him: But he is so unfit for others, that Plato desired they might not see him, [...], i. e. for fear they should think that the Hero wrote fables, which he had good reason to expect upon the perusall.

Besides this, as many others do, he hath so form'd the representations of Vertue and Vice, that it is hard to say, which is commended and which reproved; whil'st the Gods are frequently brought in practising Immoralities, he doth at least equall Vice to Vertue, and nourish that which he should eradicate. For, why should men endeavour to be better then their Gods? So he in the Comedy made the Adultery of Jupiter an apology for his lust.

— Et quia consimilem luserat

Jam olim ille ludum —

Ego homuncio hoc non facerem.

Terent. Eunuch.

By these and such like instances the Greek Fathers did convince the Heathens of the imperfection of their best Authors. So one may perceive in some Romances of a later date, that the pictures of Heroes, which they have drawn for exact patterns of the most rais'd vertue [Page] are often blotted with notorious defects, as Impatience, Revenge, and the like.

But this sort of Books is most to be blamed, because for the greater part, as I said before, their chief Design is to put fleshly Lust into long stories, and sometimes not without very unhandsome mixtures, tending onely to the service of brutish Concupiscence, the nourishment of dishonorable affections, and by exciting in the Readers muddy fancies, to indispose them for their attendance upon God by their better part. For some such reason, I suppose, the great Sidney before his death charg'd his friend Sir Fulk Grevill, who had the onely Copy of his Arcadia, that he should never permit it to be made publick.

The other pieces, which fill up the intervalls of the story, and grace it with pleasing varieties, are commonly frivolous devices of wit in some contemptible matter, and serve but to some such slight purpose, as doth the writing of Verses in the form of an Egge or Hatchet, where the measures of words and sense are constrain'd to suite with the odde proportions of such figures. These are fine varities of no use, the intertexture of the by-accidents being as triviall as the principall Design.

'Tis true, some of these Authors written in divers Languages, are applauded for the Elegancy of each particular Tongue, and are here and there interspers'd with good Sentences: but they are so deeply infected with noisome words, immodest Tales and Discourses, which do fatally corrupt the manners of Youth, that I cannot but assent to the Opinion of many wise men, who judge them, for all that, well worthy of the fire. Neither do I think it improper to use the words, which the old [Page] Sages of Troy silently mutter'd, when they perceived the dangers which attended the beauty of Helen, which the young men extoll'd as equall to that of the heavenly Goddesses.

[...],

[...],

i. e.

But though She's such, let her return, and make

An end of what we suffer for her sake.

I could easily name them, but that Labour is needless to such as know books: and to those which do not, I ought not, by making a Catalogue, to give notice of such as I could wish burnt. If they were, they would not be greatly miss'd, as to that propriety of speech unto which they lay claim, and for which they are magnified by their Readers; because the best Languages used in the world, may as well be learn'd from Authors that are as Elegant as Chaste.

For these reasons I think the Noble Mountaigne gave a great proof of his early wisdome, in that, as he saies, Quant aux Amadis, et telles sortes d'escrits, ils n' ont pas eu le credit d' arrester seulement mon enfance, i.e. Amadis and such like trash of VVritings had not so much credit with him, as to allure his youth to delight in them. And upon the same considerations one may well judge some Excellent Wits thrown away in writing great stories of Nothing; and that others lose their unvaluable Time whil'st they reade them. And the rather, because, besides the direct losse, they leave the Memory so full of fantasticall Images of things which are not, that they cannot easily dismisse [Page] them: the Fancy being held in the amusement of those foolish Dreames, as we are in Sleep with the various representations of severall things, which never were nor will be in such Ridiculous Conjunctions. And when the Reader considers how prettily he hath abused himself, yet cannot he presently dispossesse his fancy of those vain Imaginations which he hath entertain'd, but is still haunted with them, and much indispos'd in Mind for more worthy Considerations; as troublesome Dreams often leave the Body not so well affected.

There is no doubt but that most Readers of such things, ingenuously examining what beneficiall use they could make of the gains reaped from their Studies, would find themselves hard put to it to name a better then the Great VVit was forc'd to, who said, when he thought to retire from his Extravagancies, and to repose his wearied Spirit, and it still pester'd him with an orderlesse rabble of troublesome Chimaeras, he resolv'd to keep a Register of them, hoping by that meanes one day to make it ashamd, and blush at it self.

It is no wonder that these Fooleries are not easily thrown off, because of that deep impression which they make upon the affectionate part, through the cunning inveglements of Fancy. For men having indulg'd Imagination, and play'd carelesly with its Fantasms, unawares take vehement pleasure in things which they do not believe, and weep for such inconsiderable reasons, that afterward they laugh at themselves for it, and read Fables with such affections, as if their own or their friends best interest were wrapp'd up in them. What strong Expectation [Page] have they for the Issue of a doubtfull Design? How unsatisfied are they till the End of a paper Combate? What fears possesse them for the Knight whose part they take? How passionately are they delighted with the Description of a Castle built in the aire? How ravish'd upon the conceit of Beauties which owe themselves only to the paint which came out of the Poets Ink-pot? How are they taken with pleasure and sorrow for the good and bad success of the Romantick Lovers? They are apt also to draw to themselves or their friends such things as they read in far-fetch'd references: if the resemblances suite in some little points, they seem to do and suffer such things; and what fits not they endeavour to patch up with some feign'd coherency.

But if in the midst of this busie Idlenesse they would admit a severe consideration of more important duties neglected the while, a few disentangled thoughts would rout the Troop of their fond Imaginations.

Some peradventure not altogether satisfied with that which I have said, may reply, What, then is Fancy uselesse? Is it not one of the naturall faculties of the Soul? Were any of them made to no purpose? Is there any more proper entertainment for it then the Conceit and Language of a well-form'd Romance? Many books, which pretend to declare better matters to us, do it so jejunely, that it is a work of more then ordinary patience to give them the reading; and we are put into a doubt, whether or no those who wrote them did intend any should make use of their Vnderstandings in the perusall of them, or whether [Page] they were able to give that which others would expect as a reasonable satisfaction. Besides, we perceive many Books of grave Titles so afflicted with Disputes about troublesome niceties and trifling Capriccio's, that wise persons find the books as little of kin to their Names, as the Contents are of small Furtherance to their best Concernments.

To these things I answer; Fancy is not uselesse, and may as lawfully be gratified with excellent forms of Invention, as the Eye may entertain it self with the Beauty of well-plac'd Colours, or the Sense of Smelling please it self with the odours of a delicious Rose. But though it be a Naturall Faculty, yet it is under discipline of the Supreme Governesse of Soul and Body, Reason; and when it wanders without its Keeper, out-staying its time in allowed diversions, or transgressing the limits of such Subjects as sound Judgement permits, it returns abus'd with hurtfull delight, and instead of being us'd decently, is unworthily prostituted: in whose behalf the Rationall Guide, which is not farre off, will take notice and complain, as it doth often, and whip the Vagrant, and not spare to reproach it with the cheap reward of foolish recreation, for the enjoyment of which she mispent the time which she took from her Prayers, and, it may be, for the reading of an Idle Story neglected the Examination of her Conscience; and afterward is made to understand that the same pleasure which was pretended to be sought abroad, is to be found at Home. For Reason is no such severe Mistresse as to detain us with Awe that is void of Love and Joy; but besides the solid [Page] Complacencies of Vertue, allowes also the chearfull entertainments of Wit and Fancy. There are Books good store where Truths of greatest Importance are presented neither besmeared with loathsome Nonsence, nor blended with unprofitable Disputes, which adde nothing to Religion, but trouble and darknesse, and where Excellent sense and good words offer themselves in such lovely Embraces, that they are a perfect content to all beholders but such as cannot Fancy, Vnderstand and Love. Wit and ability of mind do so shine in many Religious Discourses, that we cannot justly make that pretended defect an Excuse for our deserting of sober studies. Now God forbid that we should think his Gifts so imprudently thrown amongst men, that none should be able to get them that would use them to the adorning of that which most deserves it, Vertue; which, though by reason of its innate beauty it least needs any adventitious ornament, yet doth not scorn the light vaile of Romance, if it be of that fashion which I shall by and by describe.

It were a thing to be wondred at, that by many nothing is esteem'd witty, except Poetry and Romances, but that want of Judgement doth notoriously discover it self in those persons who are highly pleas'd with pittifull things. `Divers of their admired Authors are so empty of true worth, that if the entire sense of their books were summ'd up, it would onely amount to some small matter as triviall as uselesse: And if most of them, whether Antient or Modern, were examined with a Judicious Eye, they would appear to be full of the grossest Indecorum's of Invention, as [Page] odious misrepresentations of Divinity, unnaturall Descriptions of Humane Life, Improper and Prophane Allusions to Sacred Things, frequent and palpable Contradictions, Sottish stories, and in short, all the absurdities of wild Imagination. I need not verifie this by bringing together those great multitudes of Instances which abound in that sort of books written in the Greek, Latin, Italian and French Languages. If any desire, they may see it done largely in the Extravagant Shepheard, especially in the Speech of Clarimond in the 13th. book, not long since translated by Mr. Davies.

For my own part I do not desire that all books should be as dull as many are, and none compos'd, as all are not, to delight; but I would have that delight true, and the quicknesse not evaporate into Lightnesse and Vanity. Is there no joy but laughter? Doth nothing recreate but what is fabulous? Such as do not like true happinesse, because it is a serious thing, have a reasonable Soul bestowed upon them in vain, and would have been better pleas'd if God had made them worse, and more content if God had not design'd them to so Noble an End. But those which like nothing except what goes in a plain Rode of talk, may as reasonably desire every body to spell, when they read. Such as would not have Truth presented in ingenious Schemes of Discourse, do foolishly condemn the wisdom of the Antients, some of which we may not reprove without a kind of Blasphemy: and whilst they understand not the Excellent use of Apologues, Parables, and such like Modes of signification, they are sufficiently answer'd [Page] by the Confession of their own Ignorance. There are severall spirits in the World; some will take a thing one way, that will not another. A Physitian will not wisely quarrell with his Patient, because he refuseth to take the Pill unlesse it be guilded. There are also some persons that need to have some things told them, which because they are guarded with the stately Circumstance of Worldly Quality, one cannot so easily come near them as in a Disguise.

There are some brave minds, in whom Riches of Conceit are attended with incomparable Expression: and Truth is not unwilling to be dress'd by such; and those which revile them for their paines, are justly abhorr'd for their Envy, or pitied for their Ignorance. Its a mischief that distresses most little Capacities, impotently to desire that all others should be constituted after their size; and having passionately, but foolishly, wish'd such a thing a great while, at last they begin to believe that what they desire is so indeed.

It is an ungratefull folly and a pride to be laugh'd at, when men are unwilling that others should endeavour to further their Good, because they gave them not leave to prescribe them the way for doing of it: but they should consider, that there may be such in the world which understand that which themselves do not, and are delighted with such things as they contemn.

But some that mean well, and think they are not mistaken in the sense of their proposition, humbly desire that those Excellent Wits would lay their design of Romance deeper then the Shallows of Fancy; that so the Reader may not stick upon every Shelf of Fiction, and [Page] that the streams of Wit be made navigable for the Importation of such Wisedom as is necessary for our best life. The design to please is then as well accomplish'd; but not terminating in the surface of Recreation, it is improv'd into a higher advantage of those nobler faculties which God hath given us.

They think also that the Way to this End is miss'd, when the Authors account their Contrivance poor, unlesse they can sail under water too. As when there is no morall design of making men better, the Work is done but by the Halves, as we say: so if that lie under ground in such deep conceits as but few can dive into the bottom of them, their labour is so far only not lost, as that some who are more ingenious will take the pains to understand what they meant.

To conclude, I have not all this while spoke my own Hopes concerning what I have perform'd in this work, but my wishes were hearty that it might neither displease nor be unprofitable. Whereas I have in severall places reprov'd some things frequently found amongst men, I only plead, that since they make no scruple of acting unworthily, I thought I might much more justly take liberty to talke of it. And since you have had the Patience to be acquainted with what I would have done, if any body be pleas'd with that which is written, I shall not be discontented; but if they be profited too, then I shall think that I have not laboured in vain.

[Page] AN ALPHABETICAL INDEX, In which the obscure Words of this Book are explained.

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Though I do not think the Meaning of this Treatise any abstruse business; yet because the sense of some Words may peradventure be lock'd up from some Readers, who understand Things better then Names, I have put this Key with the Book. Since the Treasure is but small which is hid here, I am unwilling that any body should be at much trouble in seeking after it.

A

ABinoam, [...], the Father of Pleasures, God, the Spring of Delight. pag. 283

Abulus, [...], an Inconsiderate, rash man, one that acts without due deliberation. He appears to be such by his Story; for upon a weakly-grounded suspicion he would needs fight with one that never wrong'd him. 59

Acolaftus, [...], an Unmerciful, Cruel man, Bentivolio's Jailour. Good will is imprison d in hard Hearts. 117

Acolastus, [...], an Intemperate person, undisciplin'd and of unsubdued Passions. 80

Acrasia, [...], Intemperance, Incontinence, Impotency of Soul. 83

Adynaton, [...], Impossibility: one of the Hypocrites false Pleas, who when he sins, thinks to excuse the matter by saying that it is not Possible to keep God's Commands, and that Christ's yoke is heavy and pincheth his neck. 153

Aganacton, [...], one that's Offended and angry. 167

Agape, [...], Love, the Daughter of Phronesia or Prudence. True Wisdom is never destitute of Divine Charity. 201

Agathorryton, [...], flowing with Goodness: a proper Epithet for God, who is an inexhaustible Fountain continually sending forth waters of Life.

[...]

[...].

Synes.

Arise, my Soul, drink of the Spring

Which overflowes with Goodnesse, &c.

Plotin calls him [...], the Spring of Life, the Beginning of Being, the Cause of Goodness, the Root of the Soul: as Pythagoras before,

[...],

The Fountain of everlasting Nature.

200

Agazelus, [...], full of Emulation. In the III. Book it is put to expresse those intemperate Heats which do often scorch mens Spirits when they are set on fire with Uncharitable Contentions about matters which are of less moment in Religion. 115

Agerochus, [...], a Proud and Insolent person. 167

Agnoea, [...], Ignorance. 122

Agon, [...], Strife. The Valley of Tentation [Page] is so called in the beginning of the IV. Book, in which there is a large Description of the Contest and Victory of a truly-Good man over bodily and spiritual Tentations. 178

Akeraea, from [...], Vnmix'd, pure. Here put for Simplicity, the inseparable Concomitant of true Godlinesse. 137

Alazon, [...], a vainglorious Boaster. 167

Alethalogus, [...], True Reason, the loving Brother of Pistalethes, i. e. True Faith. Their good agreement is described 203

Alethea, [...], Truth, the Sister of Charinda, Charity. 158

Alypia, [...], Indolentia, Freedom from all Trouble and Care; the Goddess of Piacenza. It signifies the chief desire of the Voluptuous. 78

Amaranth, [...], never withering. An Herb so called from the lasting Vigour of its Flowers. Pliny saies that is beares purple eares or flowers, of which, because they would keep fresh a good while, they us'd to make Garlands, lib. 21. cap. 11. It is used here to signifie the ever flourishing Glory of Perseverance in Vertue. 280

Amasia, a Lover. 80

Amerimnus, [...], one free from troublesome Cares. A Priest of Eusebia, serving God [...] without distraction. An undivided Soul, wholy devoted to Heavenly studies and employments, which are broken with Worldly Sollicitudes. 237

Ametameletus, [...], a thing not to be repented of. Such a Repentance is, when one that hath sinned, doth with shame and sorrow forsake Vice. 200

Amiantus, [...], Immaculate, free from blame. 246

Amphilogia, [...], Ambiguity of Speech, Controversy. 158

Amphisbeton, [...], one given to Controversy and Debate. 157

Anaescuntus, [...], Impudent. 80

Ananephon, [...], one that returns to Sobriety and soundness of Mind. 173

Ananke, [...], Necessity. It is muchwhat the same Excuse with Adynaton. He which pleadeth that the Divine Commands cannot be kept, induceth a Necessity of Sin. 153

Anaxanacton, [...], King of kings; a title of our Saviour, who is also called by divers names of the same Import, [...], and [...]. 161

Anchinous, [...], one of a ready Wit, the Servant of Prudence. 136

Anteros, the Rival of Eros, from [...], which signifies Rivalry in Love. 80

Anthropia, the state of Humanity, from [...], a Man. 2

Antilegon, [...], one that contradicts others, and who is not without employment in Logomachia. See Logomachia. 156

Antimater, a Stepmother. 63

Antinomus, [...], that opposeth the Law, an Irregular Person. 167

Aphrodite, Venus, from [...], Froth, because, as the Poets say, she was born of the Foam of the Sea. Book II. it denotes frothy Pleasures. 78

Aphron, [...], a Fool. 80

Apiston, [...], one that doth not rashly assent, but doubts till he see reason for his belief. 102

Arete, [...], Vertue, deservedly beloved of Nicomachus and all worthy spirits. 178

Argentora, from Argento and Oro, Silver and Gold. The Title of the I. Book, which conteins a Description of Covetousness and Ambition, where Force and Fraud bear sway. 1

Argus, a careless fellow and neglectfull of his duty. [...]. 47

Asmodeus, a Lustfull Genius. 144

Asotus, [...], a Prodigal or Waster. 80

Aspasia, from [...], to salute or embrace. ibid.

[Page] Asphaltites, from [...], a pitchey, sulphureous Clay. The Lake called the Dead Sea, suppos'd to be the place where Sodom and Gomorrah stood. 149

Aspremont, A rough Hill full of Bushes and uneven way, very passable to Good men, and which leads to Happiness; and therefore they call it Roccabella. See Roccabella. 86

Astorges, [...], Destitute of Naturall Affections. 92

Ate, [...]. Harm, mischief. It denotes a state of prevailing violence in the I. Book. 3

Atimia, [...] Disgrace, which with Sorrow doth usually follow a Voluptuous life. 80

Authades, [...], one that pleases and admires himself, as all Proud persons do; who are also offended if others do not observe them. 196

Autocatacritus, [...], Self condemnd. 131

B

BEllezza (Ital.) Beauty. 80

Bentivolio here denotes Good will, from the [...] Ben ti voglio. It is us'd by them for a Proper name; and so it is here for the Brother of Vrania, i. e. Heavenly Light, from [...] Heaven, or [...] Light. By celestiall Wisdome and true Love the Soul passeth through all states in this World to Immortal Perfections and Glories. 1

Bevenda, from Bevere, to drink. 83

Biocalon, [...], a Good Life, which is the true way to Heaven, and is therefore called the great Rode extended according to the whole length of Theoprepia. 202

Borborites, from [...], Mud. A name by which the filthy Gnosticks were of old disgrac'd, a Sect that wallowd in fleshly Lusts, Ranters. 197

C

CAcodaemon, [...], an Evil Spirit. 139

Carezza, Caresses. 80

Catasarkus, [...], Fleshly, Corpulent. It signifies the Jew in the I. Book, because their Religion doth much consist in Bodily observances. 131

Centaurus, [...] a Horseman driving away Cattel, from [...] pungo, and [...] taurus. 170

Charinda, from [...], Charity. 158

Colax, [...], a Flatterer, the great friend of Tuphlecon. See Tuphlecon. 153

Contrapart is taken in a Musical sense. As in the composition of a Song of several Parts, the Harmony is perfected by the supplies of different Notes which each Part administers both when they sound together, or one after another by the interposition of fit Rests: So it hath pleased the Divine Wisdome to checker the Creation with Blacks and Whites, to set off Day with Night, to relieve Winter by Summer; and having made his Work double, and set one thing over against another, he hath made Charity the Antistoichon to Want. The Septuagint considering the Congruity that in this and other respects is [...]etween Prosperity and Adversity, have used the foremention'd Notion, and translate [...], Eccles. 7. 15. [...], God hath tun [...]d one to another. 262

D

DEisidaemon, [...] a Superstitious person; or one that is apt to have dreadful Apprehensions of God, and yet thinks he may be appeased with a small matter. 167

Distoma Romphaea, [...], a twoedged [Page] Sword: an instrument of great use in Exosemnon. 138

Doulogynes, [...], a Woman's slave, Antimater's servant. Such Stepmothers must use such Assistants. 58

Dysarestus, [...], one hard to be pleased. 167

Dyscolus, [...], properly one of a weak Stomack; here one that is of a morose Temper, and apt to take Offence. 117

Dyselpis, [...], one that is ready to despair. 92

Dysemeria, [...], Affliction, Adverse Fortune. 27

Dyspithea, [...], Obstinacy, Difficulty of being perswaded. A Disease incident to most Ignorant and to all Conceited people. 122

E

EKnephon, [...], one that growes sober. Book II. a Young man returning to himself out of the Madness of a Vitious life. 89

Elpicale, [...] Good Hope. After a constant Perseverance in well-doing we come directly into the Valley of Elpicale or Good Hope. And there is no Rode by which we can arrive in Elpicale but Biocalon or a Good life. 202

Elpis, [...], Hope, the Daughter of Eupistis, True Faith. Hope is the Expectation of the Soul in time to enjoy the Object of its Faith. 203

Empsychon, [...], Living, or Inspired with Life. In the II. Book it signisies the Rational Soul examining Doctrines by its discerning Faculties, and approving for True and Good what agrees with them and the other Rule Grapton, or the Revelation of the Divine Will committed to Writing. See Grapton. 103

Engastrimuthus, [...], one that speaks out of the Belly, call'd also [...], because of that immodest way by which the Pythones pronounc'd their Oracles. This trick was used of old. The Woman which Saul consulted is called 1 Samuel 28. 7. [...] Domina Pythonis, from [...] Bottles, because the Devil us'd to speak out of her swollen Belly, as out of a Bottle; and is well rendred by the Lxx [...]. Aristophanes bragging in his Vespae, that he help'd other Poets to make their Comedies, saies that after the manner of [...], one that was famous for this [...], he did [...], i.e. entring into their bellies poure forth Verses. Some of the Heathens asham'd of this obscene business, allow'd the Devil a more honourable place, the Breast, and call'd him [...], as if he spoke the same way that some late Juglers have us'd, who form an articulate sound, though those which are present cannot perceive that they open their Mouth. Here it is put only for one troubled with Hystericall fits, by which some in these dayes have put tricks upon the Ignorant. 142

Enthusiasm, [...], Divine Inspiration, by which Holy men of old were enabled to speak and do extraordinary things. Here it is taken for the mere pretence to it, by which device Religious Mountebanks have often abus'd the credulous world.

Eristes, [...], a contentious person. 2

Eros, [...], Love. 80

Erotocleus, [...], the Glory of Love. 27

Eucharist, [...], Thanksgiving; by which name the Greek Church did properly expresse the nature of our Lord's Supper; that Sacrament being appointed to make a thankful and honourable Commemoration of his Death. 165

Euergesia, [...], Beneficence, the Twinsister of Philothea or the Love of God. 259

Eumenes, [...], Benign. 118

Eupathus, [...], one that is easily affected [Page] with things, of a gentle Disposition. 77

Eupistis, from [...] and [...], a Good Faith or True Belief; which is described Book IV. 201

Euprepon, [...], Comely or Decent. In the III. Book it signifies one that was not inamourd with the gawdy outsides of Exosemnon, yet abhor'd the baseness of Pseudenthea. 131

Euprosopon, a fair Shew, from [...] and [...]. One that sets a fair face upon things. 150

Eusebia, [...], Piety. 201

Euthanatus, from [...] and [...], a Good Death, the Happy close of a good Life. 281

Exetazon, [...], one that Examines or tries things. It is here put for Inquiry, and is therefore call'd Apiston's File, because by ingenuous Examination and diligent Search we find out the Truth. 103

Exorcista, [...], a Conjurer. Those which would see more such like Pranks, or think those very uncouth which I have related concerning Exorcista in the III. Book, may be satisfied if they will read a Book call'd Tres Energumenae Belgicae; where they will soon perceive whether I or the Exosemnians have abus'd the Popish Exorcisms. 139

Exosemnon, [...], outwardly Venerable; which all grant that Church to be upon whom that Name is bestow'd. 133

F

FOrzario, from Forza, a Violent Person that makes Power his Law, the Husband of Inganna, Craft; for Power associates it self with Cunning the better to accomplish its Designs. 31

G

GAlenepsyches, [...], a Calm of Soul, Tranquillity of Spirit, one of those three invaluable Jewels which a true Lover of God doth possesse. See Ommelion and Terpsithea. 239

Gelosia, Jealousy. 2

Gnothisauton, [...], Know thy self. I have call d the Governour of Tapinophrosyne by that name, because the Knowledg of ones Self is the naturall Root of Humility. 195

Grapton, [...], Written, the Revelation of the Divine Will committed to Writing. See Empsychon. 103

Gynicaeus, [...], Womanish. It denotes a man imprudently Uxorious. 63

Gynopicrene, from [...] and [...], a Womanish bitternesse, or feeble Peevishnesse. 2

H

HAmartolus, [...], a Sinner. 199 Harpagus, from [...], Rapacious; the Servant of Plutopenes. Covetousness is usually attended with Rapine. 24

Heautus, one that doth [...], Selfinterest, which disturbs the common Happiness of the World. 167

Hedonia, from [...] Pleasure, the name of the Voluptuous Queen of Piacenza. 79

Hemicalus, [...], half Good, one that is in a small measure persuaded to be Vertuous. 251

Hermagathus, [...], a good Mercury or happy Messenger. 11

Hesychia, [...], Quietness, Tranquillity. 159

Hierographon, from [...] and [...], the Holy Scripture. 206

Hydraula, [...], a Musical Instrument that sounds by Water. 193

Hyla, [...], Matter. In the IV. Book it imports the Hindrances which arise [Page] to a Good man out of this Bodily state: That [...], which the learned Bishop in his Hymns so often praies against under the several names of [...], &c. the Tempting Bawd, the Corporeal Cloud, a Dog that barks and bites the soul, Tempests that rise from the body. 197

Hylotes, from the same [...] in the III. Book signifies the dull Sympathy which the grosly Ignorant have onely with Bodily things. 121

Hypernephelus, [...], above the Clouds; no unfit name for such as take such wild flights of fancy that sober judgement cannot reach them. One that speakes or writes Mysterious Nonsense. 167

Hyperoncus, [...], very Proud. 155

Hypnotica, from [...], Sleepy. Sleep and Idleness are the supporters of Ignorance. 121

Hypsocardes, from [...], Height, and [...], the Heart. It notes Arrogance and overweening thoughts, by which a man is lifted up above a just estimation of himself. See Megalophron. 195

Hysterica, from [...], the Womb. A Woman troubled with Suffocations commonly call'd the fits of the Mother. 142

I

IConium, from [...], an Image. It is us'd in the III. Book to express that sort of Religion which is made up of Outsides: not reproving those who would have God serv'd with Bodily instances, (for so he ought to be, as is declar 'd in the IV. Book;) but those who neglect the Spirit of Religion. For a Good man, as Hierocles saies most excellently, [...], i. e. Offers himself for a Sacrifice, makes his own Soul the Image of God, and prepares his Mind, and makes it a fit Temple for the reception of Divine Light. 131

Idiopathy, from [...] and [...]. It denotes mens particular Affections, peculiar Tempers, Inclinations and Persuasions, with which they are so inamour'd that many times with much Passion and little Reason they condemn others that are not prone to sympathize with them. 171

Inganna, Craft. See Forzario. 31

Irene, [...], Peace; a Virgin which towards the further end of the Holy Rode presents the Travailers with Garlands of Amaranth. Peace and Tranquillity are the fruits of Perseverance in a good course of Life. 280

K

KAlobulus, a Good Counsellour, from [...] and [...]. 32

Kenapistis, Vain Faith, from [...] and [...], at large described in the III. Book. 115

Kiskildrivium, an insignificant word used by Erasmus in one of his Epistles, and is of as much sense in Speech as Transubstantiation is in Religion. 166

Krimatophobus, from [...] and [...], Fear of Judgement, an inseparable Companion of Hypocrisy. 155

L

LAbargurus, from [...] and [...], one that greedily receives Money, and will do nothing without it. The name of a Corrupt Judge. 32

Lampromelan, [...], partly bright, partly dark. So is Death, which is represented by the River so call'd Book IV. for it is dark as it obscures the Bodily Life, and bright as it draws the Curtains of Eternal Light which shines upon good Souls in the other World. 281

[Page] Lerocritus, a Judge of Trifles, from [...] and [...], one that is zealously busy about little arts and things. 156

Lestrygon. The Lestrygones were a barbarous sort of People, which Thucydides (lib. 6.) saies he knew not whence they came nor whither they went. They infested Sicily, and Campania in Italy. Homer in Odyss. 10. tells us how they us'd Vlysses and his Companions. 25

Leucas, [...], a white Rock or Promontory of Epirus, not far from Actium, from which Lovers us'd to throw themselves that they might be freed from the madness of impotent Love. They fail'd not of their Cure, for they commonly broke their necks. Of this Ausonius in his Cupido cruci adfixus makes mention,

Et de [...] Leucate minatur

[...] Lesbiacis Sappho [...] sagittis:

of whom Menander in Stobaeus lib. 10.

— [...]

[...]

[...].

87

Logomachia, Controversy about Words, by which true Philosophy is made onely [...] a vain noise, and [...] a [...] vain talk, as Saint Paul saith. 160

Lusingha, Flattery. 80

Lymanter, [...] a Destroyer. 155

M

MAngibella, a good Eater. 83

Mantimanes, a Mad Prophet. 139

Mataeoponus, [...], Labour in vain. 156

Megabronchus, one that hath a great Throat, from [...] and [...]. 105

Megalophron, [...], properly one that hath a Great Mind; but here it signifies one that hath high Thoughts concerning himself, and doth much relish his own Worth. 195

Melita, [...] Care. 179

Metamelusa, from [...] and [...], one that takes thought afterward, and signifies in the II. Book Late Repentance. 91

Metanoea, [...], Repentance, Change of Mind, Second thoughts. 199

Miasmasarkos, [...], Defilement of the Flesh with bodily Sin, which the Ranters, Modern Gnosticks, have patroniz'd as a more rais'd strain of Religion, as their Predecessors of old. 168

Microcheires, from [...] and [...], Smallhanded. The old name of Polyglotta, which had much Religious Talk, but few Good Deeds. 114

Misokalon, [...], one that hates Goodness. 59

Moira, [...], Fate, Destiny, to which Hypocrites are apt falsely to attribute their Wickedness, which ariseth from the choice of their own Wills, and is confirm'd by many voluntary Acts. 153

Morophila, from [...] and [...], one that loves foolishly, as some Parents do their Children, whilst they take much care of their Bodily accomplishments, but neglect to perfect their Souls with Vertue. 92

Morosophus, from [...] and [...], a halfwitted man; one that hath some Wit which is in a Fool's keeping, and of which he maketh a perverse use. 123

Morpheolus, from Morpheus, the Minister of Sleep, an Attendant upon Luxury, whom I have described in a particolour'd Mantle, according to that form [...] Habit in which Philostratus (in Amphiar.) saith he was painted of old, [...], in a careless garb, having a white garment upon a black one, to signifie, as he thought, the Vicissitudes of Night and Day, which follow one another at no great distance: for except those which dwell near the Poles, that of Homer is applicable to all the World.

[...].

83

N

NArcissus, One that was in love with his own Shadow. It is but a common Story, but it is too pertinent [Page] where it is applied; for, as Philostratus saith in his Icones, [...], He [...] over the Spring, taking pleasure in the contemplation of his own Beauty. What else do they, who spend their time between the Comb and the Glass? as [...] saies. 80

Narke, [...], the Cramp-fish, which benums the hands of those that touch it. Here it signifies Dull Sloth, which throws the Powers of the Soul into a heavy kind of Sleep, and makes it unactive. 178

Nemesia, and Nemesis, from [...], Indignation and Revenge. 42.66

Neurospasts, [...], Puppets, or things which though they seem to act of themselves, are only moved by unseen Wires or Strings. 148

Nicomachus, from [...] and [...], one that Conquers in fight. In the IV. Book he represents a Good man vanquishing all sorts of spiritual and fleshly Tentation. 178

Nynhapanta, from [...] and [...], All at present. One that tempted Nicomachus with the Pleasures of this present World. 178

O

ODax, form [...] a Tooth. It signifies in the III. Book the sharp Remorse of an Evil Conscience. 155

Oictirmon, [...], a Merciful person. 15

Ommelion, from [...] an Eye, and [...] the Sun; a Sun like Eye or clear Understanding. None have such visions of God as Holy Souls. For, as Plotin saies Ennead. 2. lib. 9. [...], i.e. To what purpose [...] we talk of looking towards God? That is worth nothing, unless we shew how we may come to see him But Vertue joyn'd with Prudence, when it is brought to perfection, will let us see God. 239

Ononeirus, [...], the Dream of an Asse: The Captain of the Levellers, who bottom their Designs upon Dreams and foolish Thoughts. 29

Ontagathus, [...], a truly Good man. 149

Orexis, [...], Appetite. By Orexis Nicomachus was strongly solicited: for most Tentations receive power against us from that Interest which they have in the Sensitive Appetite. 178

O: gilus, [...], an Angry man; one of Bentivolio's Accusers. Anger, when it is a little humour'd, destroys Good will. 117

Orphana, [...], an Orphan. The Story is too applicable to many, who by the Infidelity of their Guardians are us'd after the same manner. 55

P

PAmmachia, [...], Altogether Contentious, or Full of Strife and War. 2

Pammelaena, from [...] and [...], All-dark. By this name the state of Ignorance is represented Book III. 121

Panaretus, from [...] and [...], All-Vertuous, the Brother of Bentivolio and Urania. Where Heavenly Light and Holy Love inhabit, they are accompanied with every other Vertue. 18

Pancratus, from [...] and [...], One that hath got an absolute Dominion over his Passions; one that can contein himself within the bounds of Temperance in all Instances. 74

Pangelos, from [...] and [...], one wholy given to Laughter. 80

Panstriblus, from [...] and [...], Altogether Perverse. I have bestowed this name upon the filthy Ranters, the Gnosticks of these dayes, who turn Religion into Atheism, and the Grace of God into Wantonness. 139

Pantheon, [...], A Temple at Rome common to all the Gods. It is put in the III Book for Gentile Idolatry. 133

Parelton, [...], the Sun reflected; a [Page] round Cloud glistring with the Image of the Sun. 273

Parresia, [...], Freedom of Speech, Confidence. 118

Pathus, [...], Passion, Affection, Softness. 153

Peirasmus, [...], Tentation. ibid.

Peirastes, [...], a Tempter. 178

Penia, [...], Poverty. 10

Perilype, [...] Grief, the Consequent of foolish [...]. 80

Philadelphia, [...], Brotherly Love. 201

Philapant as, from [...] and [...], a Lover of all men. 28

Philopseudes, [...], a Lover of Falshood, one that makes Lies. 155

Philothea, [...], a Lover of God and Divine things. 259

Philoxenus, [...], a Lover of Strangers, Hospitable. 116

Phrictus, [...], Dreadfull, Terrible; one of Tuphlecon's Tormentors. The discovery of Hypocrisy produceth Amazement. 155

Phronesia, [...], Prudence. 201

Phronimus, [...], Prudent. ibid.

Piacenza, Pleasure, the Title of the II. Book, wherein a Voluptuous Life is described and reproved. 69

Picrudor, [...], Bitter Water, the Emblem of bitter Zeal. 156

Pigerrimo, a Sluggish person. 79

Pinodipson, [...], Hungry and Thirsty. Poverty. 2

Pistalethes, [...], True Faith. 203

Pithopseudes, from [...] Suadela, and [...] false, one that perswades others to believe what is false. 208

Planaster, from [...] and [...], a Wandring Star. 140

Pleonecton, [...], one that desires to have too much, an Avaritious person. 114

Plutopenes, from [...] and [...], a poorrich man, who never hath Enough, nor enjoys or makes any good use of what he hath. 15

[...], [...]. In the III. Book it denotes Spiritual Wickednesse, Pride, Contention and Wrath, which puff up mens Minds and swell their Thoughts. 168

Polyglotta, [...], much Tongue. Religion is distress'd when it is environ'd with Words, but destitute of sutable Performances. 114

Polymachus, [...], much given to Contention. 167

Polytheus, [...], one that believes or worships many Gods. 133

Pseudenthea, from [...] and [...], False Inspiration, with which these latter times have been troubled. 115

Pseudognosis, [...], Knowledg falsly so called. 208

Pseudorces, a Perjur'd person, from [...] and [...], a false Oath. 50

R

RHexinous, [...], that enervates the Mind: a proper Epithet of Jealousy, which breaks and discomposes the Spirit. 2

Rhipsaspis, [...], one that throws away his Shield, and flies at the sight of an Enemy, as Demosthenes was reported to do. 125

Roccabella, The fair Rock. The lovely Mount of Temperance, upon which the Soul enjoys the delights of Serene Contemplation. 86

S

SDegna, Disdain and Revenge. 3

Skiamelluses, [...], the Shadow of that which was to come. The Jewish Temple is not unfitly call'd by that Name, because that and the Jewish Oeconomy were but an External Shadow of better and more substantial good things, which they did for a time [...], represent as by Types and Shadowes. 131

Sophron, [...], Temperate. 225

Sophrosyne, [...], Temperance, describ'd at large in the IV. Book. 201

Staurus, [...], a Crosse; but is used [Page] in the III. Book particularly for the Cross of Christ, upon which when he offer'd himself to God, he abrogated all the Jewish Oblations. 132

Synaxis, [...], a Convention or Congregation. It is taken Theologically for a Company of Christians met together to eat the Lord's Supper, and to make a joynt Commemoration of our Saviour's Death.

T

TAano, [...], those things which are above. 201

Takato, [...], those things which are below. These two Streams of the Spring Agathorryton signify the Good things which God gives with his Right hand, as Wisdom and Vertue, and with his Left, as Strength of Body, Worldly Quality, Riches, &c. For he is [...], the Spring of Springs, the first and best Good from whence all Goodness is derived, as Synesius calls him in one of his Hymns. See Agathorryton. ibid.

Talaepora, [...], Miserable. 11

Tapinophrosyne, [...], Humility. 192

Temperanza, Temperance, which is the great Panpharmacon, the true All-heal: it both prevents Sickness, and restores Health. 14

Terpsithea, [...], Delight in God. See Galenepsyches. 239

Thanatus, [...], Death. 155

Tharraleus, [...], Confident, Presuming. ibid.

Theophila, [...], a Lover of God.

Theoprepia, [...], a State worthy of God. The Title of the IV. Book, wherein some things belonging to that State are discours'd, as far as the Nature of such a Work as this is would handsomely permit. 177

Theorus, [...], one that contemplates, from [...], or one that takes care of Divine things, from [...] and [...]. I plac'd Agathorryton in this Hill, because the Spring of Life doth pour forth its Streams most plentifully upon careful and holy Souls. 200

Theosebes, [...], a Religious person, one that worships God. 201

Therodes, [...], Brutish, as the Poor frequently are for want of Education. 11

Thrasymachus, [...], Bold in fight 36

Timautus, [...], one that seeks his own Honour. 114

Trimalcio, [...], a very soft and Effeminate person. Under this name some think that Petronius Arbiter did describe the Luxuries of Nero. 79

Tuphlecon, from [...] and [...], wilfully Blind. 150

Tuphlotharson, from [...] and [...], blindly Confident. 122

V

VAghezza, Beauty, Loveliness.

Vanasembla, a Vain Shew. The Title of the III. Book, in which many things which are extoll'd in some places as eminent parts of Religion, are discover'd to be no such matters. 111

Vendetta, Revenge. 3

Veneriola, from Venus, a Wanton. 83

Vrania signifies Celestial Light, from [...] Heaven, or [...] Light. See Bentivolio. 18

ERRATA.

PAge 70. line 12. for wel read real. p. 114. l. 13. read Timautus. p. 208. l. 5. read [...]. p. 249. l. 25. for designs read deigns.

THE FIRST BOOK: OR, ARGENTORA.

[Page]

IT was many years after that time when the Rusty Brasse and baser Iron had given too great an assurance of the full determination of the Golden and Silver Ages, when Bentivolio appear'd to the astonishment of the degenerate world, which could not remember to have seen any Gentleman equall to him in Complexion or Stature. He was so perfectly made up, that one might easily perceive Wisdom, Goodness and Courage to have done their utmost in his Composure. The esteem of his Perfections did not rise by the measure of those disproportions in which the corrupt Age fell below him, but by such degrees as the exact rules of Vertue set up for an infallible standard.

After a full acquaintance with the customs of his own Country, by which he arriv'd at great perfection, and would have out-done them, but that they were such as could not be exceeded, (for he was born in the higher Theoprepia,) he had a great desire to see other Countries; not to make Experiments by his Travel to satisfie Curiosity, which in him was very little; but to deserve such Honour as doth naturally accompany vertuous attempts, and leave most reall Benefits upon the bestowers of it.

He had now gone over divers Kingdoms which administred variety of tryalls, and match'd variety with difficulty; but in each he was so happily successefull, that every ones Admiration strove with Love, which should do him the most [Page] Honour. His singular Good-will being the bottom of his Engagements, and those ever answer'd with equall performances, the people would take notice of him under no meaner Character then a Father to mankind. He could go no where but Fame was his Harbinger, and took up for him the best Rooms in the Worthiest Expectations, and provided all possible welcome in the most Noble Hearts. The Report of his atcheivements ran through the world with like speed, and the same awfull noise, with which the Thunder-claps follow the flashes of Light. He subdued severall Bravo's, which infested the Regions of Anthropia; in particular Eristes, who rang'd up and down the Country of Gynopicrene: Rhexinous, who made his abode in the darksome vallies of Gelosia: and Pinodipson, who took an unworthy pleasure in afflicting the meaner sort of people; he us'd to cut them with a poyson'd sword, and those which were wounded, seem'd afterward to dye so many deaths as they lived hours, and at last dyed indeed cursing.

He met Bellona in the rough Deserts of Pammachia, and she being enrag'd at the presence of her sworn Foe, running upon him with a Womanish fury, chanc'd to wound her self in her right hand upon the point of Bentivolio's sword; whereupon she let her own fall. Bentivolio took it up, and casting his eyes upon the innocent bloud with which it had been oft besmeared, as he was going to break it, she fell down upon her knees, and beseeching him to hold his hand, promis'd if he would restore her beloved Sword, she would submit to any conditions which he should appoint. Bentivolio knowing that she was provided with other Weapons of as unmercifull effect, call'd for the scabbard, and having sheath'd the cruell blade, he took an oath of her never to draw it more in any Country where he should happen to be, and so dismiss'd her, to the great joy of the people, who could never live in peace for her.

These and such like accidents caus'd divers conjectures in mens minds concerning Bentivolio, who he should be; and whil'st some said one thing, and others another, some stick'd not to affirme with confidence that Hercules was risen from the dead, and having chang'd his Lions skin for the Lambs, and [Page] thrown away his Club, did more without it then with it.

Having passed severall nations, he came at last to the forlorn Kingdom of Ate, which he judged the most loathsome that ever he saw, and did before esteem it impossible that any could be so bad, knowing well that God never made any such. He was no sooner entred within the Borders, but the unhealthfulness of the Aire had almost choaked his Vitall Spirits; and being remov'd from the gladsome Sun by a chain of Hills, that lifted up their heads so high, that they intercepted the least glance of his comfortable beames, it was dark and ruefull. He happen'd to light upon an obscure path which led to Ate's house, which was encompassed with the pitchy shade of Cypresse and Ebon Trees, so that it look'd like the Region of Death: as he walk'd he perceiv'd the hollow pavement made with the skulls of murdred wretches. At the further end of this dismall walk he espied a Court, whose gates stand open night and day, in the midst whereof was plac'd the Image of Cruelty, with a Cup of poyson in one hand, and a dagger all wet with reeking bloud in the other; her haires crawl'd up and down her neck, and sometimes wreath'd themselves about her head in knots of snakes, fire all the while sparkling from her mouth and eyes. Upon this he returned, guessing it to be rather the Temple of some infernall Goddesse, then the Palace of a Terrestriall Queen. At the entrance of this cursed place, by a way which leads to a duskish wood, he met two women, which by their habit seem'd to be Furies of Hell, but were indeed attendants of Ate. Their names he learn'd to be Sdegna and Vendetta: and they, expressing their hearts in words which did not fit them, would needs entreat him to accept of such accommodation as that place would afford. Bentivolio well knowing what that must needs be, if the inside corresponded with what he had seen, and the entertainment were to be given by such Ministers, made at first such refusall as might be interpreted Modesty and Complement; but at length appearing to be plain Denyall, after the vain repetition of many entreaties, they appear'd like themselves: For after some ill language, they hasten'd away through the dark shade of the thick Grove, designing a Revenge of their slighted offer; though it was [Page] not so much a neglected Civility as a frustrated Malice.

Bentivolio being thus delivered from an ugly Invitation, made haste to seek a place where better people might more probably be expected: being come to a neighbouring Town, he had been there but a little while before he found that the subjects were too like the Devilish Tyrant that commanded them. After some indignities receiv'd, for which he knew no reason, but that those which offered them had nothing else to give, as he was casting in his mind what to do, and after many thoughts resolv'd to abandon that den of Devils; he receiv'd a Letter from Astraea, who the day before was sent thither to take vengeance of such a Villany, as the Divine Justice, without a seeming neglect of Government, could not suffer to be unpunished, and that hasten'd the Execution of his purpose. The Letter contain'd these words.

BENTIVOLIO,

I am not ignorant who you are, and whence you come, and peradventure know where you are better then you do, having been here longer then your self. In this place dwells keen Hatred and unrelenting Spite. The Inhabitants, as I understand, by order of the most wicked Ate, have a design to murder you. I have sent you herewith a Sword, which you will need before you come into your own Country; if you forgoe it not, you will perceive in time, that it was not an unfit expression of a friends good-will. As soon as you have read this Letter, be gone from this Earth, which I also will immediately leave.

ASTRAEA.

Bentivolio having return'd such an answer as so great a Civility requir'd, deeply griev'd with the cries of the oppress'd, [Page] and more with the incorrigible misery of those who esteem'd all wrongs lawful, which furthered their own interest, retir'd to a Port which was not far off, (intending, if he might, to imbarke himself from thence for Argentora, for he meant to return home that way, having receiv'd strange reports concerning that Country, of whose Truth he desired to be certified,) and there he found a ship which was driven in by storms, weighing anchor, not onely because the wind blew fair to carry them off, but because the inhospitable temper of the people made their stay undesired. Bentivolio giving them notice of his desire, and making it acceptable with offers of money, they took him in. Before they had sail'd many leagues a new Storm arose, and the West wind blew so tempestuously that they could not manage the ship; after a while the wind being somewhat appeas'd, they had also the comfort to make land, and a Port happily presented it self. Bentivolio hoping that it might possibly be Argentora, urg'd the Pilot by all means to put in; which they had no mind to do, fearing that it was the place from which not above a year before they had stolen a ship, where they were sure to find such welcome as that kind of guests doth deserve. Bentivolio not knowing the grounds of their unwillingness, offer'd to their Consideration the uncertain event which this Storm might have; it had a bad beginning, and for ought they knew might make a worse conclusion: however it would be a great consolation and security to see it blow over in a Harbour. The Mariners neither minding his reasons, nor regarding the worth of his person, for they knew him not, stood off, till at last the Boatswaine came running up into the Masters Cabbin, and told them that the Ship had sprung a leake which he could not stop, and that the water came in so fast, that they must either seek preservation ashore, or sinke. Upon this they chang'd their minds, and made what way they could to get into the Harbour; where they were no sooner arriv'd, but the vessel was almost full of water, and by that time the Passengers and Sailors were got ashore, it sunk before their eyes.

Bentivolio understanding by one of their Confessions the justnesse of the Punishment, which, by reason of the place [Page] where they suffered, did soon call to mind their Sin, gave them his charitable directions to help them to make the best of so bad a matter; and discovering the place to be Argentora, after he had receiv'd notice of his way, went up to a high cliffe, that he might from thence please himself with a view of the Country, which was hid from his Eye by a row of Hills which ran along the sea-coast; and when he had reach'd the top he found a place fit for his purpose.

It was that season of the Year when the Earth puts on her most gorgeous Apparrell to entertain the Sun, which doth then bestow longer visits upon that then the other Horizon, and that presented him with the loveliest Prospect that Imagination acquainted with such kind of things can desire. It was so far beyond ordinary Perfection, that he thought sure he was deceived, and that in stead of some true piece of Natures work, he beheld a delectable Contrivance of Curious Art; or else that Sleep, which had abandon'd him for some nights before, had unawares surpriz'd him, and that he was now in a Dream, where his Fancy taking those rare works which he had seen any where in pieces, and adding such others to them as she could devise, had united them all in one Glasse, to represent the bravest show of a fair Country that is possible either to exist or to be fancied. Having pleas'd himself a while with these amusements, at last he recollected himself, and by such ordinary tokens as do assure us that we are awake, he perceived that this was no Dream: and remembring that Art doth but imitate Nature, and is so far from out-doing, that it can never equall it, he was satisfied as to the reality of the sight; but withall from the newness of it, so incomparably perfect beyond all that he had seen before, he concluded that this was the Originall exemplar of Prospect, and therefore comprehended and exhibited all the possibilities of its Excellence at once.

Looking straite forward, he saw a Valley set forth with all the Embellishments that low ground is capable of. The rich fields of Corn and green Meadows lay in severall divisions interchecker'd like great beds of Flowers and fresh Grasse-plots in a large Garden. The Corn-sields look'd as if the Rootes which were hid in them complain'd that, by mistake of their [Page] own strength, through a great desire to be fruitful, they had sent forth more stalks then they could well support, and the overladen Eares encreas'd the oppression. The sweet Grasse grew up so thick in the Meadowes, that it seem'd to be streightned for want of room, and yet crowded closer to make way for those fragrant Flowers of all sorts which grew up with it; and these mingling their various colours as they best fitted the severall greens which they found there, made a show like a rich Carpet, where Grasse was the Ground, rarely made up with beautiful Embroderies of Flower-work. A little remov'd he saw brave Pastures, which though they were oppress'd with the feet and mouthes of daily guests that liv'd upon them, yet the inexhaustible soyle sent forth Grasse, and upheld its growth both in thickness and height in spite of their Teeth. The humble Rivers, in the lowest places they could sind, crept amongst these in such proportionable windings and careful distances, as if they design'd to carry their streams about with that Universal respect to the ground, that they would leave no place unwater'd; and then they slid away with such gentle slowness, as show'd that they either doubted whether they had perform'd their duty, or if they had, yet were loath to leave those pleasant banks, but being driven forward by such streams as came to supply their places, they murmur'd along to murmur'd the unwillingness of their departure. Toward the rising of the Hills, upon that side which is beloved of the Sun, he saw most noble Houses, whose several forms, though something different from each other, did all bear a well-agreeing Witness of greatest Art in the rare polishing and Excellent conjunctions of the best materials of Edisice. Those sides which are visited with colder winds were no less defended then adorn'd with well-grown Woods, which had stood there beyond the memory of man; and amongst those, the glory of that Countries Plants, Old Oakes lift up their stately heads supported with strong bodies, so invelopp'd with thick branches, that each Oak was more like a whole Wood then one single Tree. Under this guard, in places fit for them, stood all other Trees famous for bearing of Fruit, in such orderly rowes, that if you look'd upon them in right lines or [Page] transverse, you should not see one of them out of his Rank. In Summer these had most pleasant emulations; for whilst each Branch vied with its neighbour for numbers, the Fruits themselves showing a full growth, and adding also beautiful colours, endeavour'd with a lovely sight to anticipate the sweetness of relish, but by so doing made the Taste more acceptable, it being an addition of pleasure when that which delights looks handsomly. So the Vertues of accomplish'd Souls are more graceful when they shine through Comely Bodies. The inferior Trees, which had not the Glory of Fruits, spread their leafy boughs to contrive cool shades, and made themselves safe cages for Musical Birds, whose daily work was to sing for joy, that even so they should contribute something to the happiness of such a Blessed [...].

Amongst these varieties he saw Fair Towns and little Villages scatter'd up and down, but in such convenient distances, that they seem'd like Bee-hives of divers sorts orderly plac'd in several Gardens; and he could not but take notice how the numerous Inhabitants went out and in like swarms of busie Bees.

It gave him great delight to observe how through the middle of each Town, or not far from it, the streams which had been driven from the fields came down in silver Brookes; but much more, when he was told afterward that they brought along with them great plenty of excellent Fishes, which the people needed not to trouble themselves to catch, for they desiring to take themselves prisoners, swam voluntarily every day into their Nets and Weels; or if they did but throw a Hook into the water, they would hang themselves upon it, and give them notice that they might draw them out.

His eyes being glutted with the Luxuriant Pleasantness of the Valley, he turn'd them toward the Ground, which by its situation is lifted up somewhat higher, and so more moderately moist, and there new Sights encountred him; namely such numerous multitudes of well-fleec'd Sheep upon large Walks, that made it a question whether the Grounds were over-grown with Sheep or the Sheep with Wooll; which what it wanted of the colour of the Golden Fleece, it did more [Page] then compensate with Softness. Near to these he pleas'd himself to behold the large Parks, wherein goodly herds of comely Deer rang'd up and down, whilst the little Fawnes tripp'd after them.

But as by the long hearing of Excellent Musick the powers of attention are tired; the Body having joyn'd with the Soul in the freeyielding of its self to the melodious Sympathy of grateful Notes, the wearied Spirits, gather'd together with a soft sweetness, repose themselves in their cels by a silent slumber, just as the troubled Bees are woo'd to cluster themselves upon the Branch of a Tree by the to-them-acceptable noise of Basins:

So it was with Bentivolio. For being ravish'd with so many pleasing Sights which he had attentively considered, his Eyes, enfeebled with seeing, began to shut themselves, and gave him leave to fall into a gentle slumber. Out of which he was soon awaken'd, and entred into a serious Meditation of the Design of such an extraordinary Work: not doubting but so much costly care was bestowed for a most considerable purpose. After many thoughts, he resolv'd that Liberal Nature, having so accomplish'd each part, that none could say which was best, intended in the Constitution of the vvhole to bestow such an unparallel'd Plenty upon the Country, as to put it beyond all necessity of beholdingness to Forreigners, and vvithall took care that no Inhabitant should be in danger of Want at Home, without a sordid disingenuity of the Natives.

Bentivolio upon this Consideration enamour'd with the Divine Benignity, fell down upon his knees and said,

Blessed be thou, Most Bountifull Creator; the severall Kingdomes of the World are thy little Families, and thou comprehendest in thy Fatherly care all things which thou hast made. I thank thee for that fair Portion of Earthly Blessings which thou hast bestowed upon this Island. Grant them also of thy Grace such [Page] Wisdome and Charity, that none may so [...] engrosse thy Gifts, as to make those Poore for whom thou hast provided enough, and so instead of giving thee due praises for their own Fullnesse, make themselves guilty of the Unthankfull murmurings of others occasion'd by want.

After this he began to think how the people bestowed this abundance, and concluded that, since it did in so great a measure exceed their necessities, a great part of it must needs perish for lack of use: and turning towards the South, where the Sea presented it self, he perceiv'd under saile a great [...] of Ships, with the advantage of a prosperous gale making way into the Haven: and he would certainly have concluded that those Vessels came to setch away the surplusage, but that he remembred, in the Port where he first landed they came from other parts of the World, laden with Goods of sorreigne growth in great Quantities, as rich Wines, excellent Fruits, good Corne, and with these, Silks and Stuffs, [...] and Jewells. Thereupon he imagin'd that provident Nature had appointed this Island as the Magazine of her Treasures, and having lay'd up all the riches of the World here as in a Store-house, that they might be secure against a general Dearth, had moated it round and strengthen'd it with a wall made of Sand and Water, besides a floating Bulwark, that was removeable to any place as occasion serv'd.

In the midst of these thoughts he went down the Hill, to know if the Inhabitants equall'd the Place: but before he came at the bottom, he found that they did not make that use of the Divine Goodness to which they were abundantly obliged; for he saw presently, what he expected never to have been, in a little Cave or hole in the side of the Hill, a miserable couple lying upon the ground, which were Husband and Wife; he was call'd [...], she [...]: and whilst he stood astonish'd with the misery of their looks, which were so wan, [Page] that no body could [...] by that which appear'd in their faces that they were alive, there came in two Children, a Boy and a Girle; his name was Therodes, hers [...]. They were naked, except where Nature is ashamed to be uncovered; their carriage [...], only they could speak. Upon so sad a sight he could not abstein from teares, mingled with a passionate Exclamation against the uncharitableness of mankind. These were some of his words, O [...] Covertousnesse! thou hast no pleasure but in too much: nay it is a pleasure to thee if others have too little. Cursed roote of Inhumanity, which hast taken away the Commiseration of others sorrowes! Thou, hast of Hell, hast harden'd the hearts of men which are naturally soft. Tis thou hast let that ill favour'd Hagge, [...], into the Word. Thou hast brought in the poore to fill the World with Discontents and Curses against God, whom by thy perswasions they believe to have taken no [...] of them. Thou hast made them to envy and hate those which are better provided for then themselves, which they would never have done, but that they see them destitute of Charity. Thou [...] forc'd [...] to rise out of Hell, and to associate with the Needy, who steal that they may not starve. unreasonable Desire! which hast so besotted men, that they have forgot Civility, understand no proportions of Competency, nor can trust God though they do see him. Thou perverter of all Good, God hath provided more then enough to supply the wants of all his [...] which made them knew how much they would lack, and hath given perfect directions concerning the use of his provisions, which if they were observ'd, would turn Misery out of the World. O Enemy of [...] Charity! that great band of the Universe, which if it were broke, would cause the Heaven to sall in pieces.

The trouble of this unpleasant Meditation was broke off by the coming of a sprightly youth, which made haste up the Hill, and calling at Lazarillo's Cave, said, Lazarillo, my name is [...], and I am sent from a Charitable Lady which dwells not far off, who hath heard of your afflictions, to bring your Wife and Children to her house, where she will take care of you all.

Bentivolio startled at such an unexpected accident, and being one that counted all mens Happiness his own, as much pleas'd with hearing the acceptable contents of the [...], as the poor folkes to whom it was directed, presently accosted the young [Page] man, whom he could not but love, for that blithe chearfulness with which he delivered the Expressions of his Ladies Charity, and ask'd him, how his Lady understood that these poor folks dwelt in this wild place. My Lady, said Hermagathus, hath a sincere joy in relieving the wants of the poor, and that affection will enable any to discover where they are. Bentivolio ask'd him how he knew the way to this place, or whether he had been here before or no. No, said Hermagathus, for my Lady hath not been long in this Country: but I have gone many such errands, and whithersoever I am sent, she alwaies gives me such perfect directions that I never lose my way. Upon this Hermagathus looked round about to view the Cell, and seeing nothing but a little Book in the Rock side, for that was all the goods they had, except an earthen Pot, in which they boyl'd Rootes and Herbs, he ask'd them what it was. They said they could not tell. Now it was an old Prayerbook of their Grand-mothers: and Hermagathus bad them bring it with them, for his Lady would have the Children taught to read it. So having told them his Ladies name, and given them directions to find her house, he left the poor people, who began gladly to prepare for their journey.

Bentivolio hoping to gain some intelligence of the Country from this young man, however desirous to be inform'd more fully concerning that Excellent Lady, went along with him, pretending that his journey lay that way: as indeed it did, for he desired to see nothing so much as those surviving examples of Charity, which were yet left in the Unmerciful Age. Hermagathus not a little glad of such Company, express'd an extraordinary, but very real, desire of knowing whether, in any thing which he could perform, he might make himself lesse troublesome to so Noble a Companion. You need not doubt your acceptableness to a lonesome Travailer, said Bentivolio; but you may also greatly oblige me, if you will give me a larger accompt of your Lady, her House, and the manners of it. That I will do with all my heart, replied Hermagathus. And by this time they were come to the brow of a Hill, from which they might easily discern the Houses and as they walk'd along in sight of it, Hermagathus began thus.

[Page]

Upon the further side of that pleasant River stands my Ladies House: it takes, as you see, the advantage of a little Ascent: the way which leads to it from the River is pav'd with smooth stones: it hath a fair Frontispiece, and may be seen at a great distance: the Gates are broad, and stand alwaies open: they lead into a fair Court, where two Servants constantly attend to conduct all comers into a large Hall; where the Steward of the house takes notice of their respective Conditions, and makes provision for them according to their several necessities.

The House is two Stories high; the Lower is appointed for Offices, the Upper is divided into two parts, with a fair Gallery between the Divisions: upon each side every Guest hath a Room by himself furnish'd with all necessary accommodations. The Officers which administer such things as they want, do their work with such exact Care and loving Willingness, that none can be serv'd better in their own houses by the best-tutor'd and most ready servants. Every Guest may stay as long as he pleaseth; and when any desireth to be gone, they give him free leave, but never send him away empty. When those that come Sick have regain'd their Health, they are employ'd sutably to their dispositions and abilities; and in the time of their Sickness they are accompanied by such as do not only take care of their Bodily health, but entertain their Minds with Excellent discourses of the Concernments of their Soules, especially about their Spirituall Nature, Immortality, and the just preparations for a Better Life.

That you may understand how they accomplish all this, the House is, as you see, plac'd in the midst of rich Lands, and they supply it with all needful Provisions. The Tenants pay but a smal part of their Rents in Money, and in stead of that, they bring in Corn of all sorts, Wool and Flax, Sheep and oxen, Wood and Coales: and when the Provisions exceed, as they do in plentiful yeares, we lay up for times of Scarcity, for which we have convenient Store-houses. The River, besides good store of Fish, brings up from other places with great facility such things as we are not supplyed with at Home.

[Page] Our Store is not only preserv'd, but exceedingly encreas'd, by reason of that frugal way of living which my Lady useth, not only her self, but her Retinue, content with a little for their own share, desirous to be rich only in Good works, and to abound in such things of which they can never be depriv'd.

Before the House lies a Physick-garden, well stored with Medicinal Herbs, as likewise with such as are good for Food. Those which come in healthful, are usually kept so by an herb call'd Temperanza, which also is of great use to recover those which are sick; but if it prevaile not alone, she joyns with it some Cordial and sudorifick Plants, which are not hard to be had, for there is great plenty of them, and all the servants know both which they are and how to use them, and so doth every Patient after the first time. Those which have received the benefit of Health by such easie means, do something suspect the tedious methods of some Physitians as guilty of unworthy Artifice, and more accommodated to their own Benefit then their Patients Relief, as I have sometimes heard them say; and that God hath not so wholly deserted us in the daies of our Calamity, as to lay those things which should help us so far to seek, as that we cannot tell where to finde them. But I will not trouble you with any longer discourse of our affaires, but rather, since I perceive by your chearful acceptance of my report, that it is not ingrateful to you to understand the way of our life, humbly entreat you to bestow a visit upon my Lady; where, as I am sure you will receive perfect welcome, so I make no doubt but one of your worthy disposition will be well content to gain the acquaintance of such an Excellent Person.

Bentivolio, taking great Consolation that Charity was not wholly banish'd from the Earth, as he perceiv'd by this Relation, and desiring much to see the prudent Government of a House, where a Stripling had learn'd such Discretion, told Hermagathus, that he would not fail to call there as he pass'd by: and being now come to the Rivers side, he desired Hermagathus to go over, for that he himself would stay a while, not so much to repose himself, as to know what was become of the poor [Page] Travailers. Having dismiss'd Hermagathus, and stay'd longer for them then he thought the measuring of so much ground, though with a slow place, would have required, he went back to meet them, fearing some mischief had befallen them, or that they had lost their way: which indeed they had, for, as one that met him gave him notice, they mistaking their directions, had gone out of the rode towards a house which belong'd to a Gentleman of a far different Temper from the Ladies, whither they should have gone; and there Bentivolio found them knocking at the Gate. The Porter looking sourly through the Bars of a little Window which was in his Lodge, told them, those Gates were made to shut, not to open; to keep out Strangers, not to let them in. His Master being by chance near the Gate, and fearing, as he did alwaies, that some were come to rob him, ventur'd to peep upon the Thieves, but shut the little Loop-hole presently, saying, they are Ghosts; as he might well have call'd them, if they had had no more bones then flesh. They still continued knocking, desiring entrance for God's sake; a phrase of small regard at that house. Plutopenes pretending not to understand the Language, ask'd his Porter what they said, and away he went. I wonder, saith another Servant that stood by, that our Master is so dull to day, that he understands not his Mothers Tongue. There is no reason for that, quoth the Porter, since you know, let the Language be what it will, he never understands more then he lists, nor heares what any body speaks, nor knows what they say, if they ask any thing of him.

Bentivolio, having seen the fruitless event of this vain attendance, call'd to the poor people, Come, Come, said he, you have knock'd at a wrong door; you went to a house unto which you were not invited; there is a River between this and that which you are to seek: I will direct you. When he had accompanied them almost to the Ferrie, he went a little before to provide the [...] against their coming. The Ferrie-man with meek words and courteous behaviour demanded if he would passe over. Very willingly, quoth Bentivolio; only I expect the coming of some other Passengers, who are not far off. However, saith Oictirmon, for that was his name, I will put [Page] you over first; for by that time they will be here, more may chance to come then my Boate will well transport. To this Bentivolio consented, and the Ferrie-man landed him safe upon the further side; where he stay'd to awaite the arrival of his seeble followers. oictirmon had not been long return'd, but they came, whom with careful hand he plac'd in his Boate: and as he was ready to put off, there came a fellow hollowing as he ran, and puffing cryed, Hold, hold. oictirmon, taking notice of his grim Visage and clutch'd fingers, What, saith he, you are one of Plutopenes his servants. Yes, saith he, and my Master is hard by, who comes to make a Visite to your Lady. I desire you, since there is room, to take him in with you. I wonder at this, replyed oictirmon, for he never pass'd this way in all his life, that I remember. God grant his coming be for good: I am much afraid what it will be: but if he will go over, he shall; our custom is to be civil to all; I have order to take in as many as my Boate will hold. By this time Plutopenes was come, being out of breath with unusuall walking; for he had not been out of his house for many yeares, and had a great bunch of heavy Keyes upon his back, having lock'd up all the doores of his house, lest his servants should run away with his money; and by chance he was fat and sweated extremely. In goes he to the Boate, but with such an unluckie hast, that the weight of his body and the suddenness of the swag overturn'd the Vessel upon the Passengers. Plutopenes sunk to the bottom of the River near the bank-side, and his man, something doubting whether he should endeavour to save him or no, yet seeing him come up, caught hold of his left Arme, and he with his right hand, sufficiently taught to catch and hold fast, got the Post to which the Boate was fastned, and so with much adoe scrambled out. Never minding what was become of the rest, or so much as once looking back, away he trudg'd, inwardly glad to think that they would never trouble his gate more; yet pretending to his man a great rage against oictirmon, and that he would have his life, but that he had lost it already, for having design'd to drown him. Lazarillo and his sorry family were drown'd; though oictirmon would fain have sav'd them. Alas! it was not in his power: for as the Boate was [Page] overwhelm'd, Plutopenes having hold of his hand, pull'd him so deep under water, that he had much ado to get clear of him: so that though he could swim, by which meanes he saved himself, yet the swiftness of the stream having carried away their bodies, who, being weak and unskilful, could do nothing to help themselves, they were quickly so far gone, that before oictirmon was able to offer it, they were past the recovery of his assistance. Swimming over to Bentivolio, he wept so heartily all the way, that the good Gentleman could not but bear him company, having seen the lamentable occasion of those teares, which was not in his power to help.

As they went along towards the House, oictirmon told Bentivolio, that his misgiving heart presag'd this or some such unhappy event of Plutopenes his approach, it having been his constant practice to break all the Designs of Charity which he could hear of. He told him of several young men, whose lands he had got into unjust possession by the rigorous forfeiture of some petty Mortgage; how many Widdows he had defrauded of their small portions of money, and whose houses he had devoured; and how many poor House-keepers he had brought to plain beggery, with an extortionate loane of a little money, so that this was not the first time he had sunk the Poor.

By that time he had made an end of a few stories, they were come to the House; where the Lady awaited his arrivall with such expectations as she had only for an Extraordinary Guest: which were partly occasion'd by those high praises wherewith Hermagathus had extoll'd both the Excellency of Bentivolio's person, and the equal sweetness of his manners; but chiefly upon a Conceit which she kept secret in her own Breast, that he was her Brother: and walking up and down the Hall as Bentivolio came in, she found her divination true.

Here I dare not offer to undertake the relation of those excessive joys which were kindled in both their hearts upon this happy Interview: those glorious Flourishes wherein the passions of Romantick Lovers are described, are but faint shadowes of that substantiall Contentment which these two Vertuous persons really experimented; and therefore I lay them by as useless. Neither are they sutable to this Pleasure, which grew [Page] so much greater, and exceeded in reality, as it was grounded upon nothing but such Goodness and worth as is of a Spirituall and more rais'd Nature; and indeed was the same kind of Solace which Holy Soules enjoy in the Eternall World.

The by-standers equall'd this Joy with Wonder; and well knowing the great Prudence and unparallel'd Goodness of the Lady, and seeing nothing but a most fair appearance of all Perfections in the Gentleman, as the Cause of such extraordinary affections was more inevident, they found themselves fix'd in Silence and Admiration. Some which were more ingenious, thought they had a rare Vision of such Gods as Homer talks of, which know one another whensoever they meet, though they live in divers Countries. But these doubts were suddenly resolv'd, when urania (for that was the Lady's name) having perform'd all civility which belong'd to the first salutations, said, Come, Brother, let us withdraw from this place, lest by staying here too long to indulge our affections, we neglect such duties as ought to be perform'd in regard of your present state, which I desire to understand.

They retir'd into a Summer Parlor, and after a short repose sweeten'd with pleasant Conferences, in which they gave and received an interchangeable report of such things as had happen'd to them since their parting, urania desir'd her Brother to take notice of a Gentleman whom she had sent for, with such respect as she might bespeak for one whom she judg'd not unworthy of his Friendship.

He was call'd Panaretus; and though he was her Brother, she conceal'd his name, desiring to surprize Bentivolio with a new joy, for he knew not that Panaretus was there. As soon as Panaretus was come into the Room, Bentivolio perceiv'd the Pleasure, which he thought before swell'd to all possible Extents, to grow yet bigger, and was forc'd to act over again that delightful Part which he had but even then perform'd. Panaretus receiv'd this most acceptable encounter with such a passionate joy, as the sight of a Brother who had been long absent, and whom he had alwaies endear'd to himself with the greatest affections, must needs produce. Then they entertain'd each other with glad Salutes, and reflected mutually the same Love in various Expressions.

[Page] When they had spent some time in this sort of Intercourse, all Three pleasing themselves to consider in what equal proportions an Extraordinary Happiness was bestowed among them all, Oictirmon fearing that the extremity of such unexpected Joyes had quite put out of Bentivolio's mind the remembrance of the late accidents, with which he thought others ought to be affected, measuring their duty by those strong sentiments of Pity which he found in his own Breast, had a great desire to impart the troubles of his mind to urania; that so though the Wrongs could not be reliev'd, yet his Grief might be something allayed by her Sympathy, whilst she receiv'd a sad account of the miscarriage of her charitable intendments. Bentivolio, who was before unwilling to mixe such sad notes with the pleasantness of the foregoing Harmony, having been an Eye-witness, was forc'd now to bear his part by attesting Oictirmon's too true Relation. After they had made such Morall improvements as a Calamity in it self incapable of reparation would allow, the night being come, they resolv'd to put off the determination of what was to be done in the case till Morning; and after the repast of a moderate Supper, each of them betook themselves, though with an unwilling willingness, to their necessary repose.

In the morning urania, rising not long after the Sun, went out of her Chamber, and understanding that Bentivolio was walking in the Garden, having gone down a little before, she sent a servant to desire him to come to her. After the passing of mutuall gratulations and good wishes, she acquainted him with her Purpose, which she would not put in Execution without his advise, which was to see Plutopenes; not so much to repay the Visit which he pretended to have made to her the day before, or to condole his Misfortune, which she deem'd too [...] a Punishment for the mischievous rashness by which he fell into it, but to take this opportunity of administring some Counsel which she had to give him, doubting whether she might ever meet with the like again.

Bentivolio approv'd her Design, and having accompanied her over the River, she desired him to trouble himself no further, for that she and Panaretus would soon accomplish that [Page] small business which she had to do, and return to him ere many houres were expir'd. As soon as they were gone out of sight, Bentivolio employ'd himself in Enquiry after the dead bodies of Lazarillo and the rest which were drown'd. He had not gone far before he understood that they were stop'd at a Bridge, being catch'd in nets not laid for such purposes; and having given order for their decent buriall, he return'd towards the Ferrie, intending to divert himself upon the banks of that fair River till urania's return.

The thoughts of the niggardly Plutopenes being fresh in his mind, he imploy'd the remainder of his time to draw the ugly Picture of Covetousnesse in a Copy of Verses, which I am willing to insert here, because in them he hath shown how Poverty comes into the World, not withstanding Gods bountifull provisions, and prov'd that the Benignity of his Intentions is made ineffectuall to our Happinesse onely by the Uncharitablenesse of Men. They began thus,

It is but just: We [...] since that; I cease

From quarrells: 'Twas a Blessing to encrease,

Though now a Curse. The teeming Earth doth breed

More then the Fruits which it brings forth will feed.

It seems of late God hath resum'd the Curse,

And for our Sins grown greater made it worse.

Then we had Bread, though it was bought with Sweat:

We sweat still, but it doth not earne our Meat.

Men live too long perhaps, or some too soon

Come, before those which should make roome are gone.

If Death were not grown Idle, we should thrive:

We are too many all at once alive.

No, that's not it. They had Enough of Old,

Yet liv'd till our short Age they ten times told.

He which made All things, knew what they would want,

And did not give Allowances so scant,

That men could think their Maker was but Poor,

Or, which is worse, through Envy hid his Store.

No, no, Rich Bounty, thy kind hands did make

Thy Gifts Great, like the Giver, for our sake.

[Page] The Measures are large-siz'd, which thou dost fill;

And though they are press'd down, run over still.

But we are greedy, and through Avarice carve

Such Portions to our selves, that others starve

Whilst we are glutted: nay, though they complain

Whom we have rob'd, we count their losse just gain;

And jostling others cry, All scrambling's fair,

Some All, some Nothing is an Equall share.

Thus our Sins further others Faults and Woe,

Whilst God is Curs'd by us and for us too.

And with our Wants we falsly charge the Earth:

Engrossers Barns are full in Yeares of Dearth.

Thus wicked Murmurs, which seem just, by such

Are caus'd who seek more, though they have too much,

But part with Nothing. You with far more ease

Might rob the Gardens of th' Hesperides.

I'th Dragons stead had we look'd to the Fleece,

The Argon auts had sail'd in vain from Greece.

We make an Iron Chest the fatall Urne

Whence Gold once buried never doth return.

The Love of Having is that Wide-mouth'd Pit

Which hath no ground; God's Plenty's lost in it.

Or, like those Monsters which fat Kine destroy'd,

Is Hungry and Leane still; fill'd, but not cloy'd.

For when our true Necessities are suppli'de,

Rather then wee'l the Overplus divide,

We frame phantastick needs, and so desraud

Those Stomachs which for want of Meat are gnaw'd:

And think we do a good Excuse devise,

We have our Bellies fill'd, but not our Eyes.

Then Luxury makes Artificial Feasts,

As if we meant to pose, not feed our Guests;

Having contriv'd such curious sorts of Meat,

They know not what they do, which they should Eat.

Then Gold, which answers all the Poore's behoofes,

Shines to small purpose in the glistring Roofes

Of Stately Dining-Roomes; or on the Dore

Where they ask Almes it is bestow'd before.

Our Native Wool, which made that Home-spun stuffe

Which our Brave Ancestors thought good enough,

[Page] When Hospitality was clad in freeze,

Doth not become such handsome times as these.

Though we might know it fits our Climate best,

It must be shipt to fetch us from the East

What fits our Humors. We find Silks too full

Of Heat, when some are Cold for want of Wooll.

Thus we affront the Grounds of Ancient Praise,

And scorn the Patterns of more sober dayes.

Hydropick Beast! will nothing quench thy Thirst?

Here, try a Recipe. Drink Tagus first,

And then Pactolus: if these will not doe,

Then take the Ocean and drink that up too.

But all the Virtue of Unfathom'd Seas

Cannot relieve the Thirst of this Disease.

Urania being come to the Gate, Panaretus knock'd. The Porter looking forth of his little Window, they demanded entrance, as having some business of importance to communicate to Plutopenes, and withall gave him some money, which was currant at the same value with the servants that it was with the Master, and was a generall key which open'd any lock of the house. When they came almost to the Hall door, Plutopenes alarm'd with the opening of his Gates, came forth like one frighted with Thunder; but seeing only a Woman and one man, and having some servants in the house, he made a shift so far to subdue his feares as to bid them come into his Hall; where Urania began thus to accost him. Sir, said she, I come not to beg any thing of you (he was very glad of that) but to repay you a Visit, (he had been as well pleas'd if she had said nothing) and to inform you of what may make to your singular benefit. I shall acquaint you with some particulars in which you suffer a great Dammage, which no body doth reveal to you, and give you some advice concerning the Improvement of your Estate. At these words, which he understood to speak Profit, he lift up his [...], and partly to show a little forc'd civility, partly to be out of his servants hearing, lest they should cheat him of the benefit of so good newes, by understanding it as well as himself, he pray'd them, [Page] after his fashion, to walk into a Parlor, which indeed was more Cave then Parlor. She, not knowing what might happen, desired that Panaretus might come in along with her, telling him that the design of his Profit was wholly lay'd by that Vertuous Gentleman. Upon those words he consented, though with no small jealousie of being robb'd. Through a dark entry, where no light ever came but what was cast by a Torch, which was held by a grim Porter, who fac'd them, as if he would have knock'd them down with his looks, they came to an Iron door, which had many locks: this being open'd, they came into a kind of a Vault enlightned with a rusty Lamp, by which they perceiv'd a great company of Iron Chests where he kept his Gold and Silver close prisoners; only for want of room there, some had a little more liberty, lying in heaps in severall corners of the Grott or Grave, where he and his money were buried together. Knowing well that he expected not, nor ever offered Complement, ‘Sir, quoth Urania, Generall Report speaks of you as a man of vast Riches: but I have heard some few, which pretend to better knowledg of you, to say, that you are very poor; and now I find it to be true. I am sorry for you; (but he was glad, thinking, because she esteem'd him poor, that she came to give him something.) Its true, some would esteem this a great Treasure which you possesse: but alas! what is it to your necessities, who want both this and a thousand times more? Your wants lie in the greatnesse of your Desires, and I am afraid it is next to impossible to provide so much as a Competency for you. That which I am able to bestow is a very small Almes; but such as it is I will impart it [...] Though I have not Moneyes or Lands to give you, yet I will endeavour to show you a way infinitely to improve your own Estate, and to discover to you, as I said before, what keeps you so poor. First, you have no use of your Money, which indeed these thievish Chests have stollen and keep from you. Many of your Houses fall down, because no body dwells in them; your Mannors and Lands return but to an improfitable account, because you have [...] then you know what to do with. I perceive you want the assistance of excellent Stewards, that [Page] might improve your fortunes exceedingly, by relieving with them the necessities of the poor neighbourhood, and advance, by the prudent disposall of superfluous summs, Mechanicall Arts and ingenuous Sciences, which would return into your Coffers, with an unspeakable encrease, the Comforts of the Poores Prayers, the Blessings of Charity, and the true honour of being a Benefactor to Mankind. Besides the avaritious Rust which eats out your Money, there is a Canker also which preyes upon your Estate, which is the Fraud by which you have gotten it, and the Curse of those evil Counsels and Principles with which you hinder others from doing any Good.’

‘As for Example, You perswade them to build no Almeshouses, because others will sell what they give: and when they tell you they have so setled their Gifts by Law, that if they be converted to any other use, they shall immediately return to their heires; you tell them, they will not. When you are ask'd concerning that proportion of Estate which one may call a Competency, you answer, All that one can scrape together is but a Competency; and that the way to come to it is, to spend nothing upon such improfitable businesses as Charity. So that no good Design can be propounded, but you are ready to Contradict it with such Reasons as you are ever framing in this shop of Covetousnesse: and besides that your constant Example hath corrupted thousands who had better inclinations, you drowned four miserable Wretches yesterday, as they were upon their way to one that would have relieved them. —’

Plutopenes much gall'd with this talk, hoping she would end, as she began, with some Comfortable word, made a shift to endure it all this while; but now being unable to hope or hear further, cryed out, as if his throat had been cut, [...], Harpagus. At which unexpected noise in he rusheth with his club; Plutopenes still crying, Knock them down Harpagus, knock them down. Panaretus, seeing the fellow too ready to obey such a vile command, having drawn his sword, said, Lay down your club, we offer no wrong; [...] if you will not, I shall disinable you for ever taking it up again. So interposing [Page] his body between him and urania, whilst the Villain made ready to fetch a blow, Panaretus gave him such a stroke upon his right arm as he lift it up, that his club fell backward, and guarding urania out of the House, where no body was willing to detein them, they made hast towards the Water. But they were much startled with a cloud of Smoke which they saw about urania's House; and when they came to the River, they found Bentivolio in the same perplex'd guesses concerning it: but they were soon resolv'd with the cries of a dismall messenger, one of urania's servants, who running and making as loud a noise as one could that was half dead with fear, call'd, Oictirmon, oictirmon. They had no sooner perceiv'd him to be Hermagathus, but urania and both her Brothers prepar'd to go into the Boate: which he seeing, cryed out vehemently, No no; I must come over to you. Thereupon urania bad oictirmon fetch him over, being assured some extraordinary disaster had put the youth into this passion. As soon as he was come, he begins, Alas! Madam, you had not been gone half an hour, before a Troop of Horse begirt the House round; having kill'd the Pilgrims, and plunder'd it throughly, they have burnt it down, of which yonder smoke is a sad witnesse. They intend, as I over-heard some of them say, to possesse themselves of the Lands, by an Order that they have for it from one whose name I cannot remember, and expressed a great vexation when they could not find your person, against which they vented their fury in outragious threatnings. This Troop was commanded by one call'd Lestrigon, who pretended that he was sent to search the house for some Conspirators, which were reported to be harbour'd there, and to demolish it.

urania not much abash'd at that which she had in some measure expected, bearing up against a great affliction with a greater Courage, express'd her self thus; My dear Brother, Now, now you are in Argentora; you begin to see what kind of people dwell in this Country. I have received many affronts in that little time which I have sojourn'd here, and that which besides they had often threatned, as I was inform'd, they have now payed. Let's retire to yonder Wood, where we may with safety consult what course to take.

[Page] When they were sate upon a green Bank which offer'd it self under the coole shade of an old Beech, urania said it was her opinion, that they should return into Theoprepia. Bentivolio, out of extreme Good will to those which little deserv'd it, was much troubled that so rare an Example of Divine Charity should be removed, knowing well that a dark Night would follow the setting of such a Sun; and that the Unworthy might by kindnesse yet be conquer'd into a better Temper, with such arguments as he could he persuaded her Stay. She alleg'd the small successe of her former paines, and having no habitation left her though she would attempt further: She continued her resolutions to stay no longer, to receive more Wrongs where she could do no good; telling him withall, that she would take her journey home through the Kingdom of Piacenza, which was then govern'd by a Voluptuous Queen, and that if occasion serv'd she would endeavour their Reconciliation to Vertue.

Bentivolio finding his hopes of Reformation quite overthrown by urania's despaire, consented to her intendments, only with this earnest entreaty, that he might have leave to wander a while through the borders of Argentora, after which he would meet her in the Metropolis of Vana sembla; where they would give and receive an account of each others Travells. urania having signified her consent, they parted after mutuall Farwells, which were perform'd with lesse Ceremony and repetitions, because they hoped to meet again in a few dayes.

Bentivolio took the lower rode which goes through the Southern parts of Argentora, accompanied only with Hermagathus, whom he loved not only for those handsomenesses which he saw in him the day before, but also for a new Experiment of his Ingenuity: for when urania's house was encompassed with Souldiers, he stole down into a shady part of the Garden, where he lay hid till he perceiv'd they had withdrawn themselves into the House, and then by a back-way which led privately to the River, brought along with him urania's Cabinet of Jewels, and Bentivolio's Sword which Astraea gave him.

They came after some houres Travaile into a pleasant Grove, not far from the way which lay through it; and Bentivolio [Page] espying a shady Walk furnish'd with a convenient seat, he sate down to rest himself awhile. Behind him at a small distance was a Thicket of Bushes, and in them a close Arbour, where a young Gentleman was newly retired, who in a Tune between pleasant and sad, accommodated to a Theorbo a ditty which was his own Story. He seem'd with his Song to entertain the Wise Lady Dysemeria, with whom of late he had contracted an intimate acquaintance.

The Song being ended, he laid by his Lute, intending to take his usuall Walk, and then return home to Supper. Bentivolio espied him as he came forth of the Thicket, and having receiv'd great content in his Musick, being never last in courtesie, though he had committed no fault, he began immediately to crave pardon of the Gentleman for having unawares invaded his privacy, since that seeking the comfort of his own Retirements, he was brought, without designing any thing else, to the knowledge of his presence there, which if he had known before, Civility would have depriv'd him of those Joyes which now he had gladly stollen with an involuntary Theft. Erotocleus (for that was the Gentlemans name) though something surpriz'd, yet as much pleas'd with the high civility of words delivered by a person of most gentile presence, answer'd, Sir, you are as far from the necessity of making Excuses, as you are from having perform'd any thing that doth deserve them. Nothing needs an Excuse but a Fault; and if you have offended any body, I suppose you meant my self: All that I have to blame you for is, that you have made me to find one unawares whom I should have sought in vain throughout all this miserable Country. Bentivolio, a little blushing, replied, Sir, I perceive amongst your other Perfections you have entertain'd a great Charity for Strangers, and are apt to frame the best thoughts of others that you can, till you see reason to the [...], and to withhold your Assent to plausible grounds of suspicion till you have examined them; and therefore I pray you [...] excuse me if I be further so bold with you, as to desire that Happinesse in your Acquaintance, unto which your benigne deportment hath given me so fair an invitation. You ask, answer'd Erotocleus, so small a thing that it is not worth [Page] your having: yet I should make no scruple of obeying your Command, but that peradventure the discovery of my self and the relation of my Condition would give you the knowledge of such Misfortunes as might occasion your grief, since I judge you not uncapable of Compassion; and therefore I desire you would let me perform that which I think to be my duty in this point by Silence. No, I beseech you, said Bentivolio: for as it is impossible I should ever undervalue one of your Worth upon so inconsiderable a ground as Adversity; it may be also that my knowledge of your Wrongs may be some furtherance to your Vindication: for how poor soever I am in ability, yet I am provided of so much Good will, that, what I cannot by my assistance take off from you wholly, I shall not refuse to bear in part with you by Unfeigned Sympathy.

Erotocleus overcome with the resentments of such a generous Charity, was content to make known his Afflictions. I am, saith he, Erotocleus, the unfortunate son of Philapantas, who was Lord of a fair Baronrie in this Country. No Father was ever more loved by his Children, then he was honoured by his Tenants: His Universall Charity was so plentifully bestowed among them all, that they call'd him by no other Name then Father; His Exemplary Righteousnesse was so publickly known, that they fear'd to do Wrong, not so much because they were sure he would punish their Sin, but he made Righteousness so lovely by his own practise that they hated to do Wrong. His seat was Magnificent, his Lands situated between Pleasantnesse and Riches, and so became the Object of Envy to the Covetous, as his Holy Life was grievous to all wicked persons, who were constantly upbraided and condemned by it. He was divers times assaulted, and put in mind by rude attempts of the Uncertainty of Worldly State, vvhich he never forgot hovvever; for he made the daily consideration of it the reason of his true contempt of such things, which others bestow their best Affections upon with great Admiration.

He was once troubled, I remember, with a Company of rude fellowes, beggarly in their Condition, and vvorse in their Temper, which was compos'd of Covetousness, Discontent [Page] and foolish Arrogance; who pretending the Injustice which is in the unequall Division of the World, would needs attempt to reduce it into just Allotments: and in prosecution of their wise Design, would needs begin to parcell out his Lands into severall distinct proportions; promising to allow him a share sufficient for himself and Family, and to assigne his Tenants their parts, and take to themselves only so much as they needed and he could well spare, and of these measures they would be judges: and so they began with their Spades to cast up little marks of Division.

They undertook this business more confidently, because of some Dreames which one or two of them had concerning this Mode of Reformation, by which they made their Neighbours believe that it was revealed to them, and that as the Benefit of the Design was Universall, so the Successe was out of Doubt.

Philapantas wondring at such a strange device, of which he was inform'd by some of his Tenants, made hast to know the bottom of the businesse. As soon as he was come to this wild company, he desired to talk with their Leader, if they had any, for that he had something to communicate unto him. They not doubting but it was some Vision, received him the more contentedly, and brought him to one ononeirus, who was made their Chief, because he dream'd that he should lead them; and having found that trick so serviceable, made constant use of it, to dream in the night what he would have done the next day: They never daring to disobey what themselves had approv'd of for a Divine guidance; though it was such as by which they might be made to do or suffer any thing. Philapantas having ask'd him the Reason of their present Undertakings, ononeirus hearing that word Reason, was ready to have commanded his Myrmidons to slay him, which of themselves they were willing enough to have done, for they could not abide Reason neither: but the fear of [...] his attendants restraining his Zeal, he answer'd, that they had a Revelation for it, of which he was not to receive an account. ‘Say you so? quoth Philapantas; If you have a Revelation concerning these Lands, I am interested in it; and therefore I do desire [Page] some assurance of the truth of your Allegation, that I may warrant my obedience to it. The matter which you are upon is of great moment, and concerns so many besides your selves, that you have need of a good Commission for what you do. All that know God perceive him to be a lover of Righteousness, and those which pretend Communion with him must be just. Many Wise men, who see you invade others Proprieties, will fear that you are rather driven by the Disturber of mankind, and instigated with covetous desires, then inspired by God, who hath no where given encouragement to make havock of the Interests of our Neighbours: He hath commanded us to be content with our own, though it be but little, acknowledgeth the distinctions of poor and rich, and hath call'd the taking away of other mens goods without their consent, Theft. He doth allow Propriety as a fountain of Charity, and Nurse of civil Commerce and Industrie. And although some men do neglect the duty of relieving others necessities with their superfluity, and oppress the poor to inrich themselves, yet this is not the way to reform; the Remedy being manifestly worse then the Disease.’

Then offering the assistance of his particular Charity, as far as he should be able to supply those wants which might oppresse some of them, he advis'd them to return to their Homes, not doubting but many honest-minded people were seduced by the Delusions of cunning Hypocrites.

These last words made the slame break out which his whole Discourse kindled in their hearts; and then without any warning they fell upon him with their Spades, making their tooles instruments of war, which they pretended to have brought for other uses. But philapantas his Retinue soon chastised their folly; and having kill'd ononeirus and a few more of them, the rest vanish'd with his Dreames, and left their Mattocks to dig graves for their Companions, who were then content with a less share of Earth then before they had measured out.

This Mist being thus clear'd up, we lived in great serenity for a good while, till new clouds arose from the Covetousness of [Page] two envious Neighbours, potent in Argentora, who had a great desire to become possessors of other mens Estates, though their own was too much for them, especially because it gave them ability more effectually to disturb the Innocent.

One was a Gentleman call'd Forzario, of a fierce Temper, who us'd to satisfie his greedy mind with a lawless Force. He would compell all those which held any thing of him, to do whatsoever his surly disposition appointed; and this produc'd a continuall Vexation to my Fathers Tenants. He stop'd up the waies which led to their grounds, if they lay among his, (pretending they were but granted upon sufferance) to make them go two miles about for the quarter of one; and if they offer'd to break his unjust Hedges, they should be sure to be well beaten. He would make his men drive our Tenants Cattell upon his grounds, and then sue them for Trespassers; and they not daring to go to Law with him, were fain to compound with him, and so obtain at unreasonable rates a forgiveness of those Trespasses which he himself committed. It were insinite to speak of his Wickedness, but one thing I may not omit which he did to day: He arm'd divers of his Tenants which were most suitable to his wicked designs, and made them burn down the house of an Excellent Lady which dwelt not very far off, for no reason but that he had heard great reports of her Excellent Vertues, especially Charity. He is of a bloudy Temper naturally, and trusts so much in his strength, that he will fight with any one, hath challeng'd many, and kill'd some; but by corruption of a great Courtier or two he saves his own most unworthy life.

The other was a Lady, whose name is Inganna, and she took another way more agreeable to her sex; what he did by Force, she effected by Fraud, cheating the people with crafty Bargains, counterfeit Deeds, and Promises, which she kept no longer then till she had opportunity to break them. But in all her transactions she made such fair show of desiring to promote their good, and got so far within them by their plain Credulity, that they were never more perniciously hurt then when they thought their Welfare most secured.

The Tenants of these two vile persons made use of those [Page] unworthy wayes in their converse with others, which they had not only learn'd from their Superiors, but saw warranted by their greater Examples. And when they could not secure themselves under one Landlord, they would forthwith turn Tenants to the other, and sometimes serv'd Forzario, and sometimes were all for Inganna. In fine the two Oppressours jealously emulating each others adherents, a Marriage, which, I dare say, was none of those which are made in Heaven, was contrived between Forzario and Inganna, which was speedily accomplish'd, but to our unspeakable discomfort; for now they began to try all the arts which Fraud united with Force can put in execution, to work our ruine. After many attempts made in vain, partly by reason of my Fathers perfect Innocence, and partly by the prudent advice of a faithfull friend call'd Kalobulus, yet at last they brought it about, by the assistance of a corrupt Judge call'd Labargurus, whom they kept in such constant pay to serve their turns, that he counted their annuall Bribes a great part of his Salary. He either with the pretence of obsolete Lawes, which no body remembred ever to have been made, or with wrested senses of known Statutes, had done them many notable services.

The Design of my Fathers Destruction was laid thus: Labargurus, you must know, was one who made it his constant practise to betray unwary people for speaking dishonourably of the Duke by whom that Country was then govern'd: those which are discontented are apt to speak against any body; and those which provok'd them to talk, and were also witnesses of their speeches, were his false-hearted Spies. By these he was informed of some Words which my Father should say, in Company of which he was less carefull, not because he thought all that were present were just, but because he did never speak any thing unjust. It seems my Father complain'd of some Wrongs that Labargurus had done, and said that if the Duke did but know, of them, he was confident they would soon be redress'd, and the Judge punish'd. Labargurus having heard this, in stead of washing away the guilt of his Crimes with true Repentance, took Sanctuary against the feares of his Conscience in Revenge; and giving money to two of his [Page] Creatures that could sweare lustily, he fram'd this Accusation, That Philapantas did say, The Duke had done the people such Wrongs, that he was confident if they did but know their power, they would soon be redress'd, and the Duke deposed. So with the change of a few words, which perverted the sense of the rest, he drew up a Charge against Philapantas. Though this was incredible to most Good men, who knew Philapantas to be a most wary person and a loyall Subject; yet his constant absence from the Court made the pretence plausible to such as loved to think ill of any. Though indeed my Father absented himself not for any private grudges which he harbour'd in his bosom, but because he saw great insecurity for an honest man to be, where through false representation of persons and things, Friends could not be distinguish'd from Foes: And also for that whilst others multiplied their Titles, and swell'd their heaps of Money with hellish toils, he desir'd to enjoy the heavenly Tranquillity of his private life, and thereby take opportunity to provide for his Immortall security, which is in dreadfull jeopardy through the various Tentations of Princes Courts.

Now though these dangers be common to all Courts, yet they were less avoidable in this then some others, because of Two great Imperfections to which the Duke was subject, which had such an unbenigne influence upon Court and Country, that he was happy that could enjoy himself quietly in a corner. One was, that he despis'd true Religion: for though to please the people, which were that way given, he made a show of some such thing; yet he vilified it both by the constancy of an irreligious life, as also by such speeches which could become none but an Atheist; for he would commonly call them Fooles which pretended to put their whole trust in God, and laugh at the opinion of such as asserted the Immortality of the Soul, especially when they talk'd of our being Judg'd in another World. Another was, that he carelesly dispos'd places of Government and Justice, not much looking after Wisdome and Integrity in the choice of his Ministers, whose only Qualification was, their Willingnesse to serve his Designes; neither did he trouble himself to take any account [Page] of their good or bad Administration, to give them Encouragement or Punishment as they deserv'd: and from this fountain an Universall Corruption deriv'd it self upon all Orders of men. By means whereof the Country, which before was deservedly renown'd throughout the World for Righteousness, is now despis'd of all its Neighbours, and commonly call'd a Nation of degenerate Supplanters.

The Ministers of Justice, not abandoning the establish'd forms of Law, have made them however both useless to any good purpose, and also instruments of great Affliction: partly by the unmercisull delaies of processe in Law, which commonly continue till both parties being impoverish'd can go no further, or one of them at least be so tormented, that he is come to the same passe with poor wretches upon the Rack, who are willing to say or do any thing to come off; partly whilst their Estates are squeez'd into the Lawyers purses by large Bribes for the forementioned delays and unjust Sentences.

The Grandees trample upon all below them, and count it the duty of the Poor to be oppress'd; living much according to the rule of those Beasts, the greater of which devour the [...] the Poor desire any thing of them, they count it a kind of Robbery, and order the same punishment for them that other Countries do for Cut-purses; and when through intolerable Miseries they wish they had never been born, they bid them kill themselves, and say that then they shall enjoy the same Comfort.

The Epidemical Degeneracy hath infected also the Ministers of Religion, who being fallen from the true Knowledg and exemplary Vertue of their Predecessors, the Holy Fathers and Pious Martyrs, have compleated the scorn of their Ignorance with vitious practises; and are grown so unlike their Books, that even the rude multitude wonder upon what grounds they have set their confidence of giving Counsell, which they themselves render ineffectuall. But good men which live undiscern'd among them are much grieved, whilst they see those in whom Wit is deprav'd make a judgement of Religion by those foolish Opinions with which it is blended, and that many are tempted by the evil lives of Hypocrites, to [Page] think Goodness it self but a Show, and Christian Religion a [...], and so sall into [...], the plague of humane Nature; which besides the Unreasonableness of it in other respects, is also desiled with the baseness of Ingratitude, choaks in men all sense of the Divine presence, and [...] to the Great Father of the World that affectionate Adoration which is due from all his children. Having thus lost the Love of God, they can never love one another; for after they have broken those strong ties which he fasten'd in the roots of their Souls, they make nothing of mutuall obligations to Love, Courtesie, Charity, Friendship or Justice, and at last are become Beasts and Devils, the very face of Humanity being lost. And this appeares too plainly in the practise of the Vulgar also, who have no understanding of Charity further then Self-love, which begins and ends at Home: They count it all lawfull gain that they can [...] from others; and when it is done [...], it goes for Honest Cunning and Ability of Parts.

But I have been too long in the description of an unlovely matter. The day for my Fathers Tryall being come, the Witnesses were produc'd and sworn: and notwithstanding all that my Father alledged for the desence of his spotless Innocence, and though divers Persons of Quality who were present offer'd their testimony in the most solemn manner, that no such words were spoken at the place and time mentioned by the Witnesses, [...] being Judge, my Father was condemn'd to dye. His [...] were given to Forzario, who had some [...] of desert to the Traitors Estate, having been a means to discover the Treason, as [...] made the Duke believe: but the true reason of his doing so was a secret Compact made between him and Forzario, that if he could effect a Grant of the Estate, Labargurus should enjoy a fair Mannor which joyn'd to his own Lands. The unjust Sentence was soon executed; and lest further mischief should [...] me, (for the Cruell and Coverous are never satisfied) [...], of whom I told you before, commanded two of his trusty servants to convey me on Horse-back by night to his Castle, whence I have [...] sometimes to repair unto the shades of this Grove, where I had the happinesse to [...] you, and [Page] where I enjoy present safety, till God and Time shall bring the Truth to light.

I hope it will not be long before that be done, answer'd Bentivolio, who had fix'd his Eye upon Erotocleus all this while with carefull attention, and now found his heart deeply grieved for the unparallell'd afflictions which by this Story he understood; and esteeming no Glory like unto that which comes by relieving the oppressed, he breath'd forth this passionate Wish, O God, that I might be the happy instrument to serve Righteousness in so fair an opportunity, and that I might have the Honour of procuring Punishment for two Wicked Persons that have so highly deserved itland withall desired Erotocleus to bring him to Kalobulus, saying, I doubt not but after a short conference we shall find out a way to vindicate your Wrongs. Erotocleus despairing of that, yet receiving his courteous Sympathy with many thanks, began to direct him towards the Castle. They had gone but few steps before they met Kalobulus and his son [...], who were come forth to seek Erotocleus, wondring what was become of him, because he had stay'd longer abroad then he was wont to do: and before they could express their doubts concerning Bentivolio, he presented him to Kalobulus, and pray'd him to receive a Friend of his into his knowledg, and desired that between them two he would equally divide the Love which he had hitherto bestow'd upon him singly. Kalobulus was ready at first to make question of such expressions concerning a Stranger; but beholding in his Countenance and Carriage more then ordinary Characters of great Worth, he welcom'd his happy arrivall in that place with all affectionate Congratulations; expressing also a great hope which sprung up in his breast, that he was come to them by the Benignity of some Divine direction. So having enquired his name, and commended his Son to his acquaintance, they went into the Castle.

They had stay'd there but a while before Kalobulus brought into the room his Vertuous Lady and two beautifull Daughters; and it gave them all extream content, whilst Bentivolio by the civility of his excuses for coming into their Company, made them well to perceive that he was not unworthy of it. [Page] At Supper, which came in presently, they express'd their friendship in seasonable Viands of all sorts, handsomly serv'd up, though without Curiosity; which they perfected with Courtesie and excellent Discourse: Insomuch that Bentivolio could not but fancy that Goodness had taken Sanctuary in this Ark, till the Deluge of Wickedness, that overflowed that little World, should be abated. After Supper they entertain'd themselves with mutuall conference, not knowing how to leave such vigorous joyes for the dull repose of Sleep, which now begun to offer it self. But Nature requiring obedience to her indispensable Lawes, Kalobulus attended Bentivolio to his Chamber, where being left by them all with many good wishes, he retir'd himself to little sleep and less rest.

The severall discourses of Erotocleus his case, though they differ'd not from his own relation, yet they fill'd it with more instances of Cruel Wrongs, and seem'd to endeavour to boyle up Bentivolio's Courage, which was at a height already. He needed no spurs, who went as fast as Prudence gave him leave; for having affectionately desired so noble an End, he could not cease to cast about in his mind how he might accomplish it. But being not able at present to obtain the End which he passionately desired, for want of fit Means, he slack'd the intensiveness of his deliberation, and let his thoughts run adrift. After a wearisome Expectation, the Light, in mere pity, brought him the joyful news of Day; upon which he left his bed, and was scarce dress'd before the good Kalobulus knock'd at his door; which he opened with the greater chearfulness, because he hoped by his assistance to find that which he had sought in vain all night. Having acquainted Kalobulus with his mind; Alas, Sir, quoth he, though Erotocleus his Yoke is heavy, yet it doth not so pinch him as at the first; he having worn it so long that Custom hath fitted it to his neck: but this measure of Pity which you expresse will adde to his Afflictions, who is so sensible of all Circumstances that aggravate a Calamity, and of such an ingenuous regard to his friends, that he will more deeply resent the adversity of his present estate, if he understand that you are oppress'd with his Sufferings. Lay aside the trouble of your thoughts, Worthy Sir, and make [Page] not this Castle your Prison, nor the love which you have for others your own Fetters, but rather enjoy the freedom which so mean a place may afford, and take not from us that relief which the chearfulness of your Converse doth bestow upon us in such plentiful measures of Consolation, that we have almost forgotten that we are afflicted since your arrival. I would not urge those requests, but that I see your Charity doth design Courtesies for us, which are so great that we are not capable of them: For nothing can make a price for the redemption of Erotocleus but the ruine of Forzario; and as we know that Destruction is unacceptable to your Temper, so we know no means to accomplish it but one, which is as Unpleasant as the thing it self.

To this Bentivolio replied, I think my self not so much concern'd as to make answer to the former part of your discourse, because I would not go about to magnifie so small a thing as my Love is; and I suppose the influences which you pretend it may reflect upon Erotocleus are but direct expressions of your own Civility to me: but if it be true that no other price is currant to redeem Erotocleus but such as will hurt Forzario if it be pay'd, I know not why we may not purchase so great a good with the just harms of so vile a person. I ever esteem'd Justice to be founded in Goodnesse, because Punishment was invented by God as a Guard to Righteousnesse; and since Impunity would drive Goodnesse out of the World, and make it unhabitable for Righteous and Meek persons, I count that Indulgence by which Malicious persons are saved from suffering, to be an injust punishment inflicted upon the Innocent. Clemency indeed is an incomparable imitation of the Divine Mercifulnesse: but it must be exercis'd in due instances, or else it may degenerate into Cruelty. If there were no occasion to strike at any time, the sword of Justice was made in vain. Those who have lived to destroy the publick good of mankind, ought by their Death to make a Compensation for their Wrongs: and as they are no lesse odious to God then men, because they do notoriously rebel against his Government, we are not to think that he hath taken so little care of the welfare of his Creatures, as that he doth not allow and require the removal of such Monsters. In [Page] this respect therefore I see nothing that doth discourage my hopes of Erotocleus his restauration; and I trust the particular way, which you have not yet mention'd, is not of such an unhandsome nature, but that a good man may make use of it.

Unto this Kalobulus answer'd, Our forces are not so numerous as to storm the strong Tower of Forzario; and if they were, we might not make use of them, for we have learn'd that Just men can then only warrant their actions whilst they are regulated by known Lawes: and though when others break them, one that is wrong'd may suffer honorably; yet he cannot violate them himself, whilst he seeks reparation, but his endeavour will be sullied with Injustice. Our Law permits not one Subject to demand satisfaction of another in that way. The means which I thought of is allow'd by Law, I confesse; but I believe the Execution of it is as unsuitable to the Mercifulnesse and Patience of your disposition, as it is contrary to our desire that you should undertake it. It is this, When any person is wrong'd, and by the Violation of Law unjustly suffers the losse of his Life and Estate, the Law permits any man, that is not a-kin to the party wrong'd, nor concern'd by friendship, nor ever had any quarrell with the person who did the wrong, out of mere love to Justice, to challenge the Violator of Law to a single Combate, in which if he be kill'd, the former sentence of the Law is revers'd.

If this be all the difficulty, quoth Bentivolio, I doubt not but to satisfie you and my self as to the honorablenesse of the undertaking, and with God's help to procure satisfaction to Erotocleus by the good successe of it. I perceive your scruple is the Unlawfulnesse of Duells; which as they are commonly practis'd, I do as much abhor as you do, and think that they are infinitely below the Temper of a Gentleman and a Christian. As they rise for the most part from dishonourable grounds, so they proceed by unreasonable means. Who knowes not that though Honour is talk'd of as the reason of the Challenge, that the true occasion of the quarrell was but some slight affront receiv'd in a Taverne or some such place? Those which had not the Wisdom and Vertue to avoid unworthy actions, must needs pretend to a generous Choler, which will not permit them to live unreveng'd of such wrongs as peradventure they procur'd [Page] to themselves. Having never understood what true Courage signifies, much lesse express'd it upon any just occasion, they undervalue their lives which are not worth much, that they may be Masters of other mens as uselesse as their own; and think it a Bravery to rush upon Damnation, but durst never expose themselves to the hazards of a publick service, to save those who are more worthy to live then themselves. Such Persons as have abandon'd Patience, devested themselves of Humility, cashier'd all inclinations to Forgivenesse, and count the neglect of Revenge Cowardise, must needs find the belief of their Salvation impossible, if these things be other then Devilish qualities. And whilst they look upon it as an ungentile thing to suffer wrong, they never scruple the doing of it, though that be a hundred times more base: and they stand so upon a false notion of Reputation, that they cannot endure to be thought patient; that is, they undervalue the estimation of God and the opinion of Wise men, because they are unwilling that a few Fooles should take them for Cowards. The Heavenly Angels might with as good reason be angry, because many times in great buildings they are represented by little Boyes with wooden wings. They have another humour of which I cannot but take notice, and that is, These Bravado's will take it in great scorn if you should not think them Christians, whilst they ridiculously take their name from him whose nature did abominate such practises, and whose Life and Death was the most perfect contradiction to such a lownesse of Temper that can be imagin'd. They should rather derive their Pedigree from Lamech, who would not stick to kill any body for the least scratch of his skin.

By this which I have discours'd, Kalobulus, you may perceive how unwilling I am by my example to patronize those murderous Duells, in which hot young men engage, when Wine, Women and mutuall provocations have begun such quarrells as accept of no determination but by the sword. No, I undertake this piece of Justice, only as the Magistrates servant, warranted by Law, which at present needs this Vindication, without any desire of Revenge, for I have suffer'd no Wrong; but to take off the guilt of Philapantas his blood which lies upon Argentora, that he which afflicted the Good in his life, may [Page] [...] the Wicked by his death, and by this means, which is all that is left, to right Erotocleus.

Kalobulus perceiving the zeal of Bentivolio's Good will, nothing doubting his skill in arms, assured of the Justice of the Cause by his own Knowledg, and convinc'd of the lawfulness of the redresse propounded, by Bentivolio's discourse, struck with admiration by the Contemplation of his unparallel'd Accomplishments, replyed that he could not but approve of his [...] design, undertaken with so much Wisdom and Valour. But do you think Forzario will accept a Challenge, said Bentivolio? There is no doubt of that, quoth Kalobulus, for he loves to fight with any body, and is possess'd with such great thoughts, that in Comparison of himself he despiseth all the World: And withall he desir'd Bentivolio to permit a Second to attend him: to which he agreed. And whilst Kalobulus was consulting with himself whom to appoint, Thrasymachus whispering in his eare, desired him to nominate himself: which his Father did, and pray'd Bentivolio to accept of his Sons offer, who was ambitious to serve under so great a Captain in the behalf of Erotocleus. Bentivolio giving great thanks to the Young Gentleman, call'd for a Pen and paper; which being brought, he wrote these Words:

FORZARIO,

Your Wickednesse hath made you odious to the World, and the instances upon which your Infamy is rais'd are so full of Cruelty and Injustice, that you cannot wonder if the Revenge which they have long call'd for come at last. Though you have attempted the security of your first Wrongs with greater, which were all the means you could find; yet this paper will let you know, that there are some in the world who dare reprove you, and will make you at length see that your Crimes are punishable, if your guilty Fears [Page] will permit you, arm'd on Horse-back with Sword and Lance, to meet me to morrow by Sun-rise, attended only with a Second and Trumpet in the plain of Nemesia which adjoyns to the great Wood; where you shall make some amends for your Sins with your fall, by the hand of one who hath a Good will for all but such as you are.

BENTIVOLIO.

A Trumpeter which waited upon Kalobulus speedily conveyed it according to his directions. Forzario had no sooner read it, but he commanded to stay the Messenger for his answer, which he should have presently. So never making questions concerning Bentivolio, because he disdain'd to take any notice of one that durst affront him but by Revenge, he wrote this following Answer.

BENTIVOLIO,

I need no informer to make me understand what kind of person is signified by that odd name; your Paper hath reveal'd your Imperfections. I am forc'd to judge you one of no Vertue, because you have learn'd to revile those whom you do not know but by misreport. And though I do not think you worthy of the Honor to be Chastis'd by my hand, yet I will condescend to meet you according to your appointment: to give you such punishment, as may teach other Wanderers better manners when they passe by this Country, and that no troublesome Fellow for the time to come may be so foolishly impudent as to provoke

FORZARIO.

[Page] Bentivolio was not a little glad when by the answer he understood that he should have opportunity to make good his profer of assistance to violated Justice, and awaiting the early dawn of the following Morne, was guided by the first approches of light, and accompanied with the Valiant Thrasymachus, being unwilling by delay to give occasion to the disdainfull humor of Forzario to return, if he should come first and misse him at the Place appointed. But he stay'd not long before his expected Adversary appeared like himself, and according to the descriptions by which he was painted in Bentivolio's Fancy.

Forzario seeing his Adversary upon the place, thought to answer his readinesse with such a payment as it deserv'd; and therefore not to make him stay any longer, without attending the Trumpets, spurring his Horse, who was not unwilling to such exercises, rode with a full Careere, aiming a rough salute with his Lance at Bentivolio: who being well skill'd in receiving and [...] such Civilities, made what haste he could to meet him, and return'd him one of like Nature, though not of the same Effect. Bentivolio's Lance pierc'd Forzario's Arme: Forzario's, though it lighted upon such a piece of Bentivolio's armour as defied the sharpnesse of the point, yet as it broke, it made him bow so far backward, that he had almost lost the possession of his Saddle; which he having presently recovered, they fell to their Swords. Though none could tell who drew first, Bentivolio receiv'd the first blow, and that follow'd with so many more, that his action lay chiefly in the Defensive; which part he was the rather willing to act for the present, because he knew the shower which fel in such thick drops would soon be over. This he perform'd with such accurate Skill, that it made up whatsoever he wanted of Force; of which also he had sufficient store to let his Enemy know by what he felt, that he could hurt as well as ward.

When they had spent some time in giving and receiving blowes, often accompanied with Wounds, their losse of blood made each of them perceive that both were in earnest: but the businesse they had in hand so fill'd their thoughts, that they took notice of their Hurts with such an undiscernable resentment, [Page] as wise men receive the Wrongs of disingenuous People.

Forzario boyling with desperate Rage, confident of his Strength, and prick'd with a disdain of so unequall a match as he esteem'd Bentivolio, having given many such strokes as signified a strong Arm enforc'd with stronger desires of Revenge, (which for all that he saw still uneffected) vex'd that he should be so long troubled with one whom he had dispatch'd in his thoughts a hundred times before he saw him; now having, as he thought, an advantage of a slack guard, which he greedily snatch'd, bestow'd a blow upon Bentivolio, with which he had great hopes to strike off his Head.

But Bentivolio, whose Courage was rooted in a Temper unacquainted with base Fear, though principally supported with the Noblenesse and Justice of his undertakings, and fully acquainted with all manner of defence against an overmatch which exceeded him only in Strength, being well aware of Forzario's purpose, easily avoided that foreseen danger, and summoning his whole power to assist him in an eminent piece of service, reach'd such a stroke as would have sav'd him the labour of any more, but that [...] Horse raising up the fore-part of his body, by reason of a sharp prick of his Masters spurs, which he us'd to make him go nearer to his Enemy, receiv'd it for him: but it was the last service he could perform, for it fell upon his neck, and cut so deep into it, that he could neither bear up his head nor his Master; and falling he lay so heavy upon Forzario's thigh, that he could not rise from under him. Bentivolio perceiving what disadvantage had happen'd without his intention, spake presently to Forzario, Wicked Man, That which was justly threatned may now easily be accomplish'd: but I never engaged for bloody Revenge, but took this way, since no other was left, to attempt the reparation of unspeakable Wrongs; not wherein my own Interest suffer'd, but such as made a publick Violation of Justice. If thou wilt yield to Right, and submit to the just duty of Repentance, I will prevent that speedy Vengeance which otherwise must needs await thee in the Infernall shades. To this Forzario scornfully answer'd, No, Villain, use the advantage [Page] of a baseblow; I am not so low as to receive my life by way of alms from thee. Upon this Bentivolio lighted from his Horse (to give him assurance, that his Custom was not by using ignoble odds to destroy that Honour which he doubted not with a little more patience to receive unblemish'd;) intending to pull off Forzario's Horse, that he might try his Fortune once more on foot. As he came to him, he perceiv'd he had clear'd his leg himself, and was rising up. Bentivolio willing to understand what he would yet do before he struck at him again, perceiv'd a Company of Horsemen rush out of a Wood which was not very far off. It seems, Inganna seeing her Husband fall, not knowing what was the cause, but much fearing that of which she saw so bad an effect, which she also judg'd worse then it was, commanded a Troop of Horse to fall in, which she had lay'd in Ambush in the Woods the night before, intending by them basely to recover what her Husband had dishonorably lost.

Bentivolio suspecting some such thing, having heard of Inganna, heightning his desires of ending with One, by the foresight of Villany and Danger which attended him from Many more, (though they made a stop after they perceiv'd Forzario and Bentivolio both upon their feet) and imploring the Divine aid, struck Forzario such a blow upon the head, that made him bow it a little on one side; his Helmet being rais'd withall, Bentivolio with such agility as that opportunity required, ran his sword into his Throat through his Neck: upon which Forzario falling down, made such haste out of the world, that he took his leave of it without speaking one word.

Erotocleus, plac'd with a select Troop of Horse behind a Hill, not far from the place of the Fight, to prevent all base attempts, by the prudence of Kalobulus, who imagin'd what Inganna would do, made sufficiently carefull by his love to Bentivolio, and now perceiving plainly what was past and coming, made speed to his friend, and having assisted Thrasymachus to catch his horse, (the other Second having refus'd to strike in a Cause which he knew to be as unjust as Forzario was unsuccessefull) Bentivolio mounted, and before the joyfull Erotocleus could expresse his thanks to Bentivolio, Inganna's Horse were come up to [Page] them. And now the single Fight was converted into a bloody Battell, where many began to try, on one side if they could regain what a single person had lost, and the other side to keep what one had won.

Erotocleus desir'd Bentivolio to retire and look to his Wounds, of which Kalobulus would gladly have taken care; but he refus'd their entreaties, making no question but this would prove a short businesse: and finding his spirits hold out still, though much wearied, resolved to accompany his friends till the work was done. Erotocleus perceiving his resolution, troubled him no further, and having stood idle all this while, desiring to go and warm himself a little, spurr'd his Horse to charge that forlorn Company so basely engaged, and to show them the dreadfull face of just Revenge; whose first effects he bestow'd upon the Captain of that Wicked Band, who had been a servant to his Father, but revolted to Forzario, by the perswasions of Inganna and his own ambitious Hopes: carrying death in each look, he rode up close to him, and with the first blow clest his Head in two equall pieces. A just punishment for him, who had so dishonorably divided his false Heart between two so contrary Masters.

Thrasymachus making way with his sword into the midst of the Troop, where Inganna was, having kill'd those which offer'd to guard her, took her prisoner: Erotocleus, hewing down those which made resistance, came into the Confirmation of Thrasymachus his safety, who was surrounded with Enemies.

Bentivolio seeing the rest of the Troop follow their Leader couragiously through the Wounds and death of their adversaries, thought it was no great matter if he fought a while, to shorten the trouble of his friends, though it was needlesse to the procurement of Victory, which did voluntarily attend them. The Forzarians fell so easily before him that by the effects of his Courage one would think he had but now begun to fight.

Here one might have taken a full notice what Feeblenesse and Fear a guilty Conscience forceth into the actions of men. For though Inganna's numbers were so unequall, that they judg'd themselves two to one of the other side; yet their hearts [Page] so fail'd them, that by their fighting one would have thought them not one to ten. After the first brunt, in which some few were slain, they soon discovered what would become of the rest. These Forzarians having approv'd their Valour in former undertakings, show'd that now their Courage wanted a Cause, not their Cause a Courage. The thoughts which they reflected upon their unworthy engagement, which were more piercing by reason of the presence of Erotocleus whom they unjustly oppos'd, disanimated them, for they were appall'd as people besieged in a Castle use to be, when the enemy is not only got within the walls, but a great party riseth up against them amongst themselves; so that not knowing who is for them, who against them, they neglect the use of their Arms, through a great uncertainty of killing their Friends or their Enemies. Bentivolio took speedy notice of it, and as soon as a few were punish'd to make Examples of unhappy Wickednesse, he being alwaies mercifull where it was not necessary to be severe, desired Erotocleus that they might have Quarter given them: which was as soon granted as ask'd. Inganna was brought before them by Thrasymachus, and she had suffered death already in her Expectations; which Bentivolio perceiving, No, Wicked Woman, No, saith he, you shall live a little longer then you think, you shall be reserv'd to satisfie Justice by an Exemplary suffering; and in the mean time committed her prisoner to Argus, one of Kalobulus his servants, commanding him to look well to her, and to keep her in some safe place of the Castle.

It were too tedious to report the affectionate Embraces which Erotocleus bestow'd upon Bentivolio, the courteous gratulations of Kalobulus, and the passionate love of Thrasymachus: but they made their Complements the shorter, considering that it was necessary to retire to the Castle, and take order for the cure of Bentivolio's Wounds; which was accomplish'd in a short time by the excellent skill of Kalobulus his Lady.

The newes of Forzario's death was soon spread over Argentora, and put the Court into a great Wonder: only Labargurus was observ'd above all others to be possess'd with a particular Grief; which was encreas'd, as also the Cause of it discovered, [Page] by an Accident that happen'd. One of the Witnesses which had sworn against Philapantas, being tormented with the conscience of his Villany, upon the newes of Forzario's death, which he knew to be inflicted by Divine Vengeance, felt his pains so intolerable, that he was weary of his life, and immediately hang'd himself. The Other hearing of it was not able to conceal the Wickednesse any longer, but went to the Duke, and confess'd to him, that by the Instigation of Labargurus he and his Partner had forsworn themselves, by which Perjury Philapantas was condemn'd. Labargurus being in presence, and confounded with the discovery of his Villany, fell down upon his knees and begg'd pardon for his Life. You shall not die, said the Duke, till I shall receive such a discovery of your Wickednesse, as that by it I may understand to appoint you such a death as you deserve. For it is but fit that you should die miserably, who by perverting Justice have made others live so. This the Duke said more willingly to give content to the people, who loved Philapantas; and forthwith he sent for Kalobulus, and desired him to bring Erotocleus and Bentivolio, assuring him that his meaning was only to be better inform'd in the late action, and to make such reparation of Erotocleus his Wrongs as the late notice of them which he had receiv'd did require. The Gentleman who carried the Message, instructed them fully in the particulars. Each of them giving thanks to the Divine Providence, which takes care of the Oppressed, they came to the Duke, who condol'd with Erotocleus for the unfortunate death of his Worthy Father, with resentment of his own losse of such a Faithfull Subject; assuring him of the re-possession of his Lands; and withall added, that though he could not recall Philapantas his Life, yet he would perfect the Revenge of his Death, which was in part inflicted upon the Wicked Forzario: and immediately gave order that Labargurus should be brought to his Tryal. Turning towards Bentivolio, he express'd the great Joy which he had for the arrivall of a person so Honourable in his Country, as also a high admiration of his skillful Courage, and much more of his great Good will, which made him undertake such a dangerous relief of a wrong'd Gentleman; and having signified [Page] much content in the death of one that was so unworthy to live, he saluted Kalobulus, much praising the constancy of his Love to his Friend in Distresse, and his prudent conduct in the late Action.

As they were talking, a messenger brought word that Labargurus was come. The Duke, accompanied with his chief Lords, as also with Bentivolio and Erotocleus, whom he desired to go along with him, sate down in the Judgement-seat, and caused Proclamation to be made, that whosoever could justly accuse Labargurus, should have free Liberty to do it. Whereupon abundance of Witnesses of his unparallel'd unrighteousnesse, silenc'd before with fear of his Power, and frequent experiences of his Malice, came in and spake freely against him; some accusing him of the Wrongs which they had suffered from him, others of such as he had made them do. Justice complain'd that he had banish'd her out of the Courts of Judicature and the Assemblies of Merchants, and commanded her to absent her self from all places of Civil Contracts. Authority said that he had prostituted her to every unjust design. Simplicity accus'd him for making a disgraceful show of her in his crafty undertakings. Order laid to his charge, that she was ever put out of place when it serv'd his Interest. Equity affirm'd that she could never obtain leave to speak against the least quillet in Law. Religion challeng'd him for defiling the profession of Holynesse with Covetousnesse, for which purpose only he had courted her with a false Heart. Some Widdowes which stood by alleged against him, that he had made their Teares more Salt with the Wrongs of Fatherlesse Children. On the other side, Bribery confess'd that she was his Creature, and had not been but that she was begotten by his Dishonesty. Partiality acknowledged that she us'd to incline contrary to the right side for his friends sake. Delay said that she would not have way-lay'd expedition when poor people expected her coming, but that Bradion, his chief Clerk, bad her do it, till he had got more money. The Jury denyed not that they had often given wrong Verdicts, but that it was by private directions from Labargurus. Rapine excus'd her self, that she would have been gone, but that she could not get out of his hands. False-witnesse testified against her self, but [Page] added, that she would have been silent, but that she saw he loved not the Truth. Revenge avowed that she was wearied, and would have taken her leave, but that he bad her stay, for he could make good use of her. Craft protested that she would have been asham'd to have shewn her face, but that he help'd her to a vizard, and sometimes gave her an old Lawbook to hold before her. Strife contended that she would never have come, but that he sollicited her. Power mantain'd that she would have omitted much which she had done, but that he said it was right. The surviving Witnesse call'd Pseudorces confirm'd his first acknowledgment, that the death of Philapantas was plotted between Labargurus and Forzario, and that he took a false oath with his Companion, now dead, against his Conscience, meerly at their instigation, and for a small summe of money, which yet Labargurus never paid him. The Duke astonish'd at these wickednesses, Labargurus having before confess'd his Guilt, he condemn'd him and Pseudorces to be hang'd both together upon one gallowes; and that, for a terrour to such as should succeed in Labargurus his place, his Hands should be cut off and nail'd upon the seat where he had perverted right.

A little after Execution was perform'd, the messenger which was sent for Inganna return'd with very unwelcome newes, to wit, that she had made an escape; and though they had pursued her very hard, they could not overtake her, nor meet any that would discover where she was. The manner of her escape was thus: Argus her keeper one Evening being about to drink, one came running hastily towards the Prison dore, crying Fire, Fire, near to the Magazine of Powder, make haste to quench it, or else we shall all be blown up. Argus fearing that Inganna had corrupted some of the House to play this wicked trick, sets down his Cup near the grate of the Prison Window, and hastned to assist the rest in preventing the danger which threatned them. Inganna espying his Cup, took her time and put therein some Opiate Ingredients, which she carryed about her for ill uses. The fire being quench'd by the Diligence of the servants, Argus makes haste to his charge, not knowing what was done, and being more then ordinarily [Page] thirsty, he drinks, and sits down by the Grate. But the powder working upon his Senses, he falls asleep. She takes the key of the Dore out of his Pocket, quietly opens the Grate, and pulls him in, cuts his throat, pulls off his cloathes, and puts him in her bed, and her own cloathes upon it, which she had chang'd for his; so locking the dore, when it was dark went away. No body at first suspecting her to be gone, though they miss'd Argus, especially because for two dayes before she pretended to be sick: but when they could not find her keeper, nor make her answer at the dore, they suppos'd that she was dead. But remembring that it was Inganna, they suspected something worse, and so breaking open the dore they found what had happen'd.

The Relation of this unfortunate Accident was troublesome to them all, but especially to Bentivolio, who had entertain'd so much Good will for others, that he had a natural grief for their afflictions, and he counted Inganna's Liberty to be one of the greatest imaginable, and indeed no less a mischief to mankind, then the raging Sea is to a Country when it hath broke through the guard of the Banks. But well knowing how comfortless that Pity is which doth not relieve those of whom we have compassion, he resolv'd to undertake the pursuite of Inganna, and, if he possibly might, to take her once more, or to hunt her so close as to drive her out of the Country, and at least, as he went along, to undoe her works, to undeceive the people, and having tryed his utmost, to hasten according to his promise towards Vanasembla. That he might overtake the Fox before she had Earth'd her self, he thought it was not amisse to send Hue and Crie after Inganna; and that she might be more easily known, one of Kalobulus his servants put into it this short Description of her Person and Manners:

If any chance to meet the famous Inganna, lately broke loose from her Keeper, let them take heed they be not cheated themselves; and for the benefit of others, bring her prisoner to the Castle of Haplotes, where they will find a great reward for [Page] their paines. She is known by these marks. She hath such squint Eyes, that none can tell which way she looks. She hath two Tongues, and a great faultring in her speech. She is covered with a partycolor'd Mantle, which she changeth continually into divers fashions. She often wears a Religious Mask, and goes very seldom with naked Breasts, (but it is not for Modesty sake) yet sometimes she doth. She loves to walk in the night, and is never without a dark Lanthorn. In the day-time she may be seen in Tradesmens shops, especially such as have half-lights. She attends all sorts of Manufactures, and teacheth Artificers to adulterate every second pattern of their works. She frequents all places of Commerce, for few bargains are made without her. You will not fail of her, where you see any take up great summs of money with an intention to break. If you hear any man give another such Counsel as serves his own ends, but hurts his friend that ask'd it, no doubt he is one of her acquaintance. There is no servant that hath learn'd to cheat his Master, but is one of her Disciples. If you meet any that complain of divulging their secrets, or the denyall of money which they bad intrusted with a false friend, they can tell you where she dwells. If you find broken promises scatter'd upon the ground, you may track her by them. Be sure to enquire for her of such as speak with many protestations, and forget not to search where you perceive great shows of Honesty.

[Page] So having sent a discreet messenger, to raise the Beast which he purpos'd to Hunt, in order to his design he declar'd his Resolutions to Erotocleus and Kalobulus; and having given them thanks for the noble Courtesies with which they had entertain'd him, he pray'd them to dismisse him with the same good Affection, assuring them that whereever he should be, he would never forget the Obligations which their Friendship had put upon him.

Whosoever had been present when Erotocleus and Kalobulus heard this unwelcome newes, they might have seen in a lively Representation how hard a thing it is to Ingenuous Spirits to part with such a Friend, whose singular Vertues have engag'd their Affections. For they having plac'd Bentivolio in the most inward room of their Hearts, when they saw that the time of his departure was come, complain'd against the rigid Lawes of Place, which confine us to such a narrow compass, that many times we have not liberty to be where we most desire. They resented a separation from Bentivolio not only as a streight Imprisonment, but as a Cruell sort of Death. But though by reason of their Passion they forgot that it is not by Chance but Design that Good men are disper's upon the Earth, that like greater Stars mingled with smaller they may Illuminate and Adorne the ruder parts of the World; yet when they recollected themselves, they made use of their Philosophy, and were Obedient to those Precepts which require us to preserve an Equality of Temper in all the Changes of our Life; lest by repining when we are deprived of some Benefits which we formerly enjoy'd, we take an unjust Occasion to neglect our Gratitude for having been happy so long: And perceiving that Bentivolio's stay was burdensome, where he thought his presence not so usefull, they gave him a constrain'd leave to prosecute his own most noble Resolutions; only Thrasymachus, who could not so suddenly bear a Divorce from one whose Vertues had stollen away his heart, had leave to accompany him so long as till Bentivolio should desire him to return.

Inganna kept on her former Course, being entertain'd by some of her old Acquaintance, where she remain'd undiscovered a great while, and by her secret negotiations corrupted the [Page] Inhabitants of Argentora; of which Bentivolio was forc'd, as he went along, to be sad a Witness.

As he and Thrasymachus were riding through the Woods, with which that Country doth abound, in a place where the Bushes were thick and tall, they heard a dolefull cry, which by reason of the feeble softness of it, they guess'd to be the last breathings of some dying person. Spurring forward, as they were directed by that sad call, they soon perceived a dismal occasion of such a lamentable sound, which was a young Virgin in the hands of two cruell Murderers, who were appointed for the Concernments of another to take away her life, and hide her Body where it should be in vain for any to seek it. Being come to a place which they judg'd meet for the purpose, one of the Villains, having base desires of another sort which he meant to satisfie first, was attempting that dishonour which the Hangmen of Rome us'd to perform upon Virgins before they were executed, because till then their Law permitted them not to be put to death. The Lady was so enfeebled with crying and striving and fear, that she was scarce able to defend her self any longer. Bentivolio with a loud voice call'd to the Traitor, saying, Hold thy hands, or I will cut them off. At these words he being somewhat startled, and forc'd at present to give an unwilling obedience, without the least respect to one whom he judg'd much unworthy to speak after that manner to him, resolv'd to make him eat them up again: but a few blowes which he received made him very sensible of the folly of his thoughts, though the death that went along with them made Repentance too late for him. The other Villaine would have saved himself by flight; but Thrasymachus pursuing him, spoyl'd his running by a blow upon his right Leg. They preserv'd his life, both that he might be a Witnesse of the Wrongs intended, and a means to discover the Wicked Authors of such a barbarous Plot.

The Gentleman who had appointed this Murder, had ordered three Horsemen to follow at an undiscern'd distance, to know whether the design took effect, which they were to secure, if it fail'd in the others hands; Wickednesse being ever suspicious: and they rushing out of a Thicket, made a weak essay [Page] to perfect what was so ill begun by the other two. But being encountred much contrary to their expectation, they soon repented of their appearance in such a wicked businesse: for Bentivolio ran the first through the belly; and as he was falling off his Horse, Thrasymachus made a second headless; the third betook himself to flight, but before Bentivolio could overtake him, he had broke his neck, having in his fearful haste misguided his Horse into a place which was full of Pits.

The Lady, when they were gone out of sight, began to take up her feares again, which she had layd aside before, and not knowing whither to go, went however where she thought she might best be sheltred with the darkest shades. They examin'd the lame fellow, who was crawling up and down, and he did them one more service then they reserv'd him for, by telling them which way she was gone. Making speed after her to perfect her Deliverance, they soon overtook one that could not go very fast, though Fear drove her on beyond her ordinary pace; and being amaz'd at the first noise of the Horses feet, she could scarce believe her self out of danger, when she saw the faces of those which rescued her: as one that hath been troubled with a perplex'd Dream of Death, is ready to think when he awakes that he is but in a new Dream of Life. But assured by their words of their Compassion for her Sufferings, and offers of their best assistance to carry her where she desired to be, and having had as much experience as that small portion of Time could allow of their Vertuous disposition, she recovered her spirits, and declared at their request the reason of that calamitous state in which they found her, and in which she had perished but for their seasonable approch. Thanking Heaven and them for her deliverance she began thus; I am call'd Orphana, my Father was a Gentleman of good Quality in this Country, who dyed when I was much younger then I am now. My Mother having plac'd her life wholly in his, took such a deep impression of his death into her heart, that she dyed so soon after him that they were both buryed in one grave. My Father by his Will made a kinsman of his my Guardian, hoping much by reason of a great Friendship which had been between them, and because of many obligations [Page] which he had put upon him in his life-time; as also thinking that he had such a love to the sacred right of Trust, that he would faithfully preserve my Estate, and do his best for my happy Education. I my self thought so a great while, till I found my self deceiv'd with the out-side of a fair Carriage, which in time wore off, and his in-side then appear'd to be of another Nature. He had a Son of Gentile Carriage, but unworthy Conditions, whom he would have made my Husband; for which purpose he had endeavoured for a long time by divers Artifices to gain my affections for him. Having us'd many other means to no purpose, at last he tried Menaces, threatning in generall that it should be worse for me, without adding the particular significations of his meaning: but I understood them too soon; for after I had urg'd him with the performance of his Faith engag'd to my Father, by setling my Estate according to his Gift; he stoop'd to a most barbarous means of enjoying his will another way, and made use of the Villain who had been my servant to perswade me to take the aire in this Forrest. What else they intended you know without my relation, having been Ey-witnesses of unspeakable Wrong. But if you will conduct me to the City where I dwell, the Judge, (who knew my Father, and, as they say, is return'd to an exact care of Justice, by reason of some late Accidents which gave him a sad notice of his former Neglects) I make no doubt will deliver me from my cruell Gaoler, and restore me to my Estate with the enjoyment of my Liberty. Though I esteem you not such as do good that you may be requited, yet you shall ever be remembred with such Honour as I can possibly give to the Restorers of my Life and the Preservers of my Chastity.

Bentivolio receiving a Confirmation of her Story from the lam'd Villaines confession, saw, as he thought, a fair opportunity to send Thrasymachus back again: for though he took a true delight in his Company, yet he knew by this time he began to be expected by such as dismiss'd him only upon condition of his Return: so entreating him to perform such a Civility as the Ladies necessity requir'd, and as his own affaires would not well permit him to show, he pray'd him to accept of this occasion to return to Kalobulus, giving him a thousand [Page] thanks for his Love. Thrasymachus encompass'd with a double necessity, both of performing what he had promis'd, and of what was fit to be done, though it was not promis'd, constrain'd himself to leave Bentivolio against his will, and to keep his word; which did as much grieve him, as comfort the Lady, seeing the inforcement of his affectionate Teares a means destinated to the perfecting of her Joy. Having tyed the lame fellow to his horse, that he might give an account of his Errand, and mounted the Lady upon her own Beast, not brought thither to carry her back again, Thrasymachus took his leave of Bentivolio.

Bentivolio receiving no other content from his stay in a Country which presented him only with new instances of Inganna's Malice, except the pleasure of relieving some that were out-witted by her Craft, resolved to pursue her a little further; though he had sought her in many places to no purpose, because those which knew where she lurk'd would not discover her. He heard often where she had been, but all denyed her presence, when he came to enquire for her where she was. At last being well wearied, he left off his Pursuit, and took the nearest way to Vanasembla, wishing heartily that he might travaile quietly without the disturbance of such undesirable occurrences: though he had some reason to suspect the Event of his Wishes amongst such people as willingly conceal'd Inganna.

That we do more easily meet the Evils we fear, then obtain the Goods we desire, he presently found by a new Experience: for coming down into a lonesome Dale, he spyed a very unequall Fight: Three gave so many blowes to One, that it was a great wonder he was able to receive them; yet having so many more then he desired, made him give them some again. One of the Three seeing Bentivolio come upon the Gallop, and suspecting what he was, being taught to fear by his guilty Conscience, never asking for what he came, he gave him such a Welcome with his Sword, that he received not much thanks for it. But Bentivolio having drawn his Sword so soon as he began to see he should have use of it, gave him such a requitall upon his right Arme, that he utterly spoyl'd [Page] him for that sort of Complement; and that he might not be troubled with him when he should have less leisure to attend him, he cut off his other Hand too, having but a little before seen them both very ill employed. So coming in to take part with the wrong'd Gentleman, the match was equall; though he saw by what was done, that the two which oppress'd one had not only a Mind to hurt, but also a great Ability to do it ill bestow'd upon them. After a short debate, Bentivolio decided the Controversie; for one of them, through a rash haste to do harm, not taking sufficient care to prevent it, left his body not so well guarded as the greatnesse of his present danger required. Bentivolio not slighting such an advantage, struck him such a blow under the Ribs, that his Guts came forth, and disenabled him from fighting any more. And refusing to pursue his Victory further, when two should fight with one, he turn'd toward the wrong'd Gentleman; and supposing by the Modesty of his looks that it was no proud fury of a mad Challenge, he demanded what strange accident had brought him to such an unequall engagement, and who they were that had so unworthily set upon him. Good Sir, said he, be content that I delay to give you an answer so long as till I may secure yonder fellow whom you have justly deprived of his wicked hands, from killing himself: for though I esteem his life as little as he doth, yet I think he may die more seasonably, and his death may be us'd to some better purpose then now it can. He, it seems, was running his head forcibly against the ground to have broke his Neck: but that failing, he was making full butt against a Tree to dash out his Brains. The Gentleman having rescued him from himself, who came thither to destroy him that saved him, began to give an account to Bentivolio of what he ask'd. Sir, said he, it is but just that I should obey whatsoever you command, to whom I must ever owe my life. This Fellow whose Hands you have cut off, is call'd Doulogynes; and though he was a Gentleman born, I may not falsly call him a Woman's slave, for he hath unworthily devoted himself to the unjust pleasure of a cruell Step-mother of mine, and I am afraid that [...] hither to day by her order to do the last of many disservices which I [Page] have received from her by his hands. The other whom you have unbowell'd is nam'd Misokalon. I never wrong'd him, that I know of, or gave him any such provocation that requir'd satisfaction by my Ruine; only I took notice of a great change in his carriage towards me, after I had reprov'd him for his Intemperate life, and refus'd to assist him once in a most unrighteous design of betraying an Innocent person. This other Gentleman I do not know so well as to be able to tell you who he is, having seen him very seldom, if more then once in all my life: and I cannot but wonder how he came ingaged in this unexpected quarrell with me, who never wrong'd him in the least instance.

Sir, said the Gentleman, I would you had for ever been ignorant of me, for then I should not have been found in this unworthy Action: But if you will so far forgive me as to hear the Cause, you will more easily pardon the Effect. My name is Abulus: I have for some time made love to a young Gentlewoman, which dwells in a house where you have sometimes visited her Brother. One of the servants, this Misokalon here, pretended a great love to me, and would needs take me aside one day to impart something to me which did nearly concern me; which was, that you were my Rivall, but managed your Affections so unhandsomly, that when you visited her under pretence of seeing her Brother, you had given a Character of my self which fitted none but the Basest of persons; laying several things to my charge which I did never so much as think of before. He told me, if I desired the usuall satisfaction, I might have opportunity to ask it in this place; for that he knew you had appointed to be here to day upon some other occasions. This brought me hither alone: but what Misokalon came for, or how that man knew of my inrentions, I understand not. Only after I had engaged, they came in barbarously upon some design of their own, though I earnestly desired them to desist, as you know. Doulogynes seeing the truth so far reveal'd, and not caring what effects the full discovery might work upon one that was weary of his life, confess'd that he and Misokalon had plotted the businesse; but that it was wholly to gratifie the Gentlemans Mother-in-Law, [Page] who had applyed Misokalon's hatred against him to serve her own Revengeful heart: upon promise of Rewards they had engag'd Abulus to do that which they durst not undertake of themselves, by making him an enemy upon his own score with feign'd Stories.

Bentivolio being well assured that this Mystery had many considerable pieces not yet related, desir'd the wrong'd Gentleman to perfect the report, that he might more fully understand the Particulars of that Cause, of which he knew so much in the Generall, that he was sure he had taken his part justly. The Gentleman answer'd, I am an unfortunate instance of the unhappinesse of Second Marriages. As the World hath so far understood the mischief of Polygamy, which ruineth Families with a promiscuous brood of severall Wives, and keeps them in the everlasting fire of Emulations and Hatred, that it hath wisely turn'd it out of most Nations by severe punishments, and usually death enjoyn'd by wholesome Lawes: so I should think they did prudently, if they took a little more care to prevent the hurt of Second Marriages, where the deceased Parent hath left a considerable number of Children. For in that case it is accompanied with most of the forementioned mischiefs, jealous Feares, Suspicions encreas'd by suspicions, mutuall Hatreds, and cruell undermining of the Interests of the former Brood. By which means a Step dame is become a name of Reproach and dishonorable Application, being seldom destitute of an ill Nature; except in an inconsiderable number, who are endued with rare Vertue. I did never wonder that the King of Glory requir'd the honorable Ministers of his Kingdom to be such as could govern their own Families well; for it was fit they should give a proof of their abilities for his service by the exemplary order of their own Houses: but I understood not why he would have them the Husbands of one Wife: but when I considered the difficulty of Exemplarinesse in any thing but Disorder, in Families which confounded two distinct generations of Children, whose interests are much separated by the Second Wife, I admired the excellent coherence of his most prudent Rules.

Pardon, Good Sir, If I speak more feelingly, where I am [Page] too much concern'd: for not only this dayes Intentions, but the rest of my Misfortunes began in a Step-mother. My own Mother having departed this World not many yeares after she had brought into it my self and a Sister, my Father in a short space marryed a young Woman, of competent Beauty, and reported for Vertuous, more then our Observation can make good; by whom he had divers Children. She being, as most of them are, very covetous, endeavoured what she could to advance their Estate above ours; and finding that taske something hard, unlesse she could remove us out of the way, she resolv'd to try what might be done as to that. She soon dispatch'd my Sister, partly with the abuses of evil Servants, which were so far acceptable to her as they were offensive to my Sister, and partly by framing malicious Representations of her to my Father: by which means she was often reprov'd for no other cause, but that my Mother-in-Law hop'd that it would help to break her heart. When she was gone, there was but one more to dispose of, and that was my self. Of this Design she made small show by any of her actions which lay open to common Censure; her publick Carriage was as affectionate as the naturall love of Mothers useth to put on, and something more, that the overplus of Appearance might shade the defect of Reality: and though she tryed by all means, which she thought available, to disaffect my Father towards me, yet her more publick speeches seem'd wholly to be directed to procure and maintain a very good opinion of me in his mind. But she had Servants tutor'd to make him believe that I was a scorner of his Choice, and a hater of his Marriage: and they made me the Author of Reports against her, which he knew to be false, that he might believe every thing to be true which was said against me. To be short, the disaffections which they had planted in him towards me, by their incessant improving them with fresh arguments of their reasonablenesse, grew to that height, that I was disinherited: which though it was most afflictive, arising from such groundless causes, and brought on by a most hatefull person; yet upon consideration of my Fathers Innocence abus'd, and the relation by which I was taught indispensable Obedience, I made a shift to swallow it; and [Page] having been for a good while accustom'd to such Diet, I began more easily to digest it. My Adversary enrag'd to see every envenom'd Dart cast in vain by the forementioned hands, resolv'd to take another course, fearing lest her Plot should be discovered, since it was so long before she could put it in act; and therefore, as I now perceive, to dispatch the businesse, she had by poysonous insinuations endeavour'd to make this Innocent Gentleman thirsty for my guiltless blood. They made a fine Tale indeed of my being his Rival in affections to a Lady with whom I never talk'd privately in my life; and indeed by reason of the discouragements which I apprehended from being disinherited, I abandon'd all thoughts of Love to her or any else. Misokalon, to procure this unhappy Meeting, invited me to a private Hunting in this place; and perceiving this Gentleman, whom they had abus'd, not come, in whose courage it seems they trusted more then their own, they pretended to go to a Gentlemans House to hasten his coming, and to fetch away the Doggs, desiring me to entertain my self in the Valley; where from some Stand which they had, they had no sooner espied me engag'd, but they came in with dishonorable assistance, not to help this Gentleman, but to ruine me and satisfie my Wicked Mother. And was I, said the wofull Abulus, the only Instrument which this Devilish Woman could single out for her last act of Villany? All-knowing Power, which art Witnesse of my Innocence, take not Vengeance of my Ignorance, forgive my Rashnesse, and grant me with more sober Prudence to guide my future undertakings. And for the wrong which I have through indiscretion done to you, said he, turning his speech to the Gentleman, I offer besides the hearty repentance of my Error, such other satisfaction as you shall require. Nothing else, replyed he, but that for the future you would continue to love one whom you would not have hated but for Misinformation. I do also beseech you, said he to Bentivolio, of whom I know nothing but Courage and Pity, to accompany me to the Town which is not far off, that you may be a means to procure me that Justice which I doubt not may be had easily through the assistance of your Testimonies: both because my Father is of so good a Nature that he [Page] loves Truth, and hath so much reason left as to understand it, when it is aptly revealed to him; and because the Judge who is lately sent hither is such a true lover of Justice, that he will spare no Offender for any Personall Considerations. His coming was occasion'd by the removall of his Predecessor, who was so over-aw'd by the Interest of a great Courtier, call'd [...], that no Cause was ever heard till he knew his Opinion of it; or if it was, and the Evidence never so clear, yet they could get no Sentence against Forzario's friends: by which means poor men, crucified with Expectation, car'd not what became of their Causes, since they could bring them to no conclusion notwithstanding their most constant endeavours. But when his Patron Forzario was gone, the wrong'd people procured a Punishment to be appointed for him with some resemblance of his Sin; for he was hung up alive with a line run through the Ankles of both his Feet, to be tormented between Life and Death, as others had been by his means between Hope and Doubt.

When they were come to the City, they went directly to the President, accompanied with multitudes of people, who were astonish'd at the lamentable sight of persons besprinkled with bloud, and the Fellow with his hands cut off. The President seeing Bentivolio with the rest, received him in most courteous manner, as well remembring what kind of Person he had discovered himself in Erotocleus business: but he desiring the President to omit all Ceremonies concerning himself, pray'd him to take cognisance of an eminent piece of Wickednesse which would require a most severe Castigation. So having produced Abulus, who related all that he knew, and Doulogynes, who was willing to say any thing which might help to put him out of his pain, having accused Antimater for contriving the businesse, and hiring them to do it, she was forthwith sent for: the people being much startled, that one esteem'd very Vertuous should appear by her Actions so contrary to the general opinion.

Gynicaeus, the Gentlemans Father, who was present, was equally troubled with the Perfidiousnesse of his Wife and the Innocence of his Son. Antimater vext with the ill successe of [Page] her Design, which she now gave for lost, took a glasse of Poyson which she had kept as her last remedy, for her Son, if the plot fail'd and she not discovered, or for her self, if she should happen to be reveal'd. So doing Execution upon her self with this, she prevented the Judges Sentence. The Father was clear'd as to the murderous Plot, only rebuk'd for a doting Credulity, and ordered, for a prevention of such other mischiefs as his Son had already suffered, to settle his Estate upon him, and to marry no more whil'st he lived. Bentivolio interceded for Abulus, because he was betrayed, whom the young Gentleman also freely forgave. Doulogynes was condemn'd to be put into a Sack with the companion of his treachery, and to be thrown down from the Tower of the City into a great Lake which was before it.

Bentivolio having seen a good conclusion of a troublesome businesse, and being now near the borders of Vanasembla, his desires to meet his Friends grew vigorous, much after the manner of Travailers, who mend their pace when they come within sight of their wish'd Home. But the Heat of the day having spent his spirits, he was compell'd by wearinesse to make a small stay upon the way; and spying a Rock out of whose side a Spring pour'd it self upon a broad Stone, which with a continued Stream it had hollowed into the form of an Artificiall Cistern, and kept it still full with liquid Crystall in stead of the stone which it had worn away; and seeing a Poplar which invited him with a delectable shade, he sate down: and as he was considering the beauty of his solitary Retirement, and giving thanks to the benigne Lord of the World, who had by his mercifull Wisdom made so many comfortable Receptacles for the weary, he was diverted by the sound of a Voice from the further side of the Rock, so form'd that it was a lively Expression of Sorrow and Anger. A Gentleman and his Wife, great sharers in those sufferings which very few could escape in that unjust Country, had by chance repos'd themselves in that place. The Gentlewoman deeply affected with their present Calamity, which was much encreas'd with a fresh remembrance of their former Happinesse, and looking upon the Impunity of their Oppressours as a great [Page] scandall to the Divine Government, she transcended the common affectionatenesse of her Sex, and delivered the resentment of her own and others Afflictions in such unusuall Language, that it did sufficiently declare that she was transported with extraordinary Passion. Her Words were these:

O sluggish Earth! canst thou bear the Vnrighteous with so much Patience? Open thy mouth and swallow up the Wicked. O dull Sea! why dost thou not, as of old, break through thy Flood gates, and drown the Vngodly? Hide these sinners in your Ruins, ye mighty Hills. But these Rocks are deaf. Fall down from Heaven, thou Fire of God. Where are you, Hot Thunderbolts? You mortall Plagues, whereever you sleep, awake and seise upon Hypocrites not worthy to be spared a minute longer. Rise up, you wildest of the Beasts, and make your prey of such as are more Beasts then any that range in Forrests. How slow they come? Alas! Alas! O Horrible and generall Revolt of the Ingratefull and Cowardly Creation, when none dare appear to revenge the wrong'd Creator! O foolish Sun! dost thou vouchsafe to shine, and warm such as sin in defiance of Patience? O Moon, be thou turn'd into a Sea of Bloud, and then fall down upon the Incorrigible Earth. Ye fiery Stars, poure out your most destructive influences upon such as sollicite punishment with the last proofes of extreme Disobedience. But sinners must be confirm'd by Impunity, when those which ought [Page] to inflict Punishment have joyn'd in their lewd Conspiracy. O God! O God!

There she ceas'd, for her Husband interrupted her with a voice which was gentle in it self, and carried such words as one would never have expected for an answer to the foregoing Exclamations, which seem'd not only passionate, but just. He spoke thus:

Hold, hold, Nemesis. Let none be so angry in Gods behalf. It becoms him to be merciful, and also to endure the Vnthankfull. Must He strike just at those Minutes which Sinners point to with the follies of disobedience? Feeble Woman, He can bear with Fooles more easily, it seems, then thou canst consider it. Those Vnrighteous people, of whom thou dost complain, have abus'd Goodness: but that Goodnesse is not so impotent as to fly to immediate Revenge. He takes not the forfeitures of carelesse debtors, but will accept of payment, though it come after the day when it is first due. He will not ruine the Trespasser as soon as he hath given him Cause; no, though he have put Wilfulnesse into the offence; if he break his heart with the consideration of his Vnworthinesse, and seek Mercy with a chang'd soul. It becoms him to forgive, who hath commanded others to do so; and what He remits, who shall require? He knows when it is fit to punish the Impenitent; and if they sin longer, have they not suffered a great part of their Misery? He will [...] this Wicked World: the [Page] Prosperity of the Vngodly hath its Period. Before He end all things, He will overcome the Evill spirit which now reigns. All-powerfull Goodness and invincible Charity shall cast Force and Fraud into a bottomlesse pit: but because He hath not a mind to do these things presently, let us depart with silence.

Bentivolio discerning the Reasonablenesse of this Answer to have taken off all those Objections which disquieted his mind, when he considered the vile state of Argentora, dismiss'd his troublesome thoughts, and was now only sollicitous how he might sind the nearest way to the Metropolis of Vanasembla.

[Page] THE SECOND BOOK, OR PIACENZA.

[Page]

URania having dismiss'd Bentivolio, taking with her the most Vertuous Panaretus, in whose company she had perfect confidence, went the higher way which leads towards the pleasant Hills of Piacenza. The fresh Breezes of healthfull Aire, joyn'd with the pleasure of a most delectable Situation and the fertility of rich Fields, assured them that the Country was call'd by a most proper name. When they were come a few miles within the Borders, Urania began to be oppress'd with such an extraordinary Drowsiness, that she could very hardly keep her eyes open. Whilst they wondred what should be the cause, they spied the Grounds before them all covered with Opium, which grew there in such plenty that it was sufficient to cast all the World into a dead sleep. To keep themselves awake they were forc'd to mend their pace, which soon brought them to the edge of a Plain from whence they might behold a City, which was one of the most beautiful, as they could guesse at that distance, that ever they beheld. That they might understand the Conditions of the People, and furnish themselves the better for a wary Passage through the Country, Urania desired Panaretus to goa little before, to try what discovery he could make. She repos'd her self in the mean-while under the covert of some broad Sycamores, [Page] whither she appointed him to return to her. Having sate down upon the root of a Tree that form'd it self into a natural seat, either through weariness of her Journey, or that her brains were affected with the sent of soporiferous Herbs which grew hard by her, she fell asleep, and dream'd That she receiv'd deadly Poison in a Cup of pleasant Liquor, which one had given her to quench a violent thirst which had seiz'd upon her; and as she had drank part of it, Panaretus struck the rest out of her hand, and knowing well the Effects which would shortly follow, if not timely prevented, gave her an Antidote which preserv'd her from all Danger. The Dream was too well a representation of her present Case: for just as Panaretus return'd, a Serpent had crept out of the neighbouring Grasse, and was making towards her; which Panaretus espying, made what haste he might after her, calling, Urania, Urania, save your self. By that time he had drawn his sword, the Serpent well aware of her pursuer turn'd head, and contracting her long Neck into a shorter compasse, bolted her self at his Face. Panaretus defeated that malice, and withall bestowed such a blow upon that part of the Neck where the Head is joyn'd immediately to it, that he divorc'd one from the other.

By this praeludium they guess'd to what Key the rest of the Musick was set which they were to expect in Piacenza; of which they were more assured by what happen'd to Panaretus. Before he could reach the City, he came to a beautiful Walk vvhere shady Trees were so decently plac'd, that his Eyes stay'd his Feet, that he might have more time to behold in a most excellent instance Nature made perfectly obedient to the Orders of Art, and both conspiring to make one stand still with the allurements of a Walk. As he was entertaining his Fancy vvith the lovely order, proportionable growth, and vvnderfull height of green Trees, he was surpriz'd with a doleful Voice, which seem'd to come from one whom Violence made to complain: and it was so exquisitely form'd to shovv extremity of Griefe, that any which heard it would imagine that one not far off suffer'd something worse then Death. The Courteous disposition of Panaretus drew him out of his way to relieve, as he intended, the distress'd Wight. [Page] The Bushes through which he was to pass were intricate as a Labyrinth; but the Voice serv'd for a Clue, and by that direction he arrived, where he saw a Woman of more then ordinary Beauty, which display'd it self more openly, as she seem'd despoil'd of her Garments, which were torn off so artificially, that one might well perceive those shreds that remain'd on were not intended to hide her body. Panaretus was amaz'd at this uncouth Vision, for she had scarce so much use of Clothing as even Cruelty doth often leave in pity to Modesty. She pretended by tearing her Haire, Weeping and many passionate words to continue the former Tragick Lamentation. Of which when Panaretus demanded the cause, she said, a Villain had surpriz'd her as she was in a lonesome Walk, and after such usage as he might perceive bestow'd upon her, hearing some body come through he bushes, he ran away: and since he had so happily arriv'd to her succour, she pray'd him, lest her Enemy had only retreated to watch his advantage, that he would accompany her to a Lodge which belong'd to a House of hers not far off. Panaretus believing all this to be reall, conducts her to the Lodge, which he found more like a Palace then such a mean Appurtenance as Lodges use to be to the principal Mansion. For it was situate in the midst of a fair Garden, adorn'd with rich Statues, and watred with pleasant Rivulets, which seem'd to have slid into it unawares, and went up and down winding to seek their way out again. Within there were large Rooms so nobly furnish'd, that he thought if this was a Lodge, he was utterly ignorant of proportions by which he might guesse at the Palace.

He had been there but a little while before he was made to understand where he was, and to what end he was brought thither: which did so rectifie his Apprehensions, that he saw plainly now that he had more need to relieve himself then others. The Gentlewoman having brought him into her Bed-chamber, offered him such uncivil Courtesies, that he was fain to tell her he should much rather chuse to die then to receive them. She replied, And one of the two you must chuse. And is it possible, said he, that any Woman can be so Ingrateful, as to threaten to take away life from one who was [Page] willing but a little before to have given it for her preservation? Can any Woman be so Immodest, as to offer Violence to his Chastity who offer'd his service with his own utmost peril, as he thought, in the defence of hers? It cannot be that you should speak these words as an unworthy demand, but with an intention of making a trial of my Temper; and that I shall further assure you to be much averse from all Unchastity by speedy abandoning the danger of Tentation. With which words he hastily turn'd about and went out of the room, not doubting but they are the most Wicked of Sinners which do also tempt others. Before he could reach the staires he was accosted with two Arm'd men, whom she had ca'lld up with the sound of a shrill Whistle which was tied at her wrist; and then he was forc'd to produce Arguments of another sort to defend himself. Having drawn his Sword, he retreated to one side of the Room, that he might have both his Enemies before him. They being very confident that they had to do with a young Souldier, his face bearing yet but very little show of years, made more bold with him then was to their Comfort: for he guarded himself so well, and watch'd their ill-managed Fierceneffe so narrowly, that he had opportunity to strike one of the Villains so full over the face, that he made both his Eyes uselesse; and though he could not see what he did, he had a great mind to do something, and would needs run in upon his adversary, who held his Sword so advantagiously, that the Assassinate put his Heart upon the point of it. His Companion seeing himself singly engaged, despair'd of safety any way but by his Feet, and therefore betook himself to them: but before he got the second staire, Panaretus struck off his Head, which was soon at the bottom of the steps, and the Body keeping its former pace, made what haste it could after it. The Gentlewoman something angry that her men were so long about a short work, as she esteem'd this, came forth to chide them: but finding her expectations utterly undone, she began to sink with fear, lest in a rage Panaretus should send her to Hell after them. Though she had little Strength by reason of fear, and no Goodnesse, she made a shift to light upon her knees; and as she was going [Page] to beg her life, Panaretus desiring to be free from her wicked language, in what form soever she should expresse her impure soul, interrupted her thus; No, devilish Woman, who hast married shamelesse Lust and barbarous Cruelty in a crafty Soul, do not think that I will be thy Executioner: The ground will not receive thy filthy Bloud, though it were not dishonorable for me to kill a Woman; and Death is too easie a punishment for thee. I abandon thee to be tormented alive with thy own wicked Conscience: when the time shall come that Death must transmit thee to other Tormenters, being weary of thy intolerable self, I doubt not but thou wilt cut off thy own loathed life.

So returning to seek the way out of this cursed place, he was much assisted by a sudden bright shining of the clear Sun, which but a little before was over-clouded; and having found the former path, he utterly gave over all thoughts of going any further at present, having too much newes already to report to Urania of his dangerous Journey.

The consideration of these unhappy Prognosticks made her demurre a little concerning their progresse. Where Danger is manifest, it is the greatest folly in the World to rush upon it. And where the consequence of being worsted is most extremely important, it is good to examine ones strength. It is no piece of Valour to court Tentations. Sometimes they began to bethink themselves of the grounds of their journey; and though they sound them correspondent to true Wisdom, yet they doubted whether their way lay through Piacenza: then casting in their minds what Hazards they should run of being overcome where invitations were so potent, and what Outrages they might suffer where the resistance would be violent, they began to take counsel how to avoid this Country, and go some other way to Vanasembla; especially when they [...] how many had miscarried in this unfortunate Country. But being gone so far that they knew not well how to turn out of the way, being [...] on one side with a high Rock call'd Hylotes, and on the other side with a deep River [...] [...], and knowing the way was passable, though it [...] care [...] been us'd to dangers with good [...] and [...] upon [Page] the purity of their Intentions, their spotless Innocence and fix'd Resolutions, trusting in the assistance of the God of pure Love, unto whom they had devoted their Souls, after hearty prayers for his happy guidance, they resolv'd to venture forward. So leaving the beaten Rode, they came to a place where steep Rocks, dark Shades, and perfect Silence struck them with a sacred horror. As they wandred up and down to please themselves with the simplicity of that neglected place, near to a silver Brook which crept along by the feet of the Rocks they spied a little Cottage, where one Pancratus had retired to make his solitary dwelling, and to enjoy the freedom of that peaceful life which is not to be found in tumultuous Townes. He was at first something in doubt of the meaning of this unexpected Visit, because he thought himself discover'd in the secure privacy of his lonesomenesse by some of Piacenza, who hated him and his way of life. Whilst they stood as much wondring at the sober countenance of a poor man, and the chearful lookes of one that seem'd very meanly accommodated, he demanded of them the reason of their accesse into that Solitude, to which no common Path gave them direction; or what they could expect in a place which all others shunn'd, because it seem'd utterly barren of Delight. Urania made answer, We came not hither, Father, either because we lost our way, or that we desire our presence should give you any Interruption. We have never met with any great satisfaction in common paths, nor are altogether unacquainted with those Contentments that are most easily had where the Multitude doth least think. We know that the pleasures of Retirement are cover'd with the rough surface of Austerity and outward appearances of sad Melancholy, from such as have chosen Sensuality for their portion: but the Joyes which are conceal'd under those unlikely appearances are easily found out by the Lovers of God, for whom they are reserv'd, and who know that they are the Substance of that Felicity of which all other things, which the easie part of the world admire, are scarce a Shadow Pancratus hearing them speak after that fashion, was no otherwise affected with their words then a Musical care is with some select Harmony; and perceiving they had another [Page] presence then the vain slightnesse of Piacenza doth produce, he had as great a desire to entertain discourse with them, as they had to understand how he pass'd his time in that silent desart. He invited them into his Cell, which was homely, but clean; and besides one Room which serv'd him for all ordinary occasions of life, he had another where he perform'd his Religious Affaires. He gave them Bread, Herbs and Water; a great repast to such who never cared for Dainties, and were at present very hungry and thirsty. Having learn'd of them their purpose, at their request he told them where they were, the conditions of the People amongst whom they were to travaile, and said, if they would not despise the humble Counsel of a poor man, he would direct them to escape some dangers which they must expect: and with a Modest but Erect Countenance he began after this manner.

This Country is call'd Piacenza, and most justly, for the Inhabitants count Pleasure the chief Good. They make account that the Body is much better then the Soul, whose Seat they esteem to be the Belly, having no great sense or regard of any of its operations, but what they perceive there: they suppose it was put into the Body only to keep it sweet, and to make it capable of enjoying Pleasure, for which they would not think it beholden to the Soul neither, but that they judge the dead deprived of Joy. They acknowledge no other definition of the Soul but, a springhtly Temper of Body. They judge that there are but two chief Affections in the Soul, which they call Joy and Grief; and that the first is Vertue, and the second Vice. They believe all things which have Joy, Love and Delight in them, and where the Objects are sensuall, to be Good; and that whatsoever hath Care, Fear or Labour in it, is Naught, and that it was made by the Devill, if there be any; of which sometimes they will expresse themselves very doubtfully. They affirm considently that all Pleasant things were made only to allure us, and that we ought not to think any thing Unlawfull which pleaseth us. They assert the Soul to be Mortall; which they do with the more earnestnesse, because they would have it so; and deny that there is any happy state to come after this life, because they know they shall have no [Page] share in it. They are so immers'd in Flesh, that they understand not what they should do out of the Body; and therefore deny that there are any Spirits. It is a receiv'd opinion with them all, that what is not Body is Nothing. They stick not to say openly, that the name of God was invented by Fear, and made use of by Polititians to keep Superstitious people in awe: the Reason of which is, they are so stupified by a brutish life, that they neither mind the soft voice of God, which speaks concerning him in the bottom of their own Souls, nor hear the loud testimony of his Goodnesse, Wisdom and Power, which his most Excellent Creation, the well-ordered World, doth constantly give. There are two things which they cannot endure to think of, Old age and Death; but when they do, it is to improve their Luxury by a more greedy fruition of that which will not last alwaies. Pleasure being the End of their Hopes, they take some pains to accomplish it; all the rest of their life being spent in Idlenesse: and they are so in love with it, that they count it a great pleasure to do nothing; and indeed it is but little that they are good for. They spend their time in lascivious Dances and amorous dalliance, and talk frequently of such things as Nature, where it is not perverted, blusheth at. They drink so far beyond all reasonable measures, as if Temperance were a thing capable of being drown'd; and they do so perfectly abhor all moderate allowances in eating, that they despise that Health for which they must be beholden to restrain'd Appetite. They sin in defiance of the Creators Liberality; for he hath for bidden nothing but that which hurts us. With these and other Instances of furious Lust they do so oppresse the Body, that it is wearied out with their Excesses. They sleep away the rest of their time, that they may be fitter to fin; and it serves some of them for a diversion, because it draws a thin curtain between them and the remembrance of their daily [...]. They vex that part of the morning that they are awake, with making it a tedious attendant upon their dressing themselves; which they perform in a manner so ridiculously gaudy, as if they fear'd their vanity would not be known but for the superfluity of slight Ornaments. They know no absurdity but a want of [Page] outward behaviour, which they, not contenting themselves with the naturall decencies of prudent carriage, do vary many times according to the contemptible humour of their phantastical dancing-masters. They are much given to the emptinesse of Complement, and Flattery is a Cardinall Vertue. Lust is the Root of their slight Loves, for they acknowledge no Friendship but Concupiscence. They are ignorant of Choice, being affraid that Knowledg would torment them. In short, they live to no purpose, but to kill that Remainder of life which is in them; and their Sins are their own Punishments.

For your safe passage it will be requisite that you keep a strict guard upon your Eyes and Eares: for they will attempt by wicked Arts to make them Instruments of your harm. Drink nothing presented to you in a Golden Cup; for they give their deadly Poison in the form of Delicious Wine. When your Senses begin to be seiz'd upon with delectable Objects, hearken presently to a soft Voice, which from within your bosomes will tell you what you should do. Be sure you never retire into any of their privacies; for there they have such a sort of Nets, made of invisible Wires, as Vulcan us'd to entangle Mars and Venus when he made a sport of them to the Gods. If you accept of any entertainment, or taste the Fruites of the Country, be as quick and wary as the Doggs of AEgypt when they drink of the River Nilus. In the close of his talk he said, There is one thing that I might further remember, though I need not inform such as are instructed by their own Prudence, That the thoughts of the Country whither you are going are of such rare virtue, that if you repeat them often, you will never endure to stay long in Piacenza, much lesse be taken with the muddy delights of it..

Thus Pancratus ended his talk. Urania and Panaretus having stay'd here two dayes, being much pleas'd with the Wisdom of Pancratus his Discourses and the sincerity of his plain Love, as they were taking their leave and expressing their Resentments of the Civility which they had received, Pancratus not knowing to what lodgings they might unawares betake themselves to their great prejudice, commended them to a friend of his call'd Eupathus, and gave them directions concerning the [Page] way to his house, which is not easily found in that Country.

Here the Travailers had a clear Demonstration of the Imperfection of this World, where Joyes are shown to us and then snatch'd away. For they began to be afflicted with the consideration of those things which but a little before did much content them, and they found that the Pleasures which were bestow'd upon them in Pancratus's company, attended them only to prepare their Spirits for a greater Grief which they were to sustain in the losse of it. Pancratus guessing at their Thoughts by their Deportment, which was more Melancholick then ordinarily it us'd to be, and being himself as wiling to go with them as they were unwilling to leave him behind, he attempted to give them that Comfort which he wanted for himself. We must go on, quoth he, and not be startled when we meet one Dissatisfaction, where we look for many: and since the general Rendezvous of good friends is only there to be expected where our Journey ends, let us comfort our selves all the way with the Hope of what we shall enjoy when we come Home. Thus the good Man dismiss'd his Guests, having accompanied them part of their way, and return'd to his holy Solitude. They came in a few Houres to the chief City of Piacenza, which was so plac'd, that it was manifest they had no regard to any thing else but Pleasure in the situation. Upon the South side, which they saw first, in the midst of a Grove planted thick with Laurells and Myrtills stood a Magnificent Temple which was dedicated to Alypia, a jocund Goddesse, whom all the Piacenzians devoutly worship: in the middle stood a large Altar, from which ascended great Clouds, being the continual smoake of delicious Odors. Upon the East Wall was plac'd the Picture of Aphrodite, sitting wantonly in a Charriot drawn, not as she us'd to be, with Doves and Sparrows, but with an Hee-goate and a Boare; which at first they judg'd very ill-favour'd, but considering the reason of the Device, they thought it would serve well enough. The rest of the Walls on all sides were covered with the pictures of Naked Women and Boyes, Cupid playing many apish Tricks among them. A multitude [...] Priests attended, all clad in Venus Liveries; their vvork vvas to make Orations in the praise of Beauty, or to [Page] vvrite stories of Idle Lovers. The chief of them, cloath'd vvith a Silken Vest and an Asian Mitre upon his head, vvas call'd Trimalcio; and vvhilst he sung their Amorous Songs, vvhich it vvas his Office to compose, the rest accorded to him vvith an effeminate sort of Lydian Musick.

The Queen of the Country, call'd Hedonia, vvent every day to the Temple to present Oblations to the Goddesse. Urania and Panaretus happen'd to arrive at the time as she vvas just come forth of her Palace, and so had opportunity to behold the form of their Solemnities. The Van of this vvanton company vvas led by the Master of Ceremonies vvith a slovv pace, vvhich fitted their Voluptuous March. He vvas call'd Pigerrimo, and vvas of such a sluggish Temper, that he vvould never rise till some body pull'd him out of his Bed: he vvas such a lover of Rest, that he vvould complain many times because he could not go vvithout Motion: he vvas unvvilling to be at the trouble of feeding himself, and therefore would wish that men might live the life of Trees, and being invers'd have their Mouthes alwayes fastned to their Meat. There was hung upon his arme a slight Bow, and a Quiver of goldenheaded Arrows; which he would not have carried, but that he would not be at the paines of throwing them down. He was followed by a great company of Gallants, who had so attired themselves, that one would think they had made themselves a perfect Outside: and they attended upon divers Ladaies, which were Hedonia's Maides of Honor, who had attempted by immodest Habit to pervert the Primitive institution of Clothes; for they affected only transparent Garments tinctured with variety of light colours; and yet they found fault with them still, because they did too much hide their Bodies. Only their Faces they did desire to be a little more conceal'd from common view, and therefore had covered them almost quite over with spots, and signified that they would not be known by the natural features of their Faces, but by the curious Figures of their Patches. In this, as in all other things, they did but follow the humorous example of Hedonia; for she seem'd to have woven the Rainbow into a loose Robe, which being so rarified that she might be seen through it, and [Page] also spatter'd with radiant Jewells in the forms of Starrs, one might well say that she was an Embellish'd Cloud. The names of the Gentlemen were Asotus, Narcissus, Acolastus, Aphron, Anaescuntus, Pangelos, and many others who had left the studie of Wisdom and the practise of Vertue, and were now so corrupted that they pleas'd themselves only in that which was a reproach to them; and had so far advanc'd their distempers beyond puny Wickednesses, that they despis'd Pleasure unlesse it was mix'd with Theft and Adulteries. The Gentlewomen were nam'd Bellezza and Lusingha who went foremost; and they were followed by Aspasia, Carezza and Amasia, with many more which made up that light Retinue. After these at some distance came in a disguise Perilype and Atimia: but we knew them well though they cover'd their faces, for they were asham'd to be seen, and would not be known to belong to that company. Hedonia her self was led between two brothers call'd Eros and Anteros: their looks were so discontented when they ey'd one another, that they were a lively Image of the Jealousie of Rivalls. Their Gesture, besides all other defects, made a plain signification that they esteem'd themselves the Glories of the World; and the Ladies made no doubt but that the whole Splendor was but the reflexion of their unparallell'd Beauties: and these they measur'd by such a vast size of estimation, that they believ'd if the Sun should have fallen they could supply his place and make day; and in the night, they did not think it possible that any Stars could appear but themselves and Venus. But Panaretus, who had observ'd them judiciously, thought them the most deform'd of all that he had seen. The defects of their Beauty were as good as confess'd by the Artificiall correction of the fashion of their Eyes, the addition of false Hair, the borrowed colour of their Lips and Cheeks, their ingrafted Teeth and painted Breasts. If they had not been poor, they would not have borrow'd such [...] and they were not very Vertuous, because they could not be content without them. The Simplicity of excellent Beauty is witness'd by a carelesse neglect of adventitious Ornament; and Worthy Lovers despise Beauty when it stoops to such mean Condescensions as, it may be, they would think proper to a Thais.

[Page] As they were in the middle of their vain Orisons (for they pray for such things as Holy Souls abhor to think of) Bellezza pull'd out a Song which Trimalcio had set the day before to a Treble Voice, and one of the Ladies sung it in Honor of Hedonia. It is not worth recording, but only to give notice of what poor things they make Hymns.

Fair Queen, the Sun for Thee takes paines to rise,

But shines with Beams he borrowes of Thy Eyes.

The Aire both warm'd and sweetned in thy Breast

Goes still to come, and doth in Motion rest.

The Springs, wer't not for Thee, would cease to flow:

Wer't not thy Walk, Earth would a Desart grow;

Which whilst Dame Nature paints with gaudy Flowers,

Th obsequious Trees grow of themselves in Bowers.

And whil'st thou smil'st upon her Fruites, her gain

Is, then to know, she hath not toil'd in vain.

Anteros seeing them well pleas'd, desired that they would have the patience to hear him sing a few verses which he had set to a Base, in which he did magnifie the Happinesse of Hedonia's Courtiers. Hedonia giving her consent with a stately nod, he began.

Whilst greedy Merchants plow the boistrous Seas,

We laugh ashore, they venture for our Ease.

Our Boores, yoak'd in like labour with their beasts,

Shall make the fields pay Tribute to our Feasts.

Whilst Bookish men for Wisdom sweat, that thence

They may fetch Reasons to disparage sense,

We sit above, and by Experience know

What's only talk'd of in the World below.

Trimalcio having fitted their fine Songs with a suitable Chorus, gave them their Parts; and so they ended that dayes Musick with these Words,

[Page]

Since Envious Time, to spite us, posts away,

Let us improve each Minute of our day.

After the Musick they entred upon another manner of converse, which was so impertinent that I shall not trouble my self to give any account of it. Urania taking the advantage of their absence from the Palace, and their busie attendance upon these most irreligious Rites, went with more security to view the Gardens, so great in report, that the Fabulous Paradise of the Hesperides seem'd to have been but an imperfect Description of these incomparable Delights.

Behind the Temple they perceived fair Walks fill'd with great companies of proud Peacocks with their Traines spread, and the boughs of the Trees loaden with salacious Sparrows. Upon one side was planted a large Vineyard, and in the midst was set a Priapus, which, by the Manners of the owners, they guess'd to be the Guardian of the Vines. Upon the other was a spacious Garden adorn'd with all Varieties of Flowers, and those put into such orderly plots, divided with smooth Walks, that they gave and receiv'd mutual Ornament from each other. In convenient shades they had pleasant Bathes, whither to cool or heat, they knew not; but from what they heard, they understood that they defil'd the Soul more then they wash'd the Body. Amongst other Rarities they observ'd a Grott, which had many Caverns furnish'd with rare waterworks; where the streams did not only show themselves in all variety of delectable forms, but convey'd melodious Tunes through several Pipes, and making a [...] of pleasure between the Eye and the Eare, put the Soul in a suspence to determine which had the superiority, which being not able to see and hear at once with due Intention to both, gave judgement for each by turns. The chief imperfection of which they took notice was in the Flowers and Fruits: for they had no sooner gather'd a Rose or a Gilly-flower, but by a sudden withering in their hand they confess'd the Infidelity of their Vigour; and the Fruits, which grew both upon the walls and in other places, though they look'd most lovely to the [Page] sight, yet upon the least touch of their fingers they fell into Ashes; as it is reported of those Apples which grow upon that Lake by which Sodom hath but a dishonorable remembrance in History.

In the midst of the Garden, as they were led by the windings of an intricate Wildernesse, they came to a fair Banquetting-house, which was so rais'd upon an Artificial Mount, that besides all the delights of the Garden it receiv'd the pleasure of a gallant Prospect. Here sate an overgrown Woman reading the loves of Venus and Adonis; which by her excessive bulk, swollen out of all measure with intemperance, they guess'd to be Acrasia. She was attended by a drowsie fat Boy call'd Morpheolus, cloth'd with a particolour'd mantle, where black and white were so interchangeably plac'd, that one might see the Workman had a mind to bestow upon it the colours of Day and Night in equall divisions. She call'd up her servants by the names of Bevanda and Mangibella. It seems Bevanda was drunk in the Cellar; but Mangibella came up with a basket of most delicate Fruites, which Urania putting by with her hand, Morpheolus went out of the room, and call'd Veneriola. Urania and Panaretus suspecting the worst, where they had no reason to hope for any good, made haste out of the Room, and shutting the door after them, with the benefit of a spring-lock they freed themselves from two great lumps of Flesh; and Veneriola declaring by her carriage, that she had learn'd more sorts of Intemperance then what consisted meerly in eating and drinking, Panaretus threw her into a fish-pond which was hard-by, to cool her Lust. As Morpheolus was seizing upon Urania, he gave him such a blow on the right Eare, that left him in a dead sleep.

Having escaped this troublesome Foolery, for fear of worse they made haste from this nest of Dangers. Before they could get out of the Garden, Hedonia return'd from the Temple, and was come into it, and, as it happen'd, was enter'd into a private Walk, accompanied only with Carezza. Urania espied a dore which open'd towards a River, out of which she thought they might make an escape: and though they made such haste as people do when prudent Fear gives them wings, [Page] Hedonia met them before they could reach the dore, and perceiving nothing in their first looks but what give her hopes of most excellent Company, she curteously saluting Urania desired her to answer the civility which her presence made show of, by a gentle acceptance of such Welcome as she could present. Then whispering in Carezza's Eare, and having dimiss'd her to perfume her Chamber, she took a Garland of Roses which was in her hand, deeply poison'd with venemous Herbs, and offered it to Urania; which she waved, and made answer, That they were upon a journey, which they had not only hindred already by the entertainments of her Gardens, but doubted also that they had been so uncivilly bold, that they had need to ask pardon for faults already committed, rather then to adde more to them. Hedonia pressing her Civilities with such words as self Interest taught her to multiply, they were come to the dore; which being but gently shut, Panaretus struck it open with his foot, and seeing a Boate fastned to the bank of the River, he desired Urania to hasten into it, whilst he guarded her from the pernicious embraces of Hedonia: who seeing her self half disappointed, to prevent Panaretus from imbarking, flung her self into his Arms; who knowing what little time he had to disintangle himself ashore, before any might come to put more fetters upon him, threw himself with these into the Boate. Oictirmon, who attended them, having loos'd the rope, let the Boat go with the swift stream. Panaretus commanded Hedonia to hold her peace; vowing to her that if she made any noise, he would immediately throw her into the River. Hedonia partly astonish'd with this sudden surprize, but more struck to the heart with the pain of being resisted, (for the knew no life but the licentious joyes of an unbridled Will and uncontroul'd Luxuries) fell into a swoune; in which she continued till they had pass'd her House, not daring to bring her to life to effect their own death. So they pass'd as the Stream and the Boat agreed to carry them: and as they were hindred from minding their way by the trouble which Hedonia, come to her self, did now put them to, they fell amongst most dangerous Rocks, some of which lay undiscerned under water, and the rest were scatter'd with the [Page] ribs of broken Vessels. But Urania taking hold of the Rudder, and Oictirmon rowing according to his own skill and Panaretus directions, they came into more safe water, and the stream being but slow, and Hedonia a little more compos'd in her carriage, the Heavenly Urania thought she had an opportunity to administer such Counsel which onelost in Sin did extremely need, and thereupon with Prudence set off with an admirable Courtesie began thus to accost her:

Fair Lady, the reports I have heard of your Condition, joyn'd with that knowledg which I have my self receiv'd of your Person, make me sorry that you should enslave your youthful life to dishonourable pleasures. Though I know how unacceptable a service it is to reprove, and am not ignorant that you think it strange in me to undertake it; yet I hope you will pardon me when you perceive that Charity occasions your trouble. I perceive that your miscarriage ariseth from a false opinion which you have entertain'd of the Happiness of Bodily pleasure, and know no motives of Love but Fleshly Beauty. Alas Madam! How small a matter is the ornament of a wellcolour'd Skin, and the due proportions of Bones and Flesh handsomly joyn'd; especially when by the neglect of Vertue it becoms a fine prison to the depress'd Soul? Beauty is but Mortality painted by Nature, that the Soul coming into a well-favour'd Receptacle, might be provoked to answer the outward Decency with correspondent realities of spiritual Lovelinesse: never intending the external Comliness for a lying signification of what is really absent within, or for an handsome lodging for a deformed Guest. Hedonia, never knowing what belong'd to Reproof, permitted her to go no further, and being utterly ignorant but in the customs of Piacenza, at first reproach'd her for talking impertinently to her of the fooleries of Vertue, and scornfully told her, Lady, you may preach this Doctrine to one that thinks she hath a Soul of that sort which you pretend to, but I have not; and I protest that I desire not to have any such, lest it should trouble me with these Vertuous Fancies of yours. However at present, if you will hold your peace as to these matters, I shall more willingly stay with you till I shall know what you mean to do with me. We intend, [Page] answer'd Panaretus, to take you along with us into [...], if you will accept of our company, and there to dispose of you with the same regard that we have to our selves: or if you be not so content, we will dismisse you when you shall come so near the borders of your Jurisdiction that we may escape safe out of your Territories, being well assured that when you have left us, you will find Conduct enough to bring you back again. Hedonia making no answer but disdainful silence, Urania minding Pancratus his directions, spied a cliffe which by all marks was Roccabella, which the Hedonians call Aspremont; which though it was steep and craggy, was not unpassable to couragious Travailers: and up that they were directed to climb, as being the only way by which they might go to Eupathus his House. Pancratus had told them of pleasant Meadows which lay upon the Waters side: but as they cross'd the River which ran by Hedonia's Palace, he charg'd them not to land there, both because it was much about, the way difficult to find, and full of Serpents, which lay in the Grasse; and that the other, though it had a discouraging appearance, yet was but short, and easily to be ascended after they had pass'd a few steps, which would be a little troublesome at first. Here they put ashore, and as they were just landed upon the foot of the Rock, Hedonia watch'd her opportunity, intending with a sudden push of her arme against the bank to put off the Boat: which Panaretus espying, and willing that she should stay till they could part more handsomely, got hold of her hand and pull'd her ashore; by which means the Boat was sent adrift.

Having scaped over the water they began their Land-journey. Panaretus was fain to put Hedonia before him, and lending Urania his hand as the necessity of the way required, they pass'd some of the worst steps. But Hedonia, having no joy in them or the way, pretended extream wearinesse, and sitting down upon the side of the Rock where she espied it to hang very much over the River, before they were aware of her desperate purpose, having also repos'd themselves meerly in respect of her, she leapt into the Water. Urania frighted with the forlorn temper of an Impenitent, O God, saith she, Panaretus, [Page] what a sad period hath this wicked Woman put to the bad progresse of a voluptuous life! I cannot but think of the Fatal stone Leucas, from which, they say, impotent Lovers were wont of old to throw themselves, hoping by their fall to cure their brutish affections.

The Stream being quick, they had soon lost the sight of the now-irrecoverable Hedonia; and being freed from the hinderance with which unsutable company doth usually afflict their fellow-travellers, they held on their course up the Hill. The steepnesse of the Ascent and roughnesse of the craggy Rocks, together with the uncouthnesse of an untroden Path, ofttimes perplex'd with thorns and briers, put them to a good tryal of their Constancy: but as it held firm, and show'd the fixedness of their Resolutions, so it brought them into a way which gave them opportunity to reflect with Comfort upon their past endeavours; and by reason of its plainnesse made the remainder of the Ascent very facile. They were no sooner come to the Top, but the Sun having seen them passe the difficulties of the Hill, went down to perform what was necessary for the occasions of the other world: so that for want of light they were fain to commit themselves to such a Booth as Panaretus could make of the boughs of Green Trees; where being accompanied with God and Vertue, they found no want of a better Lodging, and feasted themselves with a bottle of Water and some small viands that their faithful attendant Oictirmon carried in a basket.

The Sun had no sooner peep'd over the Tops of the Mountains, but they were ready to begin their Journey, having a great desire to be at a further distance from Hedonia's Court, as also to see Pancratus his friend, the good Eupathus, of whom they had no ordinary Opinion. A good while before night they arriv'd at the House, which was plac'd under the guard of a great Oake toward the North, and upon the South had a little Garden with a Rivolet running through one end of it. His Garb and Manner of life was much the same with that of Pancratus. He received them with Joy, not doubting but they were his true Friends that would come through such troublesome paths to see him. After they had acquainted him with [Page] Pancratus his recommendations, they gave him some accompt of the Accidents which had happen'd in their Journey, and in particular of the miserable end of Hedonia. Do not wonder at that, Dear Guests, replied Eupathus; for on the further side of these Woods I have a private Walk upon the brow of a Hill, from whence I have beheld many such Accidents to have befallen her chief Courtiers, and I thought in time some great Calamity would light upon her self. Hereupon Urania desir'd him to report some of them; for though they are sad in themselves, yet they are useful to others, who may learn Prudence from the unfortunate instances of voluptuous Witchcrast, which, though it makes very promising Beginnings to weak judgements, is ever attended with the experience of contrary Conclusions.

Eupathus consented to their demand, and began after this manner. A young man having lost himself in these Woods, stumbled upon my House: he was clad with a most pitiful form of Beggery; his looks were so dejected, that I shall never dislodge them out of my fancy whilst I live. He told me that he was a Gentleman's Son, brought up with the greatest care that is possible to a Father, who well knew the principles of Education, and believed nothing more then that the foundations of all happinesse in after-life must be layed in the first yeares of Children; and therefore after the incapablenesse of his Infancy, engaged his first abilities with early instruction; and to make him acceptable to Wise and Good men, endeavour'd to possesse him with Vertuous Principles and the Rules of Wisdom, according to which he might also accomplish his own happiness as to any measure that is attainable in this life, and make himself fit to serve the World in some worthy undertaking. He inform'd him accurately in the Moral part of Philosophy, accounting it a foul defect in Education to leave him imperfect in the main point of ingenuous Discipline, which is to make one Good. He would often tell him that if he secured not this Interest, all other endeavours were as much in vain as the diligence which is bestowed in fraughting of a leaking Ship. His Father had life bestowed upon him to see the Harvest, which he had labour'd [Page] for in the hopeful bud, and then dyed, having charg'd him as he would hope to endure his fight when they should meet in the other World, to perfect what he had begun, and that he should think of setting up no Monument for the preservation of his memory but the Imitation of his Vertuous Example; for that he should live whilst his Son compos'd his conversation according to that, and that it would be an immortal Grief to him in the other World, if they have any Cognizance of the affaires of such as they leave behind them, if he prov'd an Apostate from his young beginnings. Adding that if it were lawful for him to appear after separation from this Body, in some other which would be visible, as it hath been for some others, that he would not fail to come and upbraid him in such a manner that his Degeneracy should be but uncomfortable. These and many more affectionate expressions of a Fathers desire, kept fresh in his memory, and improv'd by the faithful skill of a wise and honest Tutor, unto whose Trust his Father had committed him, kept him in the way for a time; and having made a good Progresse which fill'd all his Relations with joyful hope, at last he met a Gentleman that used to frequent Hedonia's Palace, (I would the death of either of them had hindred such an unlucky acquaintance) and by his perswasions he went thither where none can be with safety. (Absence being the best Antidote against the Poison of infected places.) There he grew into friendship with Amasia, then Aspasia, and then the rest; and was at last so intoxicated with Voluptuousnesse, that he wholly abandon'd his good beginnings of a Vertuous life. After he had been there some time, his Father's Ghost appear'd to him, which was more dreadful than any Devil could have been: It frown'd upon him and vanish'd. As soon as he was gone, one call'd Eknephon came to him, and opening his chamber dore, call'd him out. He followed Eknephon, who would fain have rescued his companions also; but some would not awake, others were amaz'd, and all unwilling: however he conducted the young man to the water side, and bad him swim over, and so vanish'd. He threw himself in, and made way to the other shore: and though he knew not whither to go at that time, yet he knew [Page] it was better to go any whither then stay where he was. As he was come near the adverse bank, the Stream ran something strong, and being weakned with his vitious life, he permitted the Stream to carry him down as it listed: upon which Eknephon with stern looks showed himself again upon the surface of the water; and then resuming Courage, and employing his arms afresh, he soon got ashore at the bottom of Roccabella. Seeing the Rock steep he fate down; but Eknephon call'd to him to rise, and having help'd him up a few difficult steps, bad him go on: after which he never appear'd to him more. Fear made him advance a little way, but his feet being tender were very much hurt with sharp stones; and whilst he endeavour'd to creep up on his hands and feet, he was scratch'd with the briers which grew upon the Hill side. Having gone half way to his great pain, he lift up his eyes towards the Top, to see how much he wanted yet; and there he spied, as he thought, a great company of people, and they threw stones at him, which gave him such blowes upon the Head, that he tumbled down again to the bottom of the Hill: and as he lay there, all torn, and scratch'd, and senselesse, a Gondola came by which was full of Hedonia's Courtiers; and they were going to make a Day of it in Sports and Musick upon the Water. They seeing one lie in that unusual manner, put towards the Shore, and perceiving who it was, they took him into the Gondola, and having brought him to the use of his senses, they ask'd him how he came there, and what had brought him into that woful plight. He durst not tell them: but they imputing his silence to his present astonishment, went on in their design for a while; but finding him extraordinary unchearfull, frequently sighing, and perpetually silent, they receiv'd some disgust of their Jollities from his company, and therefore agreed to carry him home; and seeing his head disturb'd, they lay'd him upon a Bed, and went to consummate those Delights to which he had given an unpleasant Interruption.

When they were gone, he was tormented with infinite representations of his misery which he receiv'd from restlesse thoughts: and though he fell into a sleep, it oppress'd him rather then administre'd any ease, being but like those troublesome [Page] slumbers which unhealthful fumes do force into the heads of feverish people. But his distempers were the greater, because of an unquiet Fancy, a disease that in him took not its rise from his Body. Amongst other afflictive Phantasms, he dream'd that his Fathers Ghost appear'd to him again, and with a sharp blow of an Ax cut open his Breast, upon which a Vultur presently flew in and gnaw'd his Heart, in such cruell manner, that he could not imagin himself to be any thing but Titius. Sometimes he endeavour'd to recollect himself, and to lift these thoughts out of his mind; but they recoil'd upon him with a burdensome weight, like the Stone of Sisyphus.

In the midst of these troublesome strugglings he awaked, and leaping off from his bed, he stole privately to the River again, to attempt an escape: and as he was throwing himself into the Stream the second time, they were aware of his design, and threatned to send after him. He got away; but with the consideration of his ruin'd Estate, (for he had spent it all, partly by paying the debts of his hatefull Friend, and partly with buying Trifles and making Treatments for the wanton Hedonians) and with the stinging remorses of his Conscience, as also with the fearful expectation of Disgrace, he trembled like the leaf of an Asp that is mov'd with the Wind. After he had given me this account of his forlorn Condition, he went away, and what became of him aferwards I know not.

As Eupathus spake these words, the Tears ran down his cheeks so fast, that they were a lively expression of that affectionate Pity with which he related the miserable case of a foolish Young man.

Eupathus having ended his Story, and perceiving his Auditors rather desirous of more than weary of one, continued his discourse. I need not, quoth he, have gone further then the experience of this day, to have given you full satisfaction of the miserable state of Piacenza: for as I was meditating in my accustom'd Walk, I saw a young Gentlewoman, for the most part of her body naked, driven through the Meadowes which are on this side of Hedonia's House by two devilish Women's one was call'd Metamelusa, her Eyes were swell'd with weeping, her Looks sad and ever cast down, her Carriage averse to [Page] all Complacency; the other was nam'd Dyselpis, and she look'd more gastly, tore her hair, and cryed out like one that is surpriz'd with a sudden fright: they both lay'd unmerciful blowes so thick upon the young Gentlewoman, that my heart is affected with the sight to this hour.

Having left her not far from the Hill for dead, as they thought, they return'd towards Hedonia's Palace, where they give constant attendance. She came to her self in a little space of time, but had such small content in her life, that with a Knife which they had left behind she resolv'd to kill her self, and to cut off those few minutes which were yet unravell'd. But she accomplish'd not her purpose so hastily as to hinder me from knowing some part of her Condition, which she discover'd in this manner; Sir, said she, I guesse by your looks that you are not made to despise Adversity: and though the relation of my Misfortunes will administer no Comfort to you, and reflect much Dishonor upon my self; yet if you can suffer the exercise of your Patience, it may be the recounting of my Ill may further others Good, as the Masts of Ships appearing upon the Quick-sands where they were sunk do many times save others from being cast away.

I am the unhappy Child of Astorges and Morophilia; and though I desire not to reproach my Parents, being so conscious to my self of the connexion which my Misery hath with my own voluntary Wickednesse, yet I may say too truly that those who were the causes of my Being, were also in a great part accessory to my Ruine: for if they had to my Nativity, which they further'd not knowing whom they should help to bring into the World, added also of choice, knowing upon whom they bestowed it, a voluntary care of my Education, and made such expressions of parental love as they might easily see my Condition needed, (for it was the same with all Children,) they might have through Gods blessing, which is never wanting to such as do their duties, have prevented my Misery, which is so great, that I esteem it perfect Damnation. But they not only neglected to give me Rules of good Manners, but also administre'd such Examples as were a Contradiction to them: not so much in their own practise, lest I should seem to accuse [Page] my Parents; but what was wanting in them was too abundantly supplied by such Company as were frequent Guests at our house, and they being Persons of Quality and esteem'd as the principal Friends of our Family, their Conversation was ey'd by us as a Rule, and I being but young and of small Experience in the World, though I saw many things which grated unpleasantly upon something which I felt in my Soul, yet durst I not presume to be a Censurer of others Actions, thinking the dislike in me might proceed not from innate principles of Vertue, which God hath bestowed upon us that we might be inabled to examine what we meet withall, but rather from Ignorance and Childishnesse. And as we are most apt to be hurt by the bad we see, though the Uglinesse of Sin is manifest enough in most actions that it produces, and so is a sufficient invitation to loathing and hatred; yet being palliated from Examination by the alleviations of several foolish Conveniences, I among other fools became partaker of ill Dispositions, which in length of time became Habituall: for whilst they licenc'd Intemperance in their Diet, Discourses and Carriage, and brought us books so destructive of Vertue that they prophan'd the Invention of Letters, and continually entertain'd the company with filthy Tales, loose Songs, obscene Jests and impure Proverbs, I began to suffer dammage in my Modesty, which I had heard, but forgot it, that it is the faithful Guardian of pure Chastity, which is the necessary support of a Womans Honour.

Amongst others I was invited by some young Gentlemen to see Hedonia's Court, where they talk'd of a Beauty so far beyond all that former times durst ever boast of, that Venus would be content to be drawn by her picture: they affirm'd her Wit to be no whit inferior, and that her Courtesie equall'd them both; they prais'd her Musick for such, that one could not endure to hear any other after it; they talk'd of her House, Gardens and Entertainments, as patterns for all the World to imitate. Their discourses made me willing to see such things as by them were not to be expected any where else. Having been there sometimes, I was at last so bewitch'd with their cunning inchantments, especially by means of a Lady that excell'd in [Page] Complement, call'd [...], that I had no mind to return home any more, utterly disrelishing those small portions of Sobernesse that were not banish'd out of my Fathers house. And then my Parents vex'd with my disobedience to their orders, for they sent divers times to me to return, began too late to resent the effects of their Negligence, in my Ruine and their Dishonour. My Mother especially took to heart my miscarriage, which she could not but lay to her own charge, both because she had us'd me to an unwise indulgence, and had been a means of my corruption by vicious Servants; who notwithstanding she knew them to be void of excellent qualities, and so unfit to teach us the good which they knew not themselves, yet they gave her sufficient content, if they dress'd us handsomely.

But to be short, for my time is not long, the Company being this morning in the midst of a lascivious Dance, one brought in word that Hedonia had, through wearinesse of her wicked life, cast her self into the River, where she spent a great part of her [...] time, and was taken up dead. Which unexpected Newes gave me such a smart Reproof for my own Follies, that it took away all sense of Joy in those things which I thought before to be the only Heaven. Destitute of Comfort and Hope I endeavour'd to run away from my self. As soon as I had set my foot without the Threshold of the House, those cruell Women hurried me over the River in a Boat, and then persecuted me in that unmerciful manner, which I suppose you saw from the Hill. I being not able to endure the lashes which I receiv'd from them, which were answer'd also with worse from within my own Conscience, have resolv'd to do that by which I shall procure a Rescue from my present [...], although I fear I shall but make way for those which are far more unsufferable. However the Effects of my Wickednesse begin to draw this miserable life to an uncomfortable Period.

Having gone so far, she seem'd to be assaulted with a fresh storm of Passion, which vented it self in these words, And, O Lord, must I now be thrust into the other World when I am so ill prepared for it? Alas! I have been asleep all my life, and now I find my self to [Page] awake when it is least to my Comfort. How foolish have I been? what Harvest could I expect but late Repentance and Hellish Despaire, when I knew that all the World doth reap as it sowes? O God, my [...] Soul is no sacrifice for thee: thy Holy Kingdom receives not the daughters of Sodom. No, no, I must go into the lake of fire, where Lust is burnt out with brimstone, and the Sinner tormented with the Eternall remembrance of dishonourable misdeeds. I am so far in Hell already, that I despaire of Pardon; and since I cannot Hope, I will Despaire and die.

As she pronounc'd that word, with a sudden blow she perform'd what she said, and fell a most miserable Spectacle of the sad Catastrophe of a Wicked life. Lord! what a Vision of Hell did then display it self before mine Eyes! There I saw the Cruelty of carelesse Parents, the Folly of indulgent Mothers, the effects of ill Example, the Miseries which attend bad Company, the dregs of bitter Pleasure, the discomfort of an ungovern'd life, and the difficulties of late Repentance. But I have forgot my self; it is no reason that I should longer trouble you with relating what was an extream [...] to my self to see.

Urania, fearing that he might think them weary of his discourse, because they had now attended a good while to hear the relations of strange Afflictions, assured him that though it was impossible for humanity not to be griev'd for examples of such extreme Calamities, yet they perceiv'd the connexion with their particular Causes so punctually made known by his discourse, to be of singular benefit, as they did give notice to all that could consider them, That God is not to be blam'd for the Miseries of Mankind, which they unjustly attribute in their furious resentments of pain to the imperfection of the World and those conditions unto which he hath particularly consign'd them; whenas they pull upon themselves innumerable Sorrows which he was so willing they should not have known, that if they had kept the directions of his Wisdom, they would not have met with them. It is not the Divine Goodnesse, but we that envy ourselves our own happinesse. And though sometimes we meet with such instance of [...], as we must think God had a particular design in the [Page] bringing of them upon us; yet what a vast content do Vertuous persons find in the unreproachable entrance into their Sufferings? and how infinitely more easie are they to be endured, then those Hellish Torments of wilful sinners that you have mention'd, which besides their notorious disgracefulness are also for the most part incurable?

But, Good Eupathus, if it be not afflictive to you that we should set you so many tasks, and confine you to talk of such things which you never think of but with grief, we shall desire you but once more to touch a string that sounds so harsh. If you be not displeas'd with such entertainment, replied Eupathus, I shall be willing to gratifie your request, having little else to divert you in this lonesome place. I shall acquaint you with the case of a Gentleman whom I had the fortune to meet under the Wood side not long since, and he rode upon a quick-pac'd Horse, and I perceiv'd that he made him run at the utmost extent of his speed. Having espied me he made such a stop that gave me notice he had a mind to speak with me. As I came towards him, I might easily discern the Grief which was in his Heart, if his Lookes bore true witnesse to his Mind. But it seems he did not desire to conceal his Grief, for complaining bitterly of his Misfortunes, he ask'd me if I had not seen a young Gentleman, and a Gentlewoman that seem'd to reckon more yeares in her age, whom he had lost fight of but a little before. Yes, said I, they lately gallopp'd by as fast as they could with whip and spur, and are just now alighted, and entring into Hedonia's Barge, which it seems attended to waft them over. Well assur'd it could be none but those whom he had hitherto followed in vain; he continued his pursuit to the Rivers side; and the Barge being not so far gone but that they were within hearing, he call'd to his Wife to return: but she not only refus'd that, but told him, she had abandon'd him for ever. Whereupon he came back to me, and began to tell me the particulars of his Condition, which I thought before to be sufficiently unfortunate. That Gentlewoman, quoth he, which you saw is my Wife, whom I married after the death of a former, and I have lived with her for a long time so happily, that ever till now I thought it one of the most [Page] true signs of an inexperienc'd mind to put a Single life in any competition with Marriage; and I thought my self so well inform'd in the advantages of the state which I did enjoy, that I could defend the cause of the Married against any arguments. They seem'd to me so weakly founded, that they could put no stresse upon any strength of their own, but took confidence only from hopes of the inequality of the Antagonist. I was wholly of his opinion, and thought it such an evident truth, that it is plac'd utterly beyond the Jurisdictions of Dispute: and though I perceiv'd he had other things to say, yet I could not but interrupt him with the defence of the position, what exceptions soever he was going to make from a crosse Experience; and so added, that Nature had made us incomplete on purpose that we should consummate our Imperfection with the Conjugal Union, and that no single person with all advantages ever arrives at a perfection which is any way comparable to Two so made One. I did not think that he had well consider'd that he was born that ever disapprov'd such an excellent means of his being, or that he was worthy to be who did refuse in such a lawful way to be a means of leaving others after him. How justly shall Posterity forget him quite, or remember him with disgrace, who would have had it impossible to have been remembred at all? This way a man becomes immortall in his very Body, and hath an opportunity to people the World with such inhabitants as an affectionate love, which none but Parents are capable of, will constrain all his life to make as good or better then himself. I esteem'd all my portion of Worldly happinesse which I had in other instances doubled, when I perceiv'd they were enjoyed also by one whom I accounted a part of my self; and I could bear but one half of any crosse accident, because she would bear the other. And though it is true, that since nothing is unmixedly pure in this World, Marriage hath its domestical cares; besides that they are more then counterpoys'd with Comforts to alleviate them, which no other condition can boast of, Nature hath secur'd that state against the oppression of such inconveniences, having appointed two at least to bear one light Burden. Vertuous Husbands must needs be truly pleas'd with such a Companion [Page] as having help'd to prevent the dishonours of licentious Youth, doth as willingly afterward sustain a great part of the infirmities of Old-age. And although some tender minds fancy it as an insupportable misery to die one before the other, that is to say to be torn in pieces; yet that separation is capable of the same and better arguments of Consolation then those with which wise men comfort themselves against the parting of their Soules and Bodies, They shall meet again: But the reason hath more force here, because they meet sooner. And because they have made account that such an indissoluble Union ties them together, they endeavour as the main care of their life to make themselves such as that they may not have reason to desire a Divorce.

At that word the Gentleman stop'd me, saying, Good Sir, go no further; you have made my wounds bleed afresh, and quicken'd the sense of my insupportable misery by drawing a lively picture of that Happinesse which I once thought my self Master of: and this I believ'd with no small measure of Faith, for I had such an experience of the greater part of your discourse, and such a firm confidence in my Wifes Integrity, and such a deep sense of my own entire affections, that I thought it was impossible for a true Lover to be Jealous: and when I heard of any that troubled themselves with that foolish impertinency, I could not but judge that they had either made a carelesse choice, of which they now indiscreetly repented, or that through scrupulous nicety they were willing to make instruments of their own affliction; but withall I applauded my own Felicity, which seem'd to me so void of any flaw, that I never entertain'd the least surmize of the mutability of my present condition.

But I perceive now that we are not to passe a final sentence upon any Worldly state too soon, for my Sun is for ever set, which I thought impossible to have been for the least while eclips'd. Having replied so far, the deep sighs with which he accompanied these words interrupted the course of his speech; which gave me opportunity to enquire into the particular Original of his Adversity. I knew well that discontented Women find several occasions to ground their dislikes upon against [Page] their Husbands. Sometimes he is not Rich enough, now they think on't, or he is not the Wisest man in the world; and yet they themselves will publish his follies: it may be he keeps a Servant, not for unworthy regards, whom they cannot fancy, and for that they will make the House too hot for him; or they want one for whom they have no use, only they will not be without one no more then their neighbours: at other times they are sick for such vain [...] of Clothes or Houshold-stuffe which his estate cannot provide, or which would be but unsutable to his degree, and are such things as wise Matrons do scorn; or being of a peevish humour they will be gone to their Friends: and sometimes they have no content, though without all reason, because, forsooth, they may not govern a little more; which is a humor contrary to the first intention of a Wife, and by which they do ridiculously offer to put their Head under their Feet. How matters stand between You two, I know not: but however I think that these or any such like reasons are but pitiful grounds for a Womans departing from her Husband, to his extreme discomfort, the ruine of her Family, and her own eternal Infamy. I think so too, said the Gentleman: neither indeed were the foremention'd instances the rootes of this disaster. As she wanted not any accommodation that my Fortune could allow, so besides all other Comforts we had divers pledges of Marriage Love, Children, in whom we saw our selves multiplied and united; and our desire was seconded with mutuall endeavours to make them meet, not only to supply our places, but to deserve better after our departure. But Devilish Lust hath spoyl'd us all. Till of late I did think her so free from that unreasonablenesse, that I never suspected destruction from so great an unlikelyhood. But as a healthful Constitution by the Contagion of diseas'd bodies doth many times receive mortal sicknesse; so did she contract a Vitiousnesse of Soul by the converse of an unlucky Companion. There was a young Gentleman, whose Father being dead, had by an ill govern'd life spent a great part of his means; and for the love which had been for a long time intimate between his Father and my self, I gave him counsell to leave such Courses as must necessarily, if he persisted in them, [Page] bring him to all those Miseries which attend the contempt of an unpitied Beggery. At first he took no heed to my Words; but in a while finding his estate so intangled through the profusenesse of his expences, that he could not have the use of that which was not yet wasted, he hearken'd so far to my advice, as to sell part to clear the debts which lay upon the whole, and made great promises of future Frugality: and for a while dissembling the love of his former practises, he was a frequent guest at my House, and would needs stay sometimes longer then I desir'd; by which means under pretence of respects to me, as his Guardian and Benefactor, he cloak'd the unworthy affections which he had to my Wife, and made my Courtesie a mask for his ingrateful Treachery. I cannot but have so much Charity as to think that she never imagin'd his first Visits design'd so unchastly, or that she was so prone to sin that it was needlesse for him to use divers tentations: but I perceive, to my unspeakable grief, that she was not rivetted in such a deep love of Vertue as to preserve her Innocence. Though a Castle have strong Walls, yet if those which keep it want store of Provision, or neglect their Watch, when diligent enemies besiege it, they will either be forc'd to yield, or be surpriz'd through their own Carelesnesse. So I suppose it fell out with her, who, I doubt not, calling to mind what she had been, was much satisfied in the worthinesse of Chastity, and being convinc'd of the unchangeablenesse of Vertuous reasons, could not but believe that she ought to persevere; and so held out a good while; but at last was betrayed, by keeping an undue guard upon Importunity and Place too fit for his purposes: and those which do not secure such advantages, are ever in danger of being delivered up to their enemy by the traiterous dispositions which are in their own breasts; which though they might lurk more undiscernedly before, will then be sure to shew what they are. He had not neglected several devices to ensnare her affections; and she, foolish woman, not minding the pernicious Hook, was catch'd with the splendid baites of Jewells and such toyes, which to a woman that esteems it infinite dishonour to be unvertuous, signifie no more then Fish-hookes made of crooked pins, with which little Children angle in puddles to [Page] catch nothing. I having taken notice of more then was to my comfort, and much distrusting what might follow, advis'd her to beware, and told her that the Converse of this Gentleman boded more then civil Courtesies, and that his frequenting my house was not only in regard to that friendship which had been betwixt me and his Father; for I perceiv'd in him towards my Wife more then ordinary observance, amorous glances, and that he sung wanton Songs, which carried such a sense as he could not so well insinuate in prose: and I knew he would not have stayed so long where he had very little to do, or come so often upon very slender Errands, but for some dishonourable respects. As my feares encreas'd, I often told her of such things as might have prevented mischief, if she had minded them; as of the treacherous Violation of her Faith, which would be as the sting of death in her Conscience; the discomfort of those few yeares which were yet to come of my life; her own inavoidable Disgrace; besides the cruell and unmotherly abandoning of her own Children by most unnaturall Falshood: to all which I added those particular miseries which did attend her when she should be deserted by that Villain, which she might well expect, since base Lust doth use to go out, when a little time hath withdrawn the fewell of its violent flames; and that she must think he would not stick to neglect her, who had before abus'd both her and me. She dissembled her purpose till the revealing of it would not hinder its Execution, sealing the vain protestations of her false Faith with many Curses, which I am afraid she will meet too soon in that place where no blessing will arrive.

And thus have I told you a Story of a poor man that took into his house a Serpent out of the snow half dead with cold, which being reviv'd with the warmth of his fire, bit him and his Children to death. Here Eupathus broke off his Discourses, and having entertain'd the Travailers with a short Supper, when the time of the night requir'd it, he disposed them in such Lodgings as his small house afforded. The next day considering the place to which they were going, he gave them notice of some things which he thought serviceable to their Design. He begun after this manner; You have heard, Noble [Page] Travailers, and seen enough of Piacenza, which hath not verified its name with such pleasures as you care for; and Vanasembla, through which you are to travaile, will also make a great show of many gaudy things of another sort, which when you examine them, will be found to contain but a small matter of substance: And there are many persons that will make you believe their Country is the Kingdom of Heaven, which will not prove Angels if you look into their manners. As soon as you are within the Borders, which you will easily perceive, for they love to have great marks of division between themselves and their neighbours, I would have you turn out of the Common rode upon the right hand; and then keeping straight forward, you will come to a little House standing in an unsuspected place: it makes no great show, but is situate in a very healthful aire, wheredwells an honest plain man call'd Apiston, who hath retir'd thither for his safety. He is humble, and thinks very meanly of himself; but having been often abus'd by such as he believed, according to report of others far better then himself, he is of late grown wary, and doth not now think all those good, who, though they do not affirm themselves to be so, yet give shrewd signes of ambitious desires to be esteem'd so; and whilst they think themselves singularly good, he examining the grounds of their indulgencies toward themselves, finds them to be but such things which are common to good and bad; and when he puts them to the tryal concerning any singular thing indeed, they are pitifully deficient. Having taken notice that Religious pretences are applicable to worldly Interest, and having seen many so sordid as to use them accordingly, he doth not at all wonder at those actions which men zealously perform sometimes to the amazement of simple beholders, who count him very Stoicall because he doth not joyne in such a common applause. He is not much taken with Zelots, because they have put Uncharitablenesse into their Religion, and branded Divine Moderation with the odious title of Lukewarmnesse. They often strike at the Holinesse of Morality with illiterate Invectives; but have so much more slighted those lovely vertues of which it doth consist in their Immoral practises, that they have made themselves [Page] ridiculous to wise men, by the ostentation of those great pretences by which they privilege their exalted state from the necessity of such low matters. But the truth is, their estate is not so rais'd as they would have men believe; neither are the things which they depress of mean worth, for they are too hard and too good to be perform'd by wordy Hypocrites.

He is one that doth not swallow carelesly all Opinions which those which take up every thing upon trust applaud for great Mysteries, having found many of them upon examination to be contradictions to all true Religion. When he perceives bold Notions thrown abroad, he carries some of them home, but never lodgeth any of them in his heart till he hath tried them, and found them right, by two excellent Touchstones, which he hath ever by him; I have heard him call them Empsychon and Grapton: when they hold not good by this proof, he rejects them for Drosse. And because they are many times wrapt up in odde embellishments of Fancy, and sometimes crusted over with a show of Antiquity, he hath an excellent File, call'd Exetazon, by which he doth pare off the outsides, and such things as are fasten'd to them to set them off, that so he may the more ingenuously and nakedly take a view of them. He is alwaies very suspicious of such as he discovers to be stamp'd with some secret characters of Worldly Interest; which though it makes them currant with the Multitude, among whom Errour goeth cover'd, yet they will not passe with him.

There are divers select Factions amongst them, and they are all as confident as if Infallibility were shared among them; and yet some of them must needs be in an Errour, for they all contradict one another. They sollicited Apiston a great while to adhere to their several parties; but he was unwilling to divide himself from good men to serve any Humor, being well assured that when they have made their petty inclosures, the Divine spirit will flie over all their Hedges, and converse with good men whether they will or no. Apiston saw so much of plain Truth among most of them, that he knew would serve them to their most important concernments, but that they spoyl'd the usefulnesse of it with Contention, Intricacies and [Page] doubtful Controversies. He was the likeliest to have been beguil'd with some that extremely reprov'd the want of Charity, and exhorted men to Brotherly Love; but having opportunity put into their hands to expresse it towards others which needed it sufficiently, they being also entreated to do it, confess'd that the Principle was excellent in it self, but that their difference from them in judgement had made it hurtful for them. By this he perceiv'd that their Charity was but Self-love, and the extent of their Kindness bounded with the circuits of their own Faction. This was a pitiful disposition, and infinitely below the true height of his generous Temper: for he is so clearly illuminated with the Divine Light, and hath his Passions so regulated and sweetned with true Love, that he hath an excellent sympathy with God and all Good men; and setting before him the universal Charity of the Father of the World, he hath a most affectionate Regard to the concernments of All, and never thinks himself more honour'd then when he can procure their good. But as he engag'd himself in action to bring to passe the Intentions of his Good will, he was so push'd with severe Falshood, and so thrust with bitter Envy, that he could not quietly passe the streets; and therefore to prevent mischief he retir'd into a corner, there to expect better times.

He will be shie of you at your first Arrival: but you must be content with that, for he is no trivial person, and will recompence these appearances of Incivility with the advantages of a most desirable Friendship; and in particular he will give you a full notice of Vanasembla.

When Eupathus had proceeded so far, he took a small Tablet out of his pocket, whereupon was written in Greek characters, [...]. (The meaning of the words was a prohibition of rash belief, which Eupathus and Apiston counted a great signe of folly.) And, quoth he, if you find my Friend make scruples of giving you reception, present to him this Tablet.

Here was a rare Encounter of mutual Affection: for as Eupathus by their Converse had discover'd the Travailers to be Excellent persons, and was very unwilling to lose their Company, [Page] yet by reason of the Love which he had for them was careful to tell them whatsoever might make for their Happinesse when they were gone; so they receiv'd so much pleasure from his [...], that they found themselves most willing to stay when they were going. But as the Design which they had undertaken requir'd their Departure, so it made Eupathus to neglect the consideration of his own losse, and to dismisse them to accomplish their intended Journey. It was not long before they came to the borders of Vanasembla: but by reason of some intricate turnings they had gone a little out of their way, vvhich they soon perceiv'd; for having once miss'd their directions, they knevv not vvhither to go. As they vvandred up and dovvn, they stumbl'd upon the company of a great fellovv call'd Megabronchus, vvho vvas a Vanasemblian, but had been taking his pleasure among his neighbours of Piacenza. He vvas quite of a different temper from that of Apiston, for he could svvallovv any thing that vvas svveetned vvith profitable considerations, and express'd a great indignation upon their naming Apiston by vvay of enquiry to knovv vvhere he dvvelt. No body can tell, quoth he, for he hath forsaken us in Vanasembla, and retir'd to a private life. He pretended a great offence taken against our Customs and Opinions, which are so excellent that they are grown the very Rule of Perfection, from which nothing can be taken, to which nothing can be added. It's true there are some different Sects amongst us, but I mean that which I am of. Apiston is of a squemish stomack, he will believe nothing unlesse he have reason for it. He doth give all honour to the book call'd Hierographon, but he will be his own Interpreter: and though fourscore or a hundred of our Way resolve concerning the determination of a Controversie, he doth not think himself bound to believe our definition, because we have not an Infallible Spirit. I confess he is of a peaceable Temper; I could never fall out with him, because he would never give me leave: though I had a great mind to have quarrell'd with him by way of Reproof. His Conversation is holy, as far as I could discern; but some of my acquainrance have declared great suspicions concerning him, but they would not tell me the particulars. It may be [Page] they had received some informations against him, and at present do distrust the truth of them, or are guilty of some Infirmities themselves, that make them a little more sparing in their speech. However I do not like him, neither do I desire to be seen in the company of any that frequent his house, for that may turn to my prejudice.

Urania and Panaretus were willing to listen to Megabronchus his talk the rather, because he gave them a taste of Vanasembla; and they were willing to detain him a while longer in their Company, that they might take off his most groundlesse disaffection to Apiston; not only having the engagement of good information concerning his Worth, but perceiving the Allegations against him to be pitifully insignificant. Panaretus therefore, as they went along between two Banks, where he could not well part from them, told him that they were as unwilling that he should receive dammage in their presence, as that an absent man should be wrong'd in his Good name whilst they were able to help it; and that they hoped they might easily prevent, if he would but particularly bear their talk, as long as they had willingly given eare to his discourse. Megabronchus consented: whereupon Panaretus having minded upon what particulars he had grounded his Accusation, and taking notice that he had unawares said many things in his defence, made a short answer to what he had so highly applauded in his own party, and accus'd in Apiston as bad, or lessen'd as good. Its true, quoth Panaretus, that you think very well of your own Sect: I cannot blame you; no doubt your Adversaries do so of theirs. But you have acknowledged your selve fallible, and therefore you cannot give any infallible assurance of your being in the Right in every thing: you are men, and so may give so much to your Idiopathies that may biasse you out of the way of Truth: you cannot but acknowledge this to be true, and if it be, you ought not to be angry that Apiston doth believe it. And since you are fallible, as you confesse you are, you ought not to be so much offended with a good man that thinks you are deceived in something, where your selves do not deny but that you may. If he dissent from your determinations, no doubt but he thinks all necessary Truths are determin'd [Page] long ago both for you and him infallibly; and he is not so much to blame for refusing assent to your fallible desinitions, as you are for making new additions, being neither divinely warranted nor infallibly guided to do it. You know you differ from many others in the world, that think themselves highly wrong'd in the neglect: therefore, good Sir, for the future be perswaded to suffer it patiently that others do not in all things agree with you.

That Apiston is very tolerable in other respects, appears from that Character which you have given of the Temper of his spirit, and the Excellency of his Conversation, by which it may be perceiv'd he is one of Wisdom and Modesty in his Carriage towards others, and unblameable in regard of his proper Accomplishments: and though you may have receiv'd misreport concerning him, you ought not much to value that, if you consider the general inclination which is in men to disparage such as differ from them thinking that a worth will accrue to their own Opinion from a creditable disrepute cast upon the persons of the Dissenters: and you may commonly observe it, that they can easily wink at grosse Faults in themselves, though they are alwaies quick-sighted as to the least of others.

Whilst Panaretus was speaking these words they came to a place where two wayes met, and Megabronchus being weary of the discourse, especially because he could not answer it, he told them his way was to the left hand; and having resolved which way soever they went, he would go no further with them, he made a rude haste from their Company. They took the right hand, as they were directed by Eupathus, and came in a short space of time to Apiston's house. He was walking up and down in a serious Meditation concerning some Discourses which he had lately heard in Vanasembla, wherein he thought the Goodness of God to be greatly misreported, and his Creatures taught to put very little confidence in him, to wit, that he cared but for a few of his Creatures, but did eternally hate the rest. As he was giving thanks to God for making him partaker of a better knowledge of him, by which he was saved from blasphemous hatred and Hellish despaire; his Meditations were broke off by the arrival of Urania and Panaretus. He accosted [Page] them so, as they might easily discern he had some doubts concerning them by his Countenance; but that they might not impute his strangeness to Incivility, he told them that he made no question but they knew the times to be such, that they required a great wariness in those that would not be abused. Though he had no particular causes of Suspicion, but that they made their [...] with a Courteous Intention; yet he desired to know whence they came. They answer'd, From Eupathus. He is my Friend indeed, replied [...], and some that have understood of our intimate Acquaintance, have made use of his name to deceive me in some things, wherein I had not been abus'd but for the credit I gave to that pretended Recommendation; and therefore I must desire some further assurance besides your bare words that you came from thence. Upon that Urania pull'd out of her bosom, where she had kept it all that day, the Tablet which Eupathus gave them. Apiston having read the Symbol, immediately saluted them in most friendly manner, brought them into his house, and gave them such entertainment as men usually bestow upon those whom they love unfeignedly.

Panaretus and Urania, abundantly satisfied concerning the reality of their Welcome, desired him to give them some account of the reasons of that change which they manifestly perceiv'd in his Countenance and deportment to them after the receiving of the Tablet. Apiston told them, that there were in that Country and in divers parts of the world a certain company of plain honest men that desired nothing so much as to revive true Charity, and to maintain those few sparks of it which are yet unquench'd by Covetousnesse, Malice, and Hypocrisie; and that though they did abhor to divide themselves from mankind by a sort of Conspiracy, combining against their friendship, yet they found it necessary to have some private signe, by which they might be known in forreine parts to such as having never seen their faces before, might by this token be assured that they were their Friends, and so supply them with advise or money, or such assistances as the businesses which they were employed in might require. The reason of this necessity is, said he, because many that are incomparably [Page] good are sometimes very poor, and being in strange Countries might be in danger of perishing, by reason of that Uncharitableness which prevailes in the world, and hath so hardned the hearts of the Rich, that they will not relieve even those whom they believe to be in want, and might know to be such as do well deserve supplies. Besides, some of our Friends are sometimes engaged in such undertakings that require more assistance then one or two or twenty can contribute, and we want conveniency of transmitting such things into other places as are of necessary use: but by this means these defects are made up, none refusing either to give credit to him that carries it, or to bestow their help in such waies as they find to be best to accomplish these Vertuous designs, which are undertaken for the Universall good of Mankind.

Panaretus much pleas'd with the device, demanded of him who was the first Author of it. Pythagoras, said Apiston; and in Imitation of the Vertuous example of those excellent Philosophers, which by obedience to his Precepts reviv'd Charity to the Admiration and Envy of the World, we have amongst some more of their laudable Customs embrac'd this. We have had some Experience, quoth Urania, that it is not unuseful; but do you think, Apiston, that the Pythagoreans did accomplish such effects as you mention by it? There is no doubt of that, said Apiston: and, if you will have the patience to hear it, I will relate you a Story out of an Authentick Author, which will give you plentiful assurance of what I said.

There was a poor Pythagorean, who having travailed a great way on foot, by reason of the heat of the weather and the length of his Journey fell into a violent Fever. He lay at a publick Inne where no body knew him, and having not provided money sufficient for such Accidents, he began to be destitute of Necessaries; which the Host understanding, supplyed him out of meer Compassion of his sad Case. When the Disease had gone so far that Death was now at hand, the Sick man call'd for a Writing-Table, which means was only left to requite so great love, though the effect of his desire would not come to passe till after his death. Having written a certain Symbol, that is, One of those Sentences which was part of the mystical Doctrine [Page] of Pythagoras, he sent the Table to his [...], praying him to hang it up on that side of his house which was next to the High way, and to observe if any that went by took notice of it; assuring him that if any should chance to read it which understood the writing, he would not only repay his cost, but also reward the great care which he had taken of a Stranger. As soon as he had said these words, he died. The Host buried him, and though he expected no return of his Expences, yet omitted nothing that belong'd to a decent Funerall. He had so little trust in the Table, that if he had not been mov'd with the last words of a dying man, he would not have hung it forth. A good while after he had plac'd it according to his directions, a Pythagorean travailing through that Town espyed the Table hanging upon the wall, and having espyed one of their Symbols upon it, he went into the House to know who had put it there: and having understood in what manner the charitable Host had used his poor Guest, he requited him not only with many thanks and great praises of his Vertue, but with much more money then he had disburs'd; leaving not only the Host, but all the Neighbourhood, wondring at such a rare instance of extraordinary Friendship, and concluding that it was an excellent doctrine which made the mutual love of those which profess'd it to be so great.

Apiston having ended his Story, though he could perceive no visible signe of wearinesse in Urania or Panaretus, which indeed was put off with that true delight which they found in many pleasant Conferences, yet remembring their Journey, and to declare his Civility, he perswaded them to retire to their rest, which the night also being far spent made very seasonable and welcome to them all.

THE THIRD BOOK, OR VANASEMBLA.

[Page]

WHen the gray ey'd Morn with her rosie fingers had drawn the Curtaines of the East, and the glimmering light began to peep upon the World, Urania and Panaretus, now weary of their rest, left their beds, being loath to sleep away a minute of that day by whose light they hoped to see the much-desired Bentivolio. Had they known his present Condition, their sleep would have been shorter and much more disturb'd: but measuring the Truth of their Hopes by the Extent of their Wishes, they supposed him well, with whom they knew it could not be ill if Equity had the disposal of things in the place where he was. So Lovers please themselves in sympathies with their own desires, and take no small delight in prophesying all Happiness to such as they do entirely affect.

Apiston's thoughtful Soul had call'd him up a good while before; for being used to the pleasant entertainment of wakeful Meditations, he was content with a smaller portion of Sleep then those allot to themselves who have no better use of dark time, and know no other Day but what is made by visible Light. To begin the day with him who is the Beginning and End of all our lives, he took a Theorbo, and sung this holy Song to it with a good Tenor Voice.

Good God! how dull a thing am I, to make

Nights of this tedious Length; when such awake

[Page] Who need more sleep then I, and rise by Night,

Whose work will scarce pay for their Candle-light?

Is Death so lovely grown, that I should court

His drowsie Image in this sleepy sort?

What pleasure is't, for half my time to be

In cloudy Mists lost to my self and Thee?

The chearful Birds with early Notes begun

To sing their Mattens to the rising Sun.

And all the Flowers lift up their nodding heads,

And spread their leaves upon their fragrant beds;

And deck themselves with all their pride to give

Welcome to those bright Fires which make them live.

But I lie still, detain'd in sluggish Dreams,

Though thou art up, and with thy active Beams

Upbraid'st my Sloth: Nay, thou dost never set,

But upon Sinners and such as forget

Why they have Eyes. Great Sun, thy out-spread Ray,

Chasing the Shades, doth make a constant Day;

And with its Vigour all dark powers Controules,

And shines at Midnight upon watchfull Soules.

Lord, since thy lustres by this Earthen Ball

Are intercepted, and [...] a wall

Of Mud shut up, and those grosse Fumes that rise

From this foul Dungeon cloud my feeble Eyes;

Teare this thick Curtain and restore my sight;

Transport me to the Regions of Light,

Where nothing comes from whence a Cloud may grow,

VVhere Blessed Visions Light and Eyes bestow,

VVhere Holy Souls Eternall VVatches keep,

Advanc'd above Earth, Sin, dark Night and Sleep.

[Page] Apiston had just finish'd his Song, when his servant knock'd at his dore to acquaint him that Urania and Panaretus desired his company below. After he was come down, and had given them the usual salutations of the Morning, they declared to him their willingness to perfect their journey. He readily answer'd their desires, both with the civility of a speedy dismission, and also accompanied them on the way, till they came to a Hill from whence they had a full View of Vanasembla.

The Sun having now attain'd that Height which makes Noon, the heat made them willing to rest awhile under the covert of some Trees that grew near the foot of the Hill, they being also pretty well wearied with their Travaile through barren Grounds, which for the most part were overrun with a shrubby sort of low Briers, fill'd with such sharp and tenacious Prickles, that if they chanc'd at any time to step out of the beaten Path, they could never get clear off them without most hurtfull scratches. As they took notice of the Prospect, Urania spied on each side of them divers Ruines, which by their greatnesse signified the Magnitude of those Edifices which lay buried under them; and thereupon demanded of Apiston what they were. They are the Remaines, quoth he, of as goodly Fabricks as ever the Earth supported: but their Usefulnesse far exceeded their Magnificence, built by the incomparable Twins Theophilus and Philanthropus; Two so loved by the people in former times, that they call'd them the Sun and Moon, whom they resembled in glorious Splendour and benigne Influences. They having with no less Discretion then hearty Zeal devoted themselves to God, and knowing no such way to improve their worldly estate as by employing it to further such Designs as God doth most delight in, they built and endowed these Houses, partly to relieve the poor, judging themselves their Stewards, and making account that by the receipt of Riches they were put to the tryal of their Charity and Humility; partly to entertain men of Excellent minds, to this end that there they might have an opportunity to improve Knowledge, the glory of Humanity, and to preserve it by a prudent Communication to others, and so to keep out that barbarous Ignorance that invades Mankind, and draws it [Page] down into the same levell with Beasts: with this great aime also, that men being made partakers of true acquaintance with the Divine Wisdom and Goodnesse which are displayed in the Works of God, might be raised into wise and just Adorations of the Creator, which they express'd frequently in Holy Hymns; and being inamoured with the Goodness of God truly known, might expresse a worthy imitation thereof, in relieving the imperfections of Youth by Knowledge and Vertue, and extending the Benefits of the same Charity to all others that stood in need of that better sort of Almes. But alas! not long since they became a prey to destruction, which was brought to passe by the Covetousnesse and Ambition of two wicked brothers, Timanthus and Pleonecton; who envying the Charity of former times, which they could not imitate, and grudging those which needed it the Comfort of Ancient Liberality, especially having an eager thirst after their Revenues, dispossess'd them by Violence, and lest future Ages should repent of their Ancestors sins, and restore the true owners to that which God and Man had made their Right, they pull'd down the Houses, and so made the mischief irreparable.

Apiston perceiving the time of parting from his Company to draw near, broke off the discourses which were between them, and began to speak of the Country which was now their prospect, after this manner; This Country of Vanasembla had its name given to it by the Theoprepians, who thought it fitted them but too well, because they made an Apish imitation of the Theoprepians. But the Vanasemblians, who thought highly of themselves, did not like it by any means, as judging it both inferiour to their worth, and disgraceful in the signification; and thereupon made an order to punish such as should repeate the Name, though but in jest, with their sore displeasure.

The Country was formerly divided into two equall Parts, one call'd Polyglotta, the other Microcheires: but because of the likenesse of their Tempers and affinity of Manners, they united themselves into One Jurisdiction; and to keep the old Names, they call'd the Metropolis Polyglotta, and the Country Microcheires. The Inhabitants of Polyglotta are all guided by one Rules yet for distinction sake they parted themselves, according [Page] to their discretion, into five little Divisions, which they called Pammelaena, Iconium, Pseudenthea, Kenapistis and Agazelus. I will not trouble you with the reason of the Names, because by and by when you come thither you will easily perceive, that though they do many things extremely absurd, yet they kept decorum enough in giving to themselves proper Titles.

There Apiston took his leave of the Noble Travailers, who keeping a quick pace to redeem this stay, within a few houres arrived at Polyglotta. Where they first endeavour'd to know what was become of Bentivolio: But this work was not so soon dispatch'd as they thought, for after much enquiry they could by no means find him. This was an extraordinary trouble to them all that Night, which they were fain to bear in a Common Inne, resolving as soon as the light of the Morning gave them leave, to renew their pursuit; which they performed accordingly: For having learn'd of a Stranger, who lay in the same Inne, that such a one as they described came to Town, (though he could not tell where he was;) they made their first enquiry among such as attended the Higher Powers, (now the Government was of such a sort as very few could tell what it was, only it was formerly Monarchicall:) but they soon understood, that he desired entrance at Court, and had been admitted but that Flattery and Falshood, Jealousie and Faction kept him out. The next search they made among the Gallants, which were scatter'd up and down the Metropolis; but most of them protested that they never saw him: only one said, he had been with them formerly, but had received such offence from Pride and Lust who kept them Company, that he would stay no longer among them. They went next to certain Houses built for Pleasure in fertile grounds not far from the City, where those which might live where they pleas'd us'd to spend the Summer, and having enquir'd of the Peasants for Bentivolio, they answer'd that none of that name had come into their Landlords houses since they left off the old Charitable Hospitality. Being so far disappointed, and doubting where to seek next, it is likely, saith Panaretus, that he hath taken sanctuary in some of the Churches: and having enter'd into one of the most famous for outward [Page] beauty, they had great hopes of finding their lost Friend; for they heard his name often mentioned. But after a short stay one inform'd them that he was not there, for that a furious Debate, which was held there a few dayes before, had so inflam'd the parties with wrath against each other, that they did many strange things, and amongst the rest, at the instigation of an Ignorant Zelot, he was ordered to leave the place. This put them to so great a loss in their thoughts, that they resolv'd to seek him any where, supposing they might meet him where it was not very likely he should be, since they miss'd him where they had good reason to expect his presence; and so they went towards the Merchants Walks: but when they were come [...], one told them, that Covetousnesse had forbidden him their Company. As they past by the Schools of Disputation, they thought to step in; but hearing a tumultuous noise about impertinent Questions, they knew if he had been there he would have come forth presently. It may be, said Urania, according to his Custom he is gone to visit some Hospitall: but when they came thither, the Poore people told them sad news, that they had seen such a one in former times, but of late he never came near them. They had yet some small hope to meet him amongst the Common people as they walk'd up and down the streets: but it soon vanish'd; for they knew he could not converse with such as had resign'd themselves to Murmuring, Sloth, Fraud and Hatred.

At last they met a good man call'd Philoxenus, who perceiving them to be Strangers, was loath to passe them by, especially because he guess'd by their Countenances, that either through unacquaintednesse with the place, or some other occasion, they were under a present dissatisfaction. Having demanded whether his service might be of any use to them; Yes, saith Urania, if you could give us notice of a Friend, from whom we parted not long since, having agreed to make this City the place of our meeting, where, though we have hitherto sought him in vain, we know he must needs be, except some disaster have befallen him. Withall she gave a description of his person: which Philoxenus having well considered, [Page] he knew whom they sought, and pray'd them to go with him to his house, where they should have tidings of their Friend. They went along with no small joy, hoping to find Bentivolio at his house. This they quickly saw to be a mistake; for Philoxenus perceiving the error of their Expectations, told them plainly that he was not there. Where is he then? quoth Urania, with a quick reply! I am loath to tell you, saith Philoxenus, because he is where you little think, and where he doth lesse deserve to be: He is in Prison, under the Custody of a cruell fellow call'd Achrestus; and because I know you long to understand how he came there, I will briefly acquaint you. Your friend being present at a Religious Conference, it happen'd that some with a great deal of blind Zeal did speak very unworthily of God: upon which he pray'd them to consider better of God, before they spoke of him after that manner; for that in his apprehension the things spoken were very much to God's dishonour. Hereupon ill words were return'd, and one call'd him Heretick; and in fine the Disputation ended, as most use to do, to little purpose. But the next day an Accusation was preferr'd against your friend before the Magistrates, who carried a very great respect to the Accusers, because they were persons that made great show of Gravity and much Zeal for Truth. They accus'd him at random, and lay'd so many horrid things to his charge, that an Order was granted to commit him to Prison. I understand that Articles are fram'd against him by one Orgilus, and that he and another call'd Dyscolus will witnesse them, though Dyscolus never saw Bentivolio in all his life. The Articles are the strangest things to quote against a man by way of accusation that ever you heard, viz. ‘That Bentivolio should say, That the Vanasemblians made Religion a masque; That their Lawes were fine Cobwebs; That he had been in many Countries where he heard not so much talk of Goodnesse, but was never in any where he saw lesse perform'd; That the people were holy Atheists; That they set the Profession of Vertue and the Practise thereof in opposition to each other; That little things were in high esteem with them, and greater matters slighted; and such like.’ But the anger conceived against him was blown up by the Malice [Page] of one of the Judges, who had a great spleene at Bentivolio, because he had written a letter to reprove him for taking away by a most wicked fraud a poor mans estate, whom two or three Sycophants had made obnoxious to a slight Law.

Philoxenus knew well enough that this was but ill news to his Guests; and therefore to correct the unacceptablenesse of his Story, he told them that he made no doubt but that he could put them in a way to accomplish his speedy deliverance: which is, quoth he, to make application to one of the chief Judges, whose name I have forgotten, who is a most just Magistrate, a lover of Right, not smutted with Covetousnesse nor byass'd with Partiality, and that knowes well enough, that Goodnesse doth not consist in such Niceties as most understand not, and few agree in. Urania greatly pleas'd with this Relation, desired Philoxenus to bring her and Panaretus to the Judges House; which he willingly perform'd: and having sent in a signification of their desires by one Eumenes, a servant that alwaies gave much respect to Philoxenus, and was willing to assist any that came to his Master upon worthy errands, the Judge sent them word that they should attend him in a fair room, which by reason of the liberty of accesse and freedom of speech, which he allowed there to all wrong'd persons, was call'd Parresia, where he accordingly met them, without such delaies as proud persons design to State, but prove the reproachfull significations of their vain minds. He being much taken with the gracefull presence and Vertuous Carriage of Urania and Panaretus, which were not only correspondent to all perfect Rules, but seem'd to be expressive of something which is beyond the attainment of the most rais'd Hypocrisie, he civilly demanded the cause of their Addresse; which when they had declared, he gave order immediately to send for Bentivolio, assuring them that they should have all fair reparation if it should appear that he was wrongfully imprison'd. Before he was come, his accusers, who had timely notice of his being sent for, appear'd and made many general accusations against Bentivolio. Urania taking the opportunity of their silence, to which at last they were forc'd, having said all they could, not weighing the unjust reproaches of one whom she knew to be [Page] innocent, prayed the Judge to examine the Witnesses apart concerning the Articles, which by the first reading appear'd to be fram'd with much indiscretion, or else upon great malice. Her request was granted, and Orgilus being brought forth, said, he received the Articles in a Letter from a friend of his, whom he desired to be namelesse, and that he had preferr'd them, he confess'd, not without a grudge against the person of Bentivolio, because he did not assent to him one day whilst he was asserting with no small vehemence, That Moderation of Temper towards men of different Opinions was worse then Atheisme; and because he had heard him say, That it was one of the greatest calamities that ever befell Christian Religion, that Christs Disciples, so called by themselves, were so unlike their Master; and that he thought the most Ignorant were alwaies the most fierce; which he took as a particular affront to himself: and this was the Summe of his Testimony.

Dyscolus being call'd forth, affirm'd, That Orgilus wrote the Articles, and that he himself did not hear the words spoken, but that he sign'd the Charge, because he had heard such words and worse related concerning him in several places; and particularly that he affirm'd, he was able to bear with Honest men though they differ'd from his Apprehension of things, and thought that others ought to do so with a mutuall regard to each other; especially since he knew no Church which was Infallible, and therefore ought not to force men of peaceable spirits and Innocent lives to an acknowledgment of Divine Authority in their private determinations when the Matters are dubious and of smaller Importance: and the rather because they refuse to submit to the Impositions of others, and have declar'd the Usurpation of one that hath dignified himself with the Title of Infallible Interpreter as a mark of Antichrist. He added some other words of dislike of Bentivolio's Person, because his Temper was so contrary to his own, protesting that he did not love lukewarm Concord; that he knew scarce any thing indifferent; and that there was no distemper in heat, and that the Torrid Zone is the middle Region where Vertue inhabits — Peace, Peace, said the Judge, your brain is too hot. If this be all the businesse, you are a couple [Page] of Unworthy persons, and you shall have the reward of your Malice. He told Bentivolio, that he was sorry that any person of Wisdom and Vertue, but much more that Bentivolio, should suffer imprisonment in that City upon such frivolous pretences; that he might go whither he pleas'd, and that he should improve his utmost indeavours to procure the free abode of himself and his friends in those parts.

Having dismiss'd Bentivolio, he applyed himself to some that had too passionately abetted his Accusers, and perceiving that they were not very well pleas'd with what he had done, he accosted them thus; ‘Are not you ashamed to appear in such a dishonourable businesse? Could you stoop to such lownesse of spirit, as upon such poor grounds so pitifully witnessed to disquiet such a worthy Gentleman? Will you make this place disinhabitable to ingenuity? When you judge concerning your duty, lay aside the hindrances of Interest, which must needs prejudice your discerning Faculty. Enjoy your own thoughts, in God's name, but do as you would be done unto; and what you would not have done unto you, do not. Where sin manifestly cleaves to an Opinion, you may justly shun the Assertor, because he hath discovered his wicked Temper by owning falshood: but when any thing is so darkly reveal'd that we cannot assure our selves that he which holds the part contrary to us is condemn'd of himself, I dare not give the odious name of Heretick. You allow such as dissent from you to be Learned and Good, when you speak out of passion; and because the Diffenters are so considerable, you should not be too peremptory in your determinations. Why should you conclude that for necessary, which your dissenting from many Wise and Good men doth prove to be doubtfully declar'd? What you pretend concerning the necessity of your Consequences is lesse valuable, because you are not sure you do deduce them right; and your Explications are not of themselves Faith-worthy, since you do not pretend to be Infallible Interpreters: and if you should challenge a Right to all mens Faith, you do little lesse then usurp Divine Authority, since both Scripture and Reason desert you in the claim of Infallibility. In stead of this odde zeal, for God's [Page] sake promote such things as are unquestionably good; and there is no doubt but as that shall kindle the flame of Divine love more perfectly, we shall clearly see the way towards our present and Everlasting Rest.’ With such words he dismiss'd them, but very little satisfied, because he did not declare himself for their Opinion; contrary to which they could believe nothing true.

Urania and Panaretus having thus regain'd their dearest Bentivolio, they retir'd altogether to the house of Philoxenus, who had no small share in their joyes; where when they had dispatch'd such Civilities as were due to great Love and long Absence, they renewed their desires of seeing Polyglotta: and that they might make a ful discovery of it, they resolv'd to begin at one end, and so proceed quite through it.

Their first stage was Pammelaena, which was plac'd in an obscure part of the suburbs; for the Pammelaenians were of no great esteem in Polyglotta. They were the lesse respected because of their black swarthy Complexion; which was not caus'd by the heat of the Sun, for they were remov'd far enough from light, but rather by some infernal smoke, which had tann'd them. They were consign'd to a place which sitted them, for the ground was low, and continually sent forth a steam, which did so darken the Aire, that it was impossible to perceive any thing distinctly among them. At a good distance they took the People for Trees walking up and down; but when they came nearer to them, and heard them make a brutish noise, they thought they had been Beasts: but the shape of their Bodies refell'd that error, for they went upright, and so they concluded them to be Men; though it's true that Apes and Monkies, with that posture in such dark aire, might have put tricks upon them. They were much troubled with a discase call'd Hylotes: which though it permitted to them an indifferent good use of their more Bodily powers, by which means they could eate and drink, taste and feel; yet it did extremely dull their Wits, and sent such a thick rheume into their Eyes, that they could scarce see that which lay just before them; and made them so hard of hearing, that it was a difficult matter to make them understand any thing that was [Page] said to them. It produc'd one eminent quality, which was very observable in them all, which was call'd Dyspithea: by reason of this, though they held many ridiculous Opinions, yet no Reasons whatsoever could move them to an alteration of their mind. They were all troubled with a great weaknesse of memory, which was perceiv'd quickly; for Bentivolio and Urania having at their desire told them their Names, they ask'd them again so often, that they were ashamed to answer: and at first doubting whether it was not an Abuse, they tryed whether they had not forgotten their own; and when they could not remember them, their Wonder fell into Pity.

No great matters were expected to be shown, where one could scarce see any thing: but as the noble Travailers were upon their return, passing through a dirty narrow street they stumbled unexpectedly upon an old Temple dedicated to Agnoea; which was unspeakably dark, both because it had no windows, and by reason of the naturall fogg [...]nesse of the Aire, which was so thick that it might be felt. They not dreaming of a Church in such a dismall place, thought it was the womb of Night, the Cave where Darknesse sleeps, a Charnell-house for empty Skuls, or indeed the very Region of Death. But mistakes are easie in such a place; it was the Pammelaenians Chappel. It was built so capacious, that it would hold all the inhabitants of Polyglotta; and there was a report that they extended the building to that greatnesse by a general Contribution: neither was their money lay'd out wholly in behalf of the Pammelaenians, for the richest persons and men of great quality thoughout the whole City did often repair thither to Worship; nay sometimes persons fam'd for knowledge were observ'd to steal in among the rest.

It happen'd to be the hour of their Devotions, by which means the entrance was more easie; though to say true it is difficult at no time, for the Dores are very wide and are never lock'd. When they came in, they saw the ill-favoured Statue of Agnoea slovenly cast in Lead, on the one side supported with an old Woman call'd Hypnotica, who lean'd drowsily upon the wall, with her Eyes shut, as if she had been dead. Upon the other side was the Statue of a man call'd Tuphlotharson, which [Page] was carv'd in Wood, but with a brazen face, with staring lookes full of impudent Confidence; the Eyes were open, but did not resemble such as have sight, for the Tunicles seem'd to be all of Horn.

They expected no mysticall ceremonies in the Chappel of Ignorance; however upon the Wall above the Altar they saw something written in odde Characters, which could hardly be read, because he which put them could hardly write; only Bentivolio pick'd so much sense out of the ugly scrawles as to understand that they had a mind to have inscrib'd this sentence,

TO KNOW NOTHING IS THE SWEETEST LIFE.

After a long stupid silence a purblind fellow, call'd Morosophus, began to make a Speech: and what should it be, but a Declamation (forsooth) against Knowledg, which he had stuff'd with a great company of impertinent words in the praise of Agnoea? He extoll'd her Beauty ridiculously, but that foole; know no difference between Praise and Dispraise; and in commendation of her Colour he said, she was not unworthy to be call'd the Queen of darknesse. He prais'd her Blindnesse, because it vvas perfect; her Immoveablenesse, because it vvas such as might vie vvith that of Rockes; and said, for Contentednesse she excell'd the dead: vvith much more stuffe of the same sort, vvhich did not a little please the Pammelaenians, vvho had hired this half-vvitted fellovv vvith good store of Victualls and a small summe of Money, (vvhich things he only aim'd at) to make a Speech now and then as a defyance against the rest of Polyglotta, who had spoken something by way of scorn against Ignorance, and Morosophus had reported it to the Pammelaenians in hopes to get the foremention'd employment; and it succeeded according to his expectation. For the Pammelaenians were so mad that any body should offer to understand better then themselves, that they entertain'd him on purpose to confute and reproach the pride of such vain boasters. By this means he was engaged to use that little wit he had, to prate foolishly against Knowledge. His words were Oracles among the Pammelaenians, whom by several odde devices he had so enamour'd with Ignorance, that they abhor'd Wisdom as a kind of Devilish thing.

[Page] Having ended his lavish Praises of [...], he continued his Oration made in Dispraise of Knowledg, after this manner: ‘And what is Knowledg but the Opinion of the Proud? what are Books but the shells of that Opinion? what are Tongues but Nut crackers by which the kernel is taken out? what are the Sciences but Ignorance call'd by a wrong name? what are the Arts but tricks invented by Wit to insnare the simple? what is Reason it self but a meer Trap to catch the Ignorant? Memory is an unlucky Table, good for nothing but to record injuries and such things as are better forgotten. Fancy is but a Spider's wheel made to spin Cobwebs. Learning is the vain Jingle of [...]; Academies the foolish effects of mistaken Zeal; Scholars a lazy sort of [...] people; and the Schooles the Nurseries of their [...], where the spawn of cunning Knavery is brought to maturity. What is Skill in any Mystery but an unprofitable device got with much trouble and expence of time and money? Those which they call Wise discourses are only a Rhapsody of affected Words put together to amuse and gull the Vulgar. O thou most hateful Learning! thou art an Arch enemy of Levelling and the all-desired Equality, which cannot be had whilst men of greater Abilities will pretend greater Merits, and are chosen into higher places, because they are fitter to manage them. But if men would believe it, able parts are good for nothing but to disturb the rest of Mankind; Greater Understandings plague the World with Division and Controversies; the use of Disputation is to unravel the peace of mankind, and to root up the best setled Governments. Then he fell into exclamations brutishly loud; But O profound Ignorance! the Nest of Peace! Thou art the quiet sleep of the Soul, in which all harmful thoughts cease. Thou art the Nurse of Self-love. Were it not for thee, Fooles would never admire themselves and others who are foolishly like them. Thou art the wholsome Root of Obedience. Princes and States do justly extol thy worth, and are unspeakably beholding to thy incomparable usefulnesse: neither do they more advance thy Honour, then secure their own Good, when they banish Learned men out of their dominions, or [Page] force men from Bookes by taking away the Estates of Students. They are the Obedient Ignorant who, not understanding their own Interests, are content only to think of small matters. They never raise any blustring winds to mount themselves higher, because they judge nothing so safe or easie as to ly upon the ground. These are content to see with other mens eyes, because they have none of their own. Since they cannot contradict the unreasonable appointments of their Governors with better things offered in their room, their Blindness makes their Obedience chearful: and though sometimes a peevish fit happens to take them, yet it bodes no great hurt, because they do but imperfectly understand the designs of their Superiors, nor can easily find out any waies to oppose them, but such as the foresight of wise Counsellors hath stopp'd beforehand.’

‘Then he applauded the Pammelaenian Valor, that is the Boldnesse of the Blind; and affirm'd all Demosthenes's kindred to be Rhipsaspides (by which word the people understood Conjurers.) Then he laugh'd at Plato for foolishly wishing That all Kings were Philosophers. Then fetching his breath he renued his mode of Exclaiming; But O brave Turks, the proof of my observations, where Knowledge is Treason, and Books Rebellion! O wise Rome, which knowest no support like that of an Implicit Faith, and acknowledgest no Mother of Devotion so fruitful as Ignorance, and hast wisely put the sweet babe to Nurse to blind Obedience! O the rare Mysteries of true Knowledge, whose methods are then most applauded, when they introduce the most perfect Ignorance! O unspeakable Ignorance, who dost put so much beholdingnesse upon Knowledge! Justly have we made thee our last End, when Wisdom doth confesse thee to be so great a Means, that she can do nothing without thee.’

There he stop'd, being hindred from going further with a brutish Hum from the Pammelaenians, which did so ravish the Asse, that Urania and Bentivolio could not but think that if he should go a few steps further, he would passe from a Fool into a Mad-man, and therefore becken'd to Panaretus to interrupt him; which he did in these words: ‘Peace, Peace, vain Talker, [Page] who knowst no use of thy Tongue but to make a Beast speak. Thou hast bray'd a great while after such a manner as would have put thy self and thy Clients to sufficient shame, but that thou art guarded with Impudence, and they with Ignorance. Thou dost not know what thou dost prophane, nor dost care whom thou dost abuse. Are not these Pammaelaenians blind enough, unlesse thou dost make them such incurably? Dost thou insult over the [...] of Fooles, and under pretence of Assistance plunge them deeper into the pit of darkness? Vain Sophister! the clouds of [...] cavills rais'd in thy foul brain are not able to eclipse the [...] of true Wisdom; neither will thy counterfeit reasons go current for an excuse of reproachful Ignorance. I will dispell the mist which [...] hast cast before the Eyes of these abus'd people. Dost not thou know that Ignorance is the Blindness of the Soul, which for want of Knowledge is but a Lanthorn without a Candle? Is the want of Eye sight a thing to be applauded? nay, is not an Ignorant person one buried alive? or at the best but a breathing Carkase? Is he not confin'd to a Dunge on dark as Hell? and when he chanceth to appear abroad, doth he not affright people with the rusty chaines of black darknesse that rattle about him? Is not he the common scoffe of all beholders, because he weares openly the disgraceful badge by which Beasts are known from Men? What is Youth if it misse the help of right Education? Its Imperfection appears in the uselesnesse of all after-life. It is an eminent piece of thy Folly, which I must needs take notice of, that thou hast quoted several things in dispraise of Knowledge, which are its most proper Commendations. Amongst thy other fooleries thou wouldst needs use thy Tongue to speak against Languages, and fall out with Books because they are but the Shels of Knowledg. Who ever said they were more? But is it a dispraise to a golden Cabbinet that it is not the Jewel? What if they be but Shels? do they not include a kernel which is the food of the most worthy part of the World? Are not those Tongues against which thou speakest, those honorable Interpreters by which we enjoy the Experience and Friendship of forreign Nations? Are not those Books which thou undervaluest [Page] the sacred Repositories where the Riches of Wisdom are secured against Oblivion? I am afraid it is but lost labour to mention to Thee the Pleasures of heavenly Contemplation. Doth not this lengthen the brevity of our short life with the Knowledg of many Ages? Doth not this help the Reader confin'd at home to travaile abroad, and enlarge his Mind with the view of other Countries? Is not the huge Masse of Divine Knowledg divided into many Books, by that means brought unto us from the many parts of the World in cloven Tongues? To this I might adde, That such as enjoy this Felicity are not more accomplish'd in their own capacity, then made useful to an Universal good: so that all the Joyes of their private Meditation are not onely allowable because they are most pure in themselves, and most perfective of Humane Nature where they are possess'd; but because they terminate themselves in such products as are the best Welfare of mankind, if they knew their own Concernments.’

‘It is scarce worth the while to take notice of thy silly Politicks. What is a Commonwealth but an Union of men so fram'd as may most promote the good of all? a prudent Association, by which they may more easily enjoy what is communicated to each, and secure their happiness against such as, growing irregular in their Principles, may offer disturbance from among themselves, or endeavour by a Forreign power to shake their wel-founded Prosperity? But who shall lay the Foundations upon which it is to be built? Shall Fooles compose the Rules of their Government? Shall mad-men make Lawes? or will you trust them with the Execution of such as are made? Doth not every one acknowledg that besides other Incapacities, there is nothing more Injust then a Fool? Shall such as understand not their own Interest appoint what is fit to be done as to the concernments of many thousands? A Fool knows not how to behave himself towards the variety of humors and mutability of tempers in those which are to be govern'd; and he must needs be at an horrible losse by reason of extraordinary accidents which happen frequently in humane Affaires. Alas! silly men are so far from being Eligible themselves, that they are not capable of chusing others [Page] for good Magistrates: for though some among them are not unfit by a Trust of the Legislative power to perfect the Lawes, or to execute such as are well constituted; yet it is a wonder if the brutish Multitude find them out; or if they do stumble upon them, yet it is a thousand to one but by reason of some slight fancy they will neglect the most apt person for an inconsiderable fellow.’

‘God hath taken such care of the World, that he hath put it in the power of Rational Nature to find out several Arts which do relieve it in many necessities: but weak-headed men, though it may be they will allow some Mechanical Arts as tolerable things, because after seven years Apprentiship, with much ado, they have learn'd something of them, or find by Experience they cannot be well without them; yet did they ever Invent any, or adde any considerable Improvement to that which was found out by others?’

‘But since thou didst greatly long to make an odious representation of Learn'd men, it is strange thy dark Fancy did not fall upon some handsomer accusations then Cowardise and Sedition, which thou hast pinn'd upon! them with very slight Arguments. True Valour refuseth not to expose it self to hazards in the defence of the common Welfare; and who will so boldly step between that Jewel and Danger, when it presents it self, as the Wise, who know the incomparable Worth of that for which they venture themselves, and have made it an especial Article of their Creed, That they were born to live and dy for the publick Good? But the world cannot be quiet for them. The Falshood of this Crimination is evident to those which will but consider that Ignorance is the true spring of all Disorder. Dark minds fill'd with Errour are like Clouds big with Thunder; and when they are Masters of so much Power as to give vent to their fiery Passions, they astonish the World with the Effects of Rage and Cruelty. The truth of this might be instanc'd in many deplorable Actions of the mad Multitude. Ignorance is so naturally harmful, that if such as are strangers to Wisdom should do any good, it were only a great Chance; for they do with the same eager endeavours overthrow Right with which they sometimes [Page] blindly oppose Wrong. They are altogether unapt to acquiesce in the determination of the best Governors, because they understand not their own Good when it is propounded, and do often greedily catch at the worst Shadow for the best Substance, and with a sufficient dotage believe things to be true which are most false, having not ability to distinguish Truth from Falshood, if it be but a little mask'd with specious pretences. How should they prove otherwise then unruly, fierce and disobedient, whose Obstinacy is not lessen'd by force of Argument, which they feel no more then a Stone? Shall they abstain from Irregular actions whom a low Condition doth continually prompt to rob others, where furious Self-will raigns, and the many-headed Beast doubts not to Indemnifie it self for what it doth by a multitude of Swords? But prudent Subjects make no scruple of giving Obedience, because they know the safety of the World is supported with the defence of Laws, and that all particular good Interests are wrapp'd up in the publick weal, which cannot consist with Mutiny and Rebellion. Wise Princes, who know that their own and the peoples Happiness stand upon the same Bottom, and that they are preserved or destroyed together, seeing that the weak Multitude is not able to guide it self, and that they are not able to extend their short hands to the vast compasse of Affaires; have necessarily sought assistance from the abilities of prudent Ministers. And as they find their People improv'd in their Understandings, (which is a principal perfection,) they rejoyce both in the Peoples Good and their own Glory, when they see that their Subjects are men. He is rather a Herdsman then a Prince who desires to raign over Beasts. Its true, when a King abandons the Royal Diadem of Righteousnesse, and puts on the inglorious Crown of a Tyrant, because he means to do that which is dishonourable to be known, he will endeavour to make his Subjects ignorant; of which Imperfection he makes the same use that a Thief doth of a Mist: and if his designs take, the people bereav'd of their Liberties and Rights, have the same Consolation from their Ignorance that the Travailer hath in the losse of his Money, when he considers that he had not been so easily robb'd but that it was dark.’

[Page] ‘That fine Instance of the Turke is but too great a witness to this Truth, mistaken by thee, Dull Soul, who canst see no difference betwixt things directly contrary, that is, the Confirmation of an absolute Monarchy in a Tyrant, and the Establishing of the Peoples welfare under a Just Prince. O blessed Turks! thrice and four times happy in such an Emperour! He hath delivered you from Knowledg, and bestow'd upon you stupid Ignorance, bestial Lust and perfect Slavery, and by your own help hath made you utterly at a losse as to the means of Deliverance, and so in a worse Condition then his Captives, for these are capable of Redemption. And you, Heavenly Romans, have done well, (have you not?) to build the Heights of Faith upon the ruines of Knowledg. O shameful abuse of Truth, where men must piously believe they know not what, and sometimes professe that which they know to be False! O stupid Obedience, which knowest no reason but Slavery for that which thou dost eagerly perform! Thou, Holy Tyrant, who from thy high Throne lookest down so disdainfully upon all petty Robbers, take to thy self the glorious Title of Supreme Usurper, since thou hast invaded and destroyed the Liberty of Souls.’

Here Panaretus made a pause, having gone so far, not that what Morosophus had said deserv'd so much answer, but to correspond with his own desires to undeceive the Pammelaenians, who not only perish'd themselves for want of knowledg, but were very forward to destroy such as had the imputation of it. Morosophus gnaw'd with the guilt of his wicked undertaking, went to Panaretus, and whispering in his ear, said, he confess'd the truth of what Panaretus had discours'd, and the wickednesse of his own Speech which he made against his Conscience, and desired Panaretus to appoint him any method of Repentance for his Folly, except the disgraceful recanting of his words before the Pammelaenians, whom he was sain to please, being compell'd for want of bread to speak absurdly: he begg'd leave also to passe from that forlorn place under the guard of their Company. Panaretus having observ'd with what Hypocrisie his sin was compounded, and being not yet assured of his change, rejected his motion with this Reply; [Page] No; base Fellow, remain in Darkness since thou hast hated the Light: let thy portion be with such as love Falshood, who couldst sell Truth for a piece of bread. As Panaretus had ended his words, an Officer, that had attended to what had past, arrested Morosophus, and carried him away to answer several things lay'd to his charge by one call'd Autocatacritus, in the great Court of Polyglotta. It was reported afterwards that his Punishment was, that he should never be trusted with the keeping of any Publick Library, lest when he wanted money, he should be brib'd to burn the Books.

The noble Travailers not entreated so much as by way of Ceremony to stay any longer, hasten'd towards Iconium: and they were no sooner enter'd within the first borders of their Precinct, but they perceived a discontented fellow, whose name was Catasarkus, to come forth of a dark Hole, which he had made his Lodging in the Rubbish of an old Temple, formerly call'd Skiamelluses, which by report in ancient times was the most magnificent Edifice in the World. His Habit was something strange: he had a great piece of a broken Yoke about his neck, which was glided, but extremely heavy; yet the old Fool did so dote upon it, that he would often turn about his neck and kisse it as he went along. He was cloth'd with a long Garment, and about the Borders of it he had fastned great Fringes with blue Ribbands; upon his Forehead and the wrist of his left Arme he had tyed broad Scrolls of Parchment which were fill'd with Hebrew Sentences: He intending a signification of no small Sanctity by these Mysticall Ornaments. He made a daily Lamentation for the destruction of Skiamelluses, though it happened above a thousand yeares before he was born; but having heard great Stories of it, among other things he was made to believe that it should be restor'd again to its ancient Glory: and as he was going to pay one of his ordinary Visits to the Sea-coast, he was met by a Gentleman which seem'd to be made up of Gravity and Sweetnesse, his name was Euprepon, and he accosted Catasarkus after this manner; Sir, I have observ'd trouble in your face, and have often taken notice of those walks which you have made upon the Sea-shore with such expectation as one may perceive [Page] in those who have friends abroad, when they think that the time of their return approacheth. It is so, said Catasarkus, for I earnestly expect the coming of a great Prince, who, as I am inform'd, will ere long land here to rebuild the now desolate Skiamelluses.

Alas, poor man! said Euprepon; you are fed with vain hopes: It seems you have but few Correspondents abroad, or at least they furnish you with very imperfect Intelligence. The Ship which you look for was cast away long since upon a Rock which is in the borders of the East sea, call'd Staurus: but the Prince whom you mention'd, a good while before that Accident happen'd, foretold (for he was a Prophet too) that Skiamelluses should never be built again, and gave his Friends the Model of another sort of Temple in some few things resembling that, but contriv'd with far greater Skill; not so glistring outwardly, but much more rich, a great deal larger, and of better and more lasting Materialls, of which this was but a Shadow; and charg'd them never to attempt the reparation of this waste structure. At these words Catasarkus went away in a very great discontent without replying the least word.

Urania, who with her Companions heard the discourse,' demanded of Euprepon further information concerning Catasarkus, and in particular whether he was not one of extraordinary Piety, since he had so much Devotion towards the remembrance of a ruin'd Temple. No, said Euprepon; for though he seem wonderful Religious by his garb which you have seen, and though he never look'd up all the while he talk'd with me, as you could not but take notice, and weares that Mortar hat upon his head, pretending by that means to keep his eyes from being polluted with the sight of this wicked World; yet I have enquir'd into him among his neighbours, and do understand by them that he is no such holy person as he would be esteem'd; and that he doth more dote upon that old Temple, then love the God who once dwelt in it; and that he doth more talk of ancient times, then do any present service to his God, though he lives for ever. He loves none of his Neighbours, though he is beholden to them all. He hath lived a great while in many places where he hath no right; only the [Page] Natives of mere humanity do not turn him out of the Country, because he hath none of his own to retire to: and yet the chiefest use which the ingrateful fellow makes of their courtesie is to cheat them; which he can more easily do, being of a singular Craft. He hath in his Cell an Iron Chest full of Money, which he attends day and night as watchfully as ever the Dragon did the Golden Fleece. They say his Heart is as hard as the metal of which his Coffer is made; and that he ever showes his cruelty, when he hath any opportunity to make an advantage of it.

Euprepon being loath to trouble them with any longer discovery of such an austere piece of Wickednesse, left off his talk: and as they went along, they came to the Ruines of another Temple, but lesse famous then the former; and having Euprepon for an [...], Bentivolio ask'd him what it was. This Temple, saith Euprepon, call'd Pantheon, was formerly the [...] of an old foolish King call'd Polytheus, who took upon him a strange power of making as many Gods as he pleas'd, and such as he fancied most he worshipp'd, and consign'd the rest to his neighbours. Though this Temple, as I said, was not equal to the former; yet it was of great note in times past for brave Images, (which some said were absurd pictures of things that cannot be resembled) for splendid [...], crown'd Sacrifices, Bulls with guilt hornes, and such like things. But the worship being stupid Idolatry, and the Worshippers as very Beasts as those which they offer'd, having stood too long to evil purposes, at last a Young Child appear'd from heaven, and struck it down with his hand. The ruin'd parts were suddenly dissipated with a dreadfull Thunder, which struck such amazement and horror upon the beholders, that no body durst ever since attempt to put them together again.

They made no long stay here; and as they pass'd on, a few steps brought them in view of a pile of magnificent Buildings, whose chief Glory was a stately Church call'd Exosemnon, rais'd high with lofty Towers, which glister'd with that sort of Brasse of which they make tinkling Cymbals: but it seem'd to stand totteringly upon a pitiful foundation, for it was built upon Sand, and supported on each side with worm-eaten [Page] posts. It was adorn'd with fair Windowes; but when they were within, they perceiv'd the Light was much obstructed by a difficult passage through thick glasse. This was much help'd by the constant flames of great Tapers, which were supposed to be lighted for that end, or else to burn day-light, for the Sun had been up many houres, and shone with that vigorous brightnesse that no Cloud had power to appear. The Walls were cloth'd with rich Arras, wherein Gold and Silver, of small value notwithstanding the worth of their Matter, were fain to strive with Silk for the preeminence of curious Workmanship. The sides of the Church were so thick set with Pictures, that it seem'd to be made in imitation of Plato's Den, where one could see nothing but shadowes. But they were proper Ornaments in such a place, where Religion consisted so much in paint, that many took the Church for a handsome Tomb where Piety lay gloriously interr'd.

Their covetous neighbours of Kenapistis desired not to have Religion dress'd, because they would not be at the cost of Garments; only some who were loath to let her go quite naked, had got some sluttish clothes, and put them on so illfavouredly, that her friends were asham'd to see her appear publickly in such an ugly disguise. As she stept into this Temple one day to give them a Visit, the Exosemnians bestowed a more becoming dresse upon her, by which she was known a good while after: but when some of her discreeter friends were dead, others out of a foolish dislike of what was well appointed, would needs undertake to adorn her after a new fashion; but they put on so many odde pieces of gaudy attire, that the people after a little time began to think that she was nothing but Clothes.

As they took notice of divers Fancies, their Eyes were call'd off by the stately entrance of a great Person, whose head was inveloped with three Crowns, which were put on partly as Fnsigns of Power, partly of Ambition: Two Circles of the Triple Ornament signified what he had gotten, and the Third what he desired to adde to the other two; for having no just Right to the Ecclesiastical or Civil Powers which he had usurp'd, he was attempting a new-found Authority over them [Page] both. His Officers had their names from the four quarters of the World, where they were to execute the commands of his unlimited Soveraignty. His Vestment was adorn'd with variety of rich Colours, and look'd as Gold doth when it is mix'd with Snow. His Gate was majestick; his Attendants such as follow the triumphant Chariots of Conquerors. He was no sooner sate down in a Princely Chair which was ready for him, but the people began to murmur over some Prayers, which for ought they knew were made to him, for they were in an unknown tongue. Afterward some shrill-throated fellowes began to sing; and though many of them blended their voices together, yet the matter was so ordered, that if Religion had consisted in Sounds, this had been perfectly acceptable, for it was impossible to find any fault with the noise, it was so harmonious.

It was some trouble to Bentivolio and his friends that they could not understand the meaning of their Devotions; however they comforted themselves, because they guess'd at it as near as the dull multitude of staring people, who gap'd as if they hearken'd with their mouths, whilst a waggish fellow that went up and down with a Spunge flung water into them.

After a while they began a Collation; and having given the people some Bread, it was expected that they should have Drink too: and there was Wine good store, but it seems the Officers drank it all up themselves. Sure, quoth Urania, they are very uncivil to make a Feast, and give their Guests no drink. No, saith Euprepon, for half of this old Sacrament which they take from them they have given them Five more new ones. As they were talking, a tall man which stood by the Altar took up a great bundle of little papers, which the Ignorant call'd Indulgences; and whilst they threw them among the people, it seem'd to be just like the imployment of idle boyes, who cut their paper into uselesse shreds, and throw them out of their Windowes that they may see them blown up and down by the Wind. Urania seeing some words written upon them, took one of them up, and read the Inscription, which was, LEAVE TO SIN. Good Lord, quoth Panaretus, how small a Benison contents these people? They think [Page] themselves happy because they have licence to undo themselves. Whilst they perform'd their holy Rites, they made an infinite number of humble cringes: and so they had need, who had brought down the glory of Holinesse, which consists in the Excellency of inward Dispositions, to the contemptible lownesse of a few ridiculous Gestures, and chang'd their Masters noble Institutions into a company of beggarly Traditions of their own creating.

As they were going away, being sufficiently tired with beholding so many impertinent Follies, they saw a Woman kneeling very devoutly before an old Shrine, and there making a prayer to one dead man for another. I wonder, quoth Bentivolio, at the stupidity of her Faith: however she keeps some decorum in her senselesse addresse, in that she implores assistance from one that cannot hear her, for another that is past help.

As they were come without the Church-dore, and had agreed to retire home, they were invited to see some private Recesses which belong'd to the Church, by divers Orders of Ghostly people, whose holinesse consists in the name of their Founder-Saint, and who excel one another in goodnesse by reason of a different Habit, or in that it is tied about them with a Girdle of a more mortified colour. Their chief office is to licenciate Hypocrisie, and to make void the danger of a sinful life: for they have agreed upon a way that permits none to go to Hell but Poor sinners, or the covetous Rich who would sin for nothing; the first must go because they cannot, and the other because they will not pay others to suffer for them. The rest are out of danger; let their life be what it will, they will insure their Salvation after they are dead, by burying them in a Monks Habit, which without doubt is utterly incapable of Damnation. They have concluded also, That those desire to be damned who will not be so easily saved. These do never scruple their own Holinesse, by which they save others also that are wicked, because they are like the Apostles, whom they do sufficiently resemble, though they be never so Ignorant and Wicked, because they are Poore: and they are wonderfully poore and free from Covetousnesse [Page] too, because they receive no money except it be privately.

They have hallowed the Lusts of the flesh; for by their lawful enjoyment of [...], they have altered unholy Marriage into a sanctified sort of Fornication; the very Stewes having ceas'd to be prophane, since his Holinesse hath condescended to receive the wages of Uncleannesse. They have invented a comfortable sort of Fasting; it goes for Abstinence with them, to eate another sort of meat then they do ordinarily, though that be as pleasant and more nourishing. And when they are pinch'd with this new kind of Hunger, they say their Prayers by dozens; and if they run over their Beads the second time, they do so over-rate the foolery, that they make no doubt but they have merited Heaven, not only for themselves, as Wicked as they are, but for others too which are lazy, or which cannot be at so much leisure as to do any thing for their own [...].

There were infinite heapes of sacred Reliques; but after they had shew'd the Box wherein Judas his Kisse was inclos'd, and the Coffins of Ananias and Sapphira, with some other disgraceful Remaines, Urania would see no more.

They were no sooner come into the Church-yard, but they were accosted with a most lamentable Spectacle; for they saw the fair Lady Eusebia with her trusty servant Akeraea driven violently out of the Church. One might well perceive how miserably they had been us'd, for their Hair was torn, and the blowes which they had received left sufficient marks upon their skin to witnesse the cruelty of those which gave them. Alas! Madam, said Urania, how came this mishap? By the malice of the Exosemnians, replied Eusebia, who have seiz'd my house, and made the holy Sanctuary a den of theeves. This beautiful Temple was once fill'd with holy Prayers and thankful Hymnes, which men free from guile sung continually in praise of the Redeemer of the World. Then Religion flourished, being rooted in sincerity and watered constantly with heavenly dewes of Divine Benediction: and though Godlinesse wanted those splendid Accoutrements with which these Hypocrites have now endeavoured to adorne it, it was its own Glory, and commanded the love of all beholders with [Page] the power of its native Lustres. But now, alas! how wan doth it look, notwithstanding they have us'd all sorts of paint to supply its defects? It is defac'd with Hypocrisie, which how hard a matter it is to conceal, is but too apparent, when all the colours which they have lay'd so thick upon it will not serve the turn. How many Fooleries and Lies must be put together to supply the want of Plain-heartednesse, which when all is done cannot effect it? What scorns doth Truth suffer when she sees her self basely represented upon a ridiculous stage by these Wicked Hypocrites? Ah poor Simplicity! what Wounds have I received for thy sake? But I take them with Joy, when I consider how oft thou hast saved my life: and I know my life doth so depend upon thy welfare, that I cannot out-live thy death for the space of a Minute. Thou art the Joy of my life and the Comfort of my Sufferings; and though I am distressed, yet I will ever rejoyce, since I am not separate from thy company, my dear Akeraea. Let them please themselves with the empty Cabinets of Truth which they have rob'd from me; I have enough in thee, my Jewel Akeraea.

Madam, said Urania, your Affliction is so unjust, that methinks it is easie to make those which have impos'd it upon you sensible of the greatnesse of their Sin. Will you accept of my Brothers assistance to plead your cause, who, though he is not permitted to use his Sword in this place, may peradventure by worthy Argument make them relent? Never hope for that, fair Urania, quoth Eusebia, they are too much harden'd; nothing can make them relent but Thunderbolts. There is reason enough why they should repent; but they will but lose their labour who shall attempt their Conversion. They have stop'd up the way to Righteousness with Worldly Interest, and have rendred a Reformation impossible by making it a damnable sin but to talk of it. If they should pretend to admit you to a liberty of discourse, you will find but small effect of your disputation; for propound what Argument you will, they have an universal Distinction, call'd Distoma Romphaea, much akin to that sharp tool with which Alexander dissolv'd the Gordian Knot; and though they apply it barbarously, yet it will spoile [Page] the best argument. And it is to as little purpose to answer any Disputants of theirs, for the last Opponent is still a Butcher, who instead of Syllogismes is arm'd with an Axe. It is not safe for you to stay here, where Religion is propagated with Subtlety and Violence, because they have no confidence of successe from Truth or Charity. Since they saw some dislike in your faces at your departure, it is probable they will inquire after you; and if they once lay hold of you, they will force you to stay longer then you desire in this wretched place. Upon this seasonable advice they made haste out of Iconium, and Eusebia understanding what was their purpose in Pseudenthea, went along with them: but Euprepon took his leave of them; for having been there formerly, he had observ'd such unbeseeming carriages among them, that he resolv'd never to come there again.

They were no sooner entred into Pseudenthea, but they saw all the inhabitants flocking together, like a company of WildGeese, towards a broad place in the middle of their Parish: and as they drew nearer, they perceiv'd a Stage rais'd pretty high, much after the manner of that which Mountebanks do use, and Three Men walk'd upon it in such a sort as if they had design'd a strife which of them should most expresse to the life the postures of Mad-men. They acted their parts not unhandsomely, for besides staring eyes and mouths all foaming with froth, they had all the Antick gestures of brain-sick persons. Their names, as the people said, were Mantimanes, Exorcista and Panstreblus. They were all Mutes, till one Cacodaemon in the habit of an old Prophet commanded them to speak.

The first that began to act was Mantimanes, who was much disturb'd with an extreme heat of his Braines, and he pull'd out of his pocket an Almanack which was scribled over with divers Horoscopes and other Astrological figures; some of them he pretended to be the Fates of Kingdoms, others were so particular that by them he could make the people understand every thing that had or should befall them from their Nativity to their Death: this they did confidently believe, though they knew not why. After this he shew'd them divers Looking-glasses, in which he said they might see what was become [Page] of their Friends in the most remote parts of the World; that young Women might plainly discern the Complexion and stature of the Husbands which they were to have, with many such things. Then calling suddenly to his man Planaster to open the little Window of the Retiring room upon the back of the Stage, a little Dove flew out, and sitting upon his shoulder put her Bill in his Eare, whilst he pretended to listen to her with much Devotion. After the Dove return'd, Planaster open'd the door and let out a white Doe, which Mantimanes had kept tame a good while privately in his house, and affirm'd to the credulous vulgar blinded with superstition, that it was a Messenger sent from God. He receiv'd a Letter out of her mouth, which Planaster put in, and having dismis'd her, he open'd the Letter; and having read it to himself with all humble Reverence, he acquainted the people that he had obtain'd the favour of God to know many strange things, which were to be kept secret at present, but which he would reveal in due time; and that in the mean while he was to prophesie destruction to the World, unlesse they did speedily repent. Exorcista had now been awake a pretty while, and suspecting by the Prologue which he had heard that a long speech was to follow, which would both take up the time, and for ought he knew either rob him of the Audience or indispose them to attend his pranks, to prevent the worst, he began to quarrel with Mantimanes, and after some words mutter'd again, Exorcista commanded him silence with such a thundring voice, that he durst not but obey the force of his terrible Charme. Exorcista not doubting but he should gain with the fickle Vulgar what reputation he could make the other lose, accosted Mantimanes in very rough language, beginning after this manner. Thou scorn of Inspiration, Thou worm-eaten Vizard of Prophesie, Thou old rotten Tripos, Thou laughing-stock of wanton Spirits, who art more Fool then Prophet, but much more Knave then Fool. Thou base Jugler, dost thou pretend to tell others their Fortunes, having no other way left to mend thy own? Thou Beggarly Cheater, who hast not so much as the possession of a Cottage on earth, dost thou make these people believe that thou hast the privilege to know their concernments [Page] in the Fabulous houses of thy Astrological Heavens, having no other design but to get a little money? Did not you prophesie that the World should end five yeares agon, and made the frighted people forsake their Houses, and climb up into Trees, to see how all things would come to their fatal Period, just as the old World did, when the Deluge threatned them after another manner? Was not it your Brother that a good while since us'd to foretel the deaths of such great men as discover'd his knavery and obstructed his designs, and when they had almost out-lived the prefixed time, was fain to kill them himself, with the help of some Assassinates, to make his word good? Did not you some yeares since to these very people which hearken to your follies affirm that you could discern between the Elect and Reprobate, as clearly as a Shepheard can know a black sheep from the white ones? and that you saw invisible Characters of Predestination upon the heads of the Elect, and the Reprobates encompass'd with black marks of Damnation? Do you not still condemn such as you do not like for Sinners, that so they may be guilty of the miseries with which you threaten them? Rather then your Prophesies should fail, who must be the Executioners of your Wrath but your selves? Do not you make a wise improvement of doing Justice, to send those to Hell whom you judge worthy to go thither, that you may quietly enjoy their Rooms on earth when they are gone? Go down, lest the People having heard of your madness send you to Bedlam. Hold your peace and be gone, lest I encompasse you in a Circle of this Holy Wand, and conjure out of you that Enthusiastical Spirit which makes you so prophetically mad.

Upon these words Mantimanes tore off his clothes, leapt off the Stage, and ran stark naked through the affrighted multitude, preaching damnation to all, good and bad, except such as would follow him: which two or three silly Women, quaking for fear, were observ'd to do.

Mantimanes being hiss'd off the Stage, they rais'd their expectations of some wonderful matters from Exorcista; though they had little reason, for he did only counterfeit a Conjurer, and was something more gravely mad then Mantimanes. He [Page] unwilling to lose such a fit opportunity, began his part thus; It is no wonder, Good people, that yon Fellow carried himself so ridiculously; I have seen many enraged after the same manner with a Propheticall worm crept into their distemper'd Braines: and some have believed themselves to be Christ, and some the Holy Ghost, and some the Man in the Moon, and some the Bush upon his back, and that the Man in the Moon was going to set it on fire to burn the Earth; of which some, no fooles neither, were much afraid. But leaving these idle Dreames, I will show you a Rarity, which you will say is a strange truth, a Woman possess'd with a Devil call'd Engastrimuthus; the Woman's name is Hysterica. Now the truth is, the Woman had possess'd her self, if one may say so, and the Devil was only a Mormo, represented by a cunning queane, instructed how to act both the Devils part and her own; and having that disease which disturbs women by reason of strange suffocations, she made use of the mad noise of Vapours and Wind in her body to perswade people to think that the Devil was in her, and that she had very great Conflicts all the while the Fit lasted with an Evil Spirit.

The disease with which she was troubled, call'd the Hystericall Passion, was very applicable to his design, both as having Periodical Fits, and because the noble parts being affected with the distemper, it was accompanied with disastrous symptoms, dangerous to the sick person and frightful to the Beholders: For the Heart being fill'd with too great a plenty of thin bloud, which it cannot discharge by oft-repeated pulses, and the Lungs overcharg'd with flatulent Spirits, by which they are disabled as to their proper motion, and thereby deprived of the benefit of fresh aire; there must needs follow a suffocation of the Vital Spirits, which will soon reveal it self in dreadful effects throughout the whole body, as Difficulty of breathing, Palpitation of the Heart, Intermission of the Pulse, Invasion of the Brain by turbulent spirits, Elevation of the Hypochondries, which are forc'd to rise against the Diaphragma, which by endeavouring to make way for the streightned Lungs doth uncivilly press upon its neighbours, and breeds an inward disturbance, attended with a great noise of windy vapours in the [Page] bowels, wild appearances of the whites of the eyes, deep groans, foaming at the mouth, and Convulsive fits appearing dismally in several parts of the body by such distorted contractions of the Fibres, that endanger'd Nature seems to sollicite all her powers to writhe her self out of her Oppressors hands.

Whilst these things happen'd to Hysterica, the Conjurer knowing what would presently follow, said nothing, only seem'd to be amaz'd at the Devils Operations. The Ignorant people were amaz'd indeed, and concluding Engastrimuthus to be a cruel Spirit, most of them, especially the Women, curs'd him in their hearts. But at last the flatulent spirits being diffipated by the power of Natural heat, and the oppressive quantity of bloud lessen'd by the transpiration of the more subtile particles, the Woman return'd to her self, and began to act her part, which she had well learn'd, after this manner: ‘I am, said she, by Profession a Witch, and have at this time the Apocalyptical Beast in my belly, and I perceive by his suggestions that he is an Heretical spirit, for he saith That the Pope is Antichrist; and that Antichrist was begot by an Incubus, and that the synagogue of Witches was his Mother; and that any may perceive him to be Antichrist by his great mouth, rough haire and crooked tallons; and that he is an Enemy to Christian Religion and a blasphemer of Christ, whom though he doth professe in publick, yet he adores Lucifer privately; and that he doth meet sometimes in their Conventicles, and worship him in the form of a Goate, for which reason Beelzebub had lent him divers of his Imps to seduce the nations from true Piety, and to destroy Charity from amongst men, intending by that means to pull up Christian Religion by the Rootes; and for this he was immediately assisted by the Spirit of Lucifer. These things, quoth she, I know to be true, for I was often at that Conventicle of Devils, and have the marks of the Beast in my hand and forehead and other parts of my body. I my self by the help of Asmodeus made a Powder of the ashes of burnt Goates, which would tempt the very Nuns to Lust; and inflict such a melancholick impatience upon the Monks, that they would repent of [Page] their Vowes, and swear that they were ill made and worse kept. It had a faculty to make such as smelt it to despair, and to confesse their sins by halves, and (which is worse) to doubt that their Confessor had not authority to absolve them. It forc'd them also to believe themselves holy, though they committed all the sins of the diabolical Synagogue; and made them dtspise the pleasures of Paradise for a voluptuous life; and made them conceive Hell to be only such meetings as she had been at, which did so content her, that she often wish'd her self transported into a She-Devil. She said further, that to affront Antichrist, they took his Triple Crown and the Exorcists Cowle, and put one upon the head of Beelzebub, and the other upon Asmodeus, and said, You are worthy of this Honour. She told them besides this, that in their frolicks Asmodeus feign'd himself sick, and Leviathan play'd the Physitian, and made an oyntment which she administred, that they might make a sport of Extreme Unction. And one Night I remember —’

But when she was come so far, Exorcista began to be in a sacred rage, and commanded her silence with such a shril voice that it frighted the Devil. Having a Bason of water by him, he took out of his pocket a great paper of Salt, made up in the form of a Crosse, and baptiz'd it three times in the Water; which he affirm'd to be thenceforth of that soveraign virtue, that it was an Universal medicine for Soul and Body, and had this particular quality that it would cast out any Devil [...] he was adjured by it, in regard that it did cleanse the Soul so that the Devil could not abide the Body; and said it was mortal Poison to any Apostate spirit. Having besprinkl'd her and the Company so plentifully that they were all pretty well [...], he cryed out with an astonishing noise, ‘Come out, thou barking Dog; cease this hellish noise: In despight of Lucifer, Beelzebub, Astaroth, Leviathan, and all the combination of Devils, I command thee to leave this holy Mansion, which is consecrated with the Benediction of baptiz'd Salt: (and then he cross'd himself) come out [...], leave grinning, thou false Cur; I conjure thee, O Dog of Hell to come out and go to thy kennel; I command thee again and charge thee to leave her Body and Soul for evermore.’

[Page] This sign being given, with great Show of Unwillingness the Spirit went out obediently, that is to say, the Woman ceas'd to act the Devils part any longer, the Fit being ended which she was loath to begin again. But some knowing persons which were present were almost split with laughing to see how gravely Exorcista acted the Conjurer, and how pitifully the simple Vulgar resented the Mormo's case.

Exorcista being gone, Panstreblus took his turn, and pretending to be awaken'd out of his sleep with Frights, he began after a ranting manner to discourse of strange Visions which were brought to him by the ministry of Heavenly Spirits, and related the names of divers Angels that talk'd with him in his sleep; though his Visions were only sick Dreams which had deluded his Fancy. So Children led by the strength of Imagination see the forms of all things in the cloudes, sometimes Men, sometimes Lions; and as the Vapours are differently modified by several circumrotations of the Aire, seem to see strange shapes of things and wonderful actions. So madmen relate uncouth things, which had no Original but the Dyscrasie of their own brains; and sick people in the heights of distemper, not without great self-admiration, talk things which trouble their sober attendants, and of which they are ashamed when they come to themselves.

This Distemper was not such an unblameable Infirmity, nor accompanied with any plainnesse; for he accommodated all the extravagancies of his Fancy to such Principles as he had entertain'd in his foul breast, which was polluted with the worst of Crimes, Pride and Lust.

The first thing of which he made mention was a Commission from God, in which he was autoriz'd to be the Reformer of the degenerate world; (which really stood in as much need of Reformation as there was little hope that such an Instrument should ever effect it,) and that when it was made better according to those excellent Lawes which he had receiv'd to be the Pattern of its amendment, he was to rule over it as Universal King, and promis'd great felicities to those humble fools which should lend their help to place him in his Throne.

After this he began to declare some parts of his Vision, [Page] which was wholly fram'd in a subserviencie to his forementioned design. It was reveal'd to him, as he said, that all old things must passe away, and amongst the rest the Kingdom of an ancient Prince call'd Anaxanacton, which he confess'd to have been very glorious in all respects, except that it was Carnal; but that his own should be Spiritual, and as far rais'd above the Light, Righteousnesse and Love of that poor State, as the Sun excels the meanest Star. Then he cryed down the Prophets for old Fools, the Apostles for simple Fishermen. He exploded Reason as a meer Carnality, and the Scriptures as a Dead Letter; and stuck not to affirm, That the World for sixteen hundred yeares and more knew very little, and before that, nothing. That he was designed to undeceive the Nations; for which Work he was inabled by a Light through which he saw the Trinity, and plainly discern'd the Three Persons with his bodily eyes, and that they appear'd unto him like a great Triangular Glasse in which he saw All things. That now the world should be happy, for he would show them the deep Mystery of those things whereof before they had but the bare History; and that by the power of this all glorious Light they should be restor'd to a new Liberty of Soul and Body.

Then he magnified Two principal Beams of his Seraphick light, which he commanded them to behold with the eye of Superintellectual Faith. One was, That the time was come when the difference of Good and Evil was to be abolished, and that it was occasioned only by a foolish eating of Apples, and supported in the World so long by ignorant Conceit; there being no Evil but in Opinion, and every thing is good to such as think it so. It's true, he said, that puny understandings were not capable of the privilege of such sublime knowledg; and that they must continue to make a scrupulous Conscience of Right and Wrong, because the weakness of their minds permitted them to understand no better, but that Morality is founded upon the bottom of Humane Nature, and that the Reasons of Good and Evil are Eternal and Indispensable, interwoven with the Essential Constitution of a Reasonable Soul, that they are derived from above, and that God loveth Righteousnesse and hateth Iniquity, and that they, poor [Page] worms, are in some measure like him by the participation of holy dispositions: but because of this incapacity, he said, they must still be kept clogg'd with their yokes about their necks; but that all which partake of his Spirit should presently be rais'd into more sublime thoughts, which should immediately deliver them into such a freedom that they might do what they pleas'd without sin, and bring down the Divine will to a correspondence with their own even in the lowest Appetites, in all those motions which Scrupulosity calls Irregular; it being, as he said, a Foolery to think that they had received Appetites whose satisfaction was a sin, let it be perform'd what way it can; and that the talk of Higher and Lower Faculties, was a Rag of old Ignorance; and that it was a jejune piece of Philosophy, to imagin that one Faculty is to regulate the other in its satisfactions for the Measure, Manner or any other Limitations, or to make preference of one sort of satisfaction above another, forasmuch as each Faculty, the Soul and Body, and all things else were God in Various forms.

His other Principle was, That all things move by the Lawes of invincible Necessity; and that now they ought to understand the foolishnesse of the doctrine of Choice, and wisely to give way to the all-commanding force of Destiny, as to the irresistablenesse of a mighty stream which would carry them along with it into the Ocean of Blessednesse whether they would or no. He talk'd also of invisible wires which draw men along in all the course of their Actions and Passions: He revil'd Exhortation as the greatest cheat in the World, and said, that nothing was so fabulous as those Discourses which make people believe that they have any Liberty of Will.

It seems Panstreblus could not see that this stupid Philosophy destroyes the liberty which is rooted in the essence of the Will, and would have us take it for a special Excellency in the Soul that it is cheated into a false Belief of innate freedom. But he car'd not though he made the vertuous complyance of holy Souls with the Divine will a meer Nullity, and cast an universal blur upon the doctrine of Obedience. He rashly cut the nerves of Industry, by setting the most generous indeavour but in the same Rank of Desert with the most sluggish Idlenesse; [Page] and by his sordid Principles block'd up the way to all brave attempts, allowing such as perform the most honorable Atchievement to be no more prayse-worthy then if they had committed a foul Sin. He made the promises of due Rewards of no more force then as if one should sing well in hope to please a Stone; and call'd the most discreet administration of Punishment, Mistake and Cruelty. In short, he made the whole World but a St. Bartholmewes Fair, and men and women meer Puppets drawn through all their actions with Homerical Wires, and in fine Denyed God power to make any other sort of Creatures besides [...]. He talk'd his pleasure of Religion, and said it was an useful yoke made by Politicians, who had hew'd it into a fit shape with the Mystical devise of Promises and Threatnings, to hamper the Credulity of the ignorant Multitude; and that the Conditions upon which the Divine Grace was pretended to be obliged, that is Obedience or Disobedience to Holy Precepts, were only Tricks invented for the better security of their designs upon the tame World, which they might lead any whither, having the Hopes and Fears of silly people in a string. But now, said he, by order of the Adamantine Fates this rusty chain is to be broken, you must entertain a new Spirit, and renounce all former Notions as the pretences of deceived Hypocrites; knowing that though you seemingly obeyed that Politick Religion by which the Grandees rul'd the World, yet you had your private designs intermix'd with your Obedience, which kept you true to the General Rule, which you also magnified no further then Hypocrisie and Self-interest permitted.

To wash off all these staines, and to initiate them into his Discipline, he commanded them to be baptiz'd in his Name; upon which he promis'd that so many as would become his Disciples, should immediately feel themselves possess'd of the foremention'd Glory.

When he had proceeded so far, he went down from the Stage, which was not a place so fit to act the following Parts, and becken'd the people to follow him to the Lake call'd Borborus, where he would make them partakers of his dirty Baptisme. Such as were too much inclin'd by a wicked Temper [Page] to embrace fleshly doctrines, soon followed this Dreamer, though with as little discretion as the Rats of Halberstade danc'd after the Pyed Piper into the River where they were all drown'd.

Bentivolio desired Urania that they might go a little further, to see what end the Beast would make to such scurvy beginnings: but when they came near the Lake, it did so smell of Brimston that they thought it might be Asphaltites. Panaretus guess'd it rather to be the Bottomless pit, not only because of a dark cloud of ill-sented Smoak which ascended continually from it; but because, as he had heard before, those which went into it never came out again.

The Noble Travailers made great haste from this place, where their abodegave them so small content; and their arrival in Kenapistis, which bordered upon Pseudenthea, promis'd them little more satisfaction. Upon their entrance they were surpriz'd with an unexpected entertainment; for they perceiv'd an extraordinary Silence to have seiz'd upon the Inhabitants, and the great discontent of their Souls reveal'd it self in the perplexity of their dejected Lookes. It was a sight much unlook'd for among the Kenapistians, who were reported for a jolly sort of people, and full of talk.

Whilst they walk'd up and down musing what might be the cause of so great an alteration, they met a man of sober countenance, but such chearful deportment, that he seem'd either to be unconcern'd in the general disaster, or else to have overcome such passions as rise from worldly accidents by a brave temper of Spirit: He was call'd Ontagathus. It seems he had not put Civility out of his Religion, for he had no sooner discern'd Bentivolio and his Companions to be Strangers, but he accosted them in courteous manner, and demanded if in that place, with which, as he thought, they were not much, acquainted, his assistance might in any respect be acceptable unto them. Our design, said Bentivolio, was only to have seen this place, and to receive some information concerning the manners of the Kenapistians; and since you have incouraged us by the civility of your offer to make use of your help, you will do us a great courtesie if you let us understand the reason of [Page] that universal grief which hath manifestly invaded this place. That I shall willingly perform, said Ontagathus.

It is occasioned by an accident which happen'd the last night, which was the death of Tuphlecon the late Governor of Kenapistis; one much beloved of the people, and in whom they had blindly reposed such strong confidence, that they wholly depended upon his conduct, and rul'd all their perswasions by such reasons as he suggested. He never fail'd of making his Proposals acceptable, for he had a through insight into the Temper of the people, and made his Dictates correspond with their Humor.

As to himself he was thought to be of an incredible Faith, by which he was able to believe any thing, though some, which knew him very well, affirm'd that he did indeed believe nothing. He pretended one particular excellency in his Faith, which was an ability to believe against all Sense and Reason; and he esteem'd a power to give credit to such things as contain'd the most apparent contradictions, to be the most acceptable resignation of his Understanding to God. And though some told him that this was a kind of Brutish belief, and that our Mind is then Divine, and can no other way be made like unto God, but by submitting it self to all Truth and rejecting of all Falshood, which in its nature is a contradiction to Heavenly Verity; yet he persisted in his opinion, and was very confident that such a Sacrifice of fools was the most Reasonable service of humane Souls.

His main business was to make a fair show of great Sanctity; and this he did by a punctual observation of all outward Rites. He never went abroad till he was well instructed concerning his carriage by one Euprosopon, who was his intimate friend and domestick Counsellour: but many quick sighted persons were able to look through the exactnesse of his dresse, and saw that the utmost extent of his design was but to seem good: which served his turn well enough in reference to his main intention, which was to get and keep Authority among men, for he had wav'd the sincere care of being acceptable to God. Though Hypocrisie was much more damnable in him, because he was not of such a weak Understanding but that he [Page] might easily have known That God doth not regard superstitious devices, nor was ever so cheaply pleas'd as to be content with a Vain Faith or the show of Holinesse.

The chief Humor manifestly predominant in the Kenapistians was Love of Ease; which did so far command them, that though they desired to seem Religious, yet they would have all difficulty removed from what they should be order'd to perform, though it were never so Necessary or Excellent.

Tuphlecon had taken notice of this Temper, and fitted it with such conformable Lawes, that it was no hard matter to procure obedience to his Government; for he never commanded any thing but what he was sure they were willing to do: they were unwilling to do nothing at all, perfect Idlenesse did not agree with their Fancy; but they would have the instances of their Obedience easie, and the Materials of which they made their Oblations such as should not cost them much.

Tuphlecon by a sordid correspondence had utterly perverted the state of their Spirits; for by appointing them mean things, far below the excellency of true Perfective duties, he debas'd their Souls: and they took as much Joy in these worthless strawes, as if they had been the services of just Spirits made perfect; and they judg'd themselves worthy of no lesse acceptation then [...], and took all those for Fools which ventur'd to reprove the vanity of their minds, or endeavoured to show them that they were governed by false measures of Religion, and that they had indiscreetly left out of their Obedience such Rules as were most necessary to secure the Interest of their Souls, either by improving them in that Goodnesse of which this present state is capable, or by ascertaining their Eternal Welfare. But whatsoever was said was of no value with those who had determind'd it to be enough for them that their Instructions pleas'd them, whether they would save them or no.

The Kenapistians having thus repos'd their hopes of Security upon false Principles, contented themselves with a Form of Religion, and neglected the Indispensablenesse of a Holy life. The Severities of Godliness were ridiculous among them, and the practise of Charity arbitrary: they reckon'd the Examples [Page] of the Primitive times inimitable, and concluded the Desire of Goodness sufficient to Salvation. In Theoprepia they love what these do but profess, and do what these only say. Flesh is allowed its Dominion over the Spirit; Envy and Hatred have banish'd Love; and they have devis'd a new way to go to Heaven without peace of Conscience, which they endeavour to quiet by neglect of Examination. Or if by chance they find they are not conformable in Disposition or Practiseto Holy Rules, yet they excuse the business by alleging That Sin is inconquerable in this mortal body; That Obedience is impossible; That the Best things which we do are Splendid Sins, and the Worst are but Sins. They repent as often as they please; nay they believe, if they do but repent at the hour of death, it serves the turn for the sins of their whole life, and notwithstanding the greatest causes of Despair, they may believe and be safe for ever.

By these Principles the Kenapistians grew extreme low in their Conversation; and if they had lived among such as make a just estimation of things, they would have forc'd them to think either that Religion is a pitiful business in it self, or else that these were Hypocrites and did profess it only for a show. However the Kenapistians enjoy'd a great deal of ease, and freed themselves from scrupulous enquiries, and the strict performance of indispensable duties, having made such things unnecessary by false Rules. They kept their Covetousness untouch'd, because the publick orders made no great matter of Charity, and because they took not good Works for the only way to Heaven. They made sufficient amends for the Wrongs they did, if they were sorry for them, because Restitution was no Fundamental Article of their Creed; and how bad soever they were, they thought themselves excus'd, if they did accuse themselves stoutly; and it was abundance of Mortification with them, to complain sometimes of their unruly Appetites, and to revile their Passions, because they would not be bridled.

The Example of Tuphlecon, who framed his Life according to the same Rules, made them love him infinitely; for under his peaceable government they were obliged only to talk of [Page] their Duties, and enjoy their Liberty. But this fair day began to be clouded by Tuphlecon's sickness, which I must confesse I expected a great while before: for though he put the best side outward; yet I observ'd him to be very weak, and that he went constantly with a very slow pace, which he us'd not so much for State as to hide his Infirmity, which grew at last to that height that he could dissemble it no longer. His disease was very sharp, some call it Brygmodonton; it is much of the same nature with that pain which is known by the name of Remorse of Conscience. Those that are troubled with it, seem to feel a Worm in their Heart. When he had been gnaw'd thus a while, his Countenance grew wan: those which knew not what he ail'd, would have guess'd that he was haunted every night with an Evil Spirit. His Voice being grown so low, that one could scarce discern what he said, he was suppos'd to be very near the grave.

Whilst he lay in this miserable condition, an old friend of his, call'd Colax, whom he intirely loved, having heard of his Case, brought him some Medicines, which he compos'd according to such odde Receipts as he had transcrib'd out of two or three foolish Books which he borrowed of Tuphlecon. The Effect show'd their Invalidity, for he receiv'd not the least Benefit by them. You may guess the Worth of the Compositions by the Nature of the Ingredients of which they consisted, Ananke, Peirasmus, Pathos, Hylotes, Adunaton and Moira. And as he administred his Cordials, he told Tuphlecon, to comfort him, that he ought not to break his Heart for invincible Infirmities, (and such he esteemed all his Sins.) That God was obliged to excuse our disobedience, because of the naturalnesse of Sin; and that he needed not to doubt of pardon for such faults as he was forc'd to commit by the irresistible power of Tentation. That God doth not exact Perfection of us, because it is Impossible. That he needed not trouble himself that he was so bad, since God had predestinated him to be no better: and in short, that he might make one Answer to all Objections, even of Hypocrisie it self, That Christ had been obedient for him. Yes, said Tuphlecon, with a quick and passionate reply, And I fear that he will be saved for me too. Away, Colax, this is no time [Page] for Flatteries; my eyes are too open, I see the uselesness of Lies, and I find now that which hath been said long ago to be too true, That about the time of Death the sense of God begins to awaken in men. I have put too much confidence in thy false friendship: I have talk'd often of that word Faith, and pleas'd my self with the Name, but am destitute of the Vertue, which indeed I never knew in the right notion; that small pretence which I can make to it is only a faint resemblance of the word misunderstood. To night I have examin'd the false Jewel upon which I doated, and I perceiv'd it was counterfeit. I understand the meaning of God's declarations now, and see that he never meant to compromise with Hypocrifie, and to patronize the bare show of Goodness: I see that none can be made partakers of eternal Bliss without a holy life, which is the proper express and only proof of inward goodness. If God had not made it necessary by his declarations, yet the nature of the State it self makes it impossible to be otherwise; and I find this verified in my self: for being void of such Dispositions as are the just preparations of that Incorporeal state, I feel my self unfit to live happily out of this Earthly Body. I have built upon Quick-sands, Colax, and now the Wind ariseth and the Land-flouds [...] me, my house begins to fall. I imagin'd my self to be one of God's Elect, and thought that to be a sufficient ground of Hope, because divers told me, who had seen the Eternal Rolls, that his choice is Absolute: But I doubt now my name was never in the Book of life; and if it be, I am sure I cannot find it. But my misery is the greater, because that which hath deluded me all this while is the only Refuge unto which I can betake my self, and that is, Vain Faith: and as I talk'd formerly of believing Contradictions, or any thing; I see now that I must do so still, if I will attempt to comfort my self, for I have all the reason in the world to despair.

Colax was much astonish'd at this talk, and perceiving that his company afforded no consolation to his dying friend, he went home: but they say that the sad condition of Tuphlecon made such a deep impression upon his Soul, that he took his bed immediately.

Colax had no sooner left the Room, but a dismal company [Page] of gastly attendants, who had waited all the while at the door, camein; the chief of them were Phrictus, Odax, Thanatus, Krimatophobus and [...]. Tuphlecon had no sooner espied them, but he fell into a swoon; his spirits returning after a while, he cryed out for his old friends, Tharraleus, Philopseudes, Hyperoncus and many others. But when he perceiv'd that none answer'd his call, a deadly sighing seiz'd upon him; and, after many deep groans mix'd with horrid Exclamations, he dyed much after the manner of those disconsolate people which break their Hearts with Grief.

As soon as the newes of Tuphlecon's death was bruited abroad, and it was known in what a forlorn sort he left this world, the Kenapistians began to suspect That Vain Faith will not serve the turn in the other; and That such a Confidence as doth not subdue Sin, will not suppress Fear; and That such as live wickedly, will be forc'd to think themselves miserable at their death. The Storm approaching, they saw that their constitution was only made to endure Fair weather, and that they were destitute of a Defence against Afflictions and Death. Now they wonder at the folly of their Credulity, who believed unreasonably That they should be excus'd for sinning against their Conscience, because they felt its remorses when it was abus'd; and they find that what they counted Repentance, was worse sin; and what they thought an alleviation, is a great aggravation of their burden, both by a greater vileness of the Sin and a proportionable Guilt. And now they are all appall'd with a great doubt concerning their Faith, and are affraid that a careless life will bring them into such a condition that they shall have much ado to believe themselves wel, against the force of such Reasons as are the demonstrations of an unhappy state.

Here Ontagathus ended his Story, and craving pardon for the tediousness of his Relation, because they had laid their commands upon him to make the Report, he added, If you desire to go further, to inform your selves more fully concerning the Kenapistians, I will attend you. No, no, said they all, we have heard enough already, and the time of the day requires us to return to our Lodging at Philoxenus his house; and if your [Page] occasions give you leave to go along with us, we shall be glad of your company. I will go along with all my heart, replyed Ontagathus, he is my very near neighbour; and to morrow I have purpos'd to spend my time in Agazelus, which, as I understand, you intend to visit before your return.

It were too long to give an account here of the several discourses which pass'd between Philoxenus and his Guests, (who were much more welcome because they brought Ontagathus with them) whilst they made a review of their Travailes, to collect something from the consideration of mens various Tempers and the Events of divers actions, to improve their Understandings, as also to commit to Memory the more remarkable passages, and to entertain themselves by way of recreation with talking of what they had seen; therefore I will passe them over, and relate what happen'd in Agazelus.

Ontagathus rising more early in the morning then his usual time, because he was loath that those whom he desired to attend should stay for his company, came to them a little after they had made themselves ready; and though they were pretty well wearied with going up and down, and more then sufficiently glutted with Vanasembla, yet they were unwilling to go away before they had seen Agazelus, which was talk'd of as the Glory of Polyglotta. Ontagathus to make the way less tedious, and to prepare them for a sight of Agazelus, by a previous description of the place, gave them, as they went along, a brief account of the most remarkable things which he had occasion to observe when he was amongst them. He began thus.

Through the midst of the chief Street runs a swift Brook call'd Picrudor: the Water is often troubled, and alwaies bitter. It hath drown'd many; for when a man chanceth to fall into the Stream, it carries him away with such violent force, which it hath by reason of its coming from steep Rocks, that his recovery is impossible.

Upon the banks of this Rivolet is built a large House much after the fashion of a Labyrinth, and some call it so, because of the resemblance; but the true name is Mataeoponus. The keeper of it is known by the name of Lerocritus. He hath two Servants, Antilegon, who looks to the doors, and to keep out such [Page] as he suspects to be no well-willers to Agazelus; and Amphisbeton, who shows the Rooms. It is much frequented by Disputants, and I pretending to be one got in. As I passed through a narrow Court, which had been paved with a rough sort of Pebbles, but was then overgrown with sharp Thistles and stinging Nettles, I came to a wide Room, call'd Logomachia: an open space in the middle led to the upper end, where stood Lerocritus his Chair, many seats being plac'd upon both sides of the Room. It was very large, for as the times go, they are no Christians which cannot dispute; and indeed since the practise of Goodness was left among them, it is the chief instance of their Religion. Upon a broad Table which was before the Chair they had plac'd abundance of Books, which were fill'd with Definitions, Divisions, Restrictions, Corollaries, Irrefragabilities, Quiddityes, Entityes and Non-entityes, with many more strange words. I ask'd Amphisbeton what they did contain. He said, most learned Expositions of Hierographon; and that he had heard men say, that those which made them had gathered all the hard words out of it to expound the easie, and put in some of their own more hard then any that they found there; whereupon they were grown at last so obscure, that he verily believed if those which wrote that book should rise from the dead, they would not be able to understand them. I ask'd him what they were good for. He protested he could not tell: but as far as he could guesse, they were good for nothing but to make differences amongst honest men, to puzzle Truth, and to inable men in the opinion of the wise to talk extraordinary nonsense, and to present words so subtiliz'd that they are past the understanding of their Auditors; and that he had observ'd one strange quality in them, which was, that they did usually reflect such an amusement upon those that spoke them, that they did not understand their own talk. Sure then, replyed I, it was great pity that the AEgyptians of old wanted these Books, they would have saved them the labour of inventing Hieroglyphicks; for these uncouth forms of Speech would have sufficiently preserv'd their Mysteries from the contempt of Vulgar Understandings.

I ask'd him the use of those divers rowes of [...]. He said, [Page] since that was the Room where the chief business of the House was managed, they were appointed to receive the Citizens of Agazelus, without whose grave deliberation nothing was determined: though he had observ'd that after many dayes busily employed in serious debates, and sometimes in hot contests, for the most part their work was as far from a conclusion as at the beginning; and that after a years Consultation, matters were so ineffectually toss'd from one side to the other, that they seem'd to weave Penelope's web; and that from this fruitlesse issue of much toyle, the House was called Mataeoponus.

Sure, said Urania, interrupting his discourse, you make me think of a Mine in Amphilogia which is haunted with a company of busie Spirits, which seem to resort thither with desire of employment, and work with such diligence as if they had been hired for daily labourers. The poor Miners at first were glad of such help: for when they look'd upon them, they seem'd to dig up their Ore, to separate it from the Earth, to melt it into usual form; but when they were gone, they found nothing done for all the great stir and show of Labour. You could not have found a fitter Comparison, said Ontagathus, to have represented the busie Vanity of these idle attempts.

I remember that I stood once not far from the Door, and a sudden knock made me turn about to know who it was that demanded entrance. Sundry people of stern gravity came in; and when two Ladies that were in the rear were about to enter, Antilegon forbad them. They were modest, and would not intrude, but quietly retir'd. I whisper'd Antilegon in the eare to know their names; and he told me one was call'd Alethea, the other Charinda. An ingenuous person of good note having taken notice of Antilegon's refusal to let them in, made a complaint of the Incivility, and said, that disinterested people could not but suspect that some unworthy actions were to be perform'd amongst those who admitted many that would without doubt have been deservedly stopp'd, both upon a scrutiny of Knowledg and Goodness, and yet excluded two Ladies of known Wisdom and Exemplary Charity. An angry man of the company replyed, that Alethea might come in, if she would; he knew no body that desired her to be kept out; and mov'd that [Page] she might be sent for. The rest consenting to the motion, Amphisbeton went for her. She was utterly unwilling to go in without her sister Charinda, and ask'd if she might not take her in. I have no order for that, said Amphisbeton; but she may stay here a vvhile, and see if you can procure her leave. Go, sister, said Charinda, I vvill expect your return, vvhich I am affraid vvill be too speedy. When she vvas enter'd, they vvere in a hot dispute, and though they had sent for her, never took any notice of her coming: so she stay'd in the crovvd vvithout any observance, each Disputant eying his Opposite more then her, though she vvas in the middle betvveen them; and as the parties grevv vvarmer, they jostled her from one side to the other, after such a rude manner, that her being there vvas little to her content. And at length being troubled vvith their quarrelsomenesse and vvearied vvith noise, she quitted the Room, nobody so much as desiring her to stay. By vvhich I perceiv'd that though they had sent for her in a Complement, and pretended to desire nothing so much as her company, yet that her room vvas as acceptable, and that they vvere as much pleas'd vvith a disputation concerning her as the enjoyment of her presence. She and Charinda vvalk'd together into the cool grove of Hesychia, vvhich borders upon Theoprepia.

After she vvas gone, they continued the noise, rubbing their eares and talking vvith such eager loudnesse that it vvas hardly sufferable: they vvere not ashamed to speak all at once; though that Custom is so barbarous that it is despis'd by the vvild Indians: yet having a good mind to see the end, I held out, supposing that such Violence vvould not last long.

As I look'd about I savv many little doors in the Wall of the Room, much like to Sally-ports. For what serve these, said I, good Antilegon? You must know, said he, that these Doors are of great use for the more quiet departure of the Assembly; for many times those who come in all together at that great Gate, do so fall out before they have done talking, that they will not go forth with such as came in with them, and each having a private key to those little doors, one goeth this way, and another that.

Amongst other things I perceiv'd also that each party (for [Page] the Agazelians were divided into many Factions) had a Desk by themselves, and a Scribe which attended diligently with pen and paper: I guess'd it was because they did so highly value the discourses which were made, that they would not permit any syllable of a word to be lost. No, said Antilegon, each side makes use of these to note all the suspicious words of their opposite party, and every saying that is capable of misconstruction, that by these, when they have put them together in a Satyrical Pasquil, they may render the party odious against whose opinions they have entertain'd dislike. For each side doth write, as well as speak, against another, and this at such a rate, that when they have once differ'd, they make it impossible to agree again. When they cannot bring their Antagonists to their Opinion, they count it Religion to disgrace their party; and if they know any evil of their Persons, they refer it wholly to their Principles, though their own Sect hath the same and other faults: and if any evil thing follow from their Opinion, though at the distance of seven Consequences well stretch'd upon the rack of Censure, they fasten it upon the Conscience of their Opponent, though he understand no coherence between his Opinion and their Deductions, and doth so really abhor such Conclusions as they make, that if he could think they did follow from what he holds, he would renounce his Assertions.

When the Disputation vvas ended, each Chieftain had his distinct herd standing as near the door as they could get; and vvhen they appear'd, they all applauded their ovvn Champions, vvhom they suppos'd Conquerors; and so triumph'd before they vvere sure of a Victory, vvith as much discretion and no lesse noise then if the multitude had consisted of adverse flocks of angred Geese.

When Ontagathus had gone thus far, they were come near to Mataeoponus, which upon their approach began a Verification of his Story; for they were accosted with a prodigious noise, infinite numbers of Agazelians thronging together to be made partakers of the din. The presse was so great that Bentivolio and his Companions could not get into the newbuilt Logomachia; only whilst they stood in the Court they perceiv'd [Page] an older house where there was more free accesse, and thither they went, thinking to repose themselves a while after their long walk. It was not so much frequented, because at that time the Agazelians eares did itch more after new Controversies. But when they were enter'd, they perceiv'd that no place is void of disputation in Agazelus; for four Grave persons, call'd Bellarmo, Therulus, Lucanius and Erotidius, had been a good while in a sharp contest about divers matters wherein they differ'd; and as they came in, Bellarmo was telling a strange story of Anaxanacton, a great King, and he particularly extoll'd his magnificence for a Royal feast which he made for his Subjects; and making a relation of the variety of Dishes, amongst other things he said he gave them his own Flesh for Meat, and in stead of Wine pour'd forth his Bloud into golden Bowles. Then he prais'd the inimitablenesse of his Love, that would feed the bodies of his Subjects with his own. Perceiving that his Companions did scarce believe him, That you may know, quoth he, how he did such a wonderful thing, I will acquaint you with a rare mystery. By an unspeakable way which he had, when the Bread and Wine were put upon the Table, he would convert them into the substance of his own Body and Bloud, and yet they could not perceive but the Bread and Wine retain'd their former nature, for they had the same Taste, Colour and Shape, and yet there was no such thing upon the Board; for what remain'd was only the Accidents of Bread and Wine, preserv'd still in being by an Omnipotent power without their Subjects, and had the same colour to see to, and the same power to nourish such as did eate and drink, as if they had still been joyn'd to their proper substance, though that was conveyed away invisi [...]ly. So that though it be a strange thing, yet I may tell you it for a Truth, That the King sate at the Table in his Chair, at the same time when he was in the mouths of some and the hands of others that feasted with him. And I have heard that though his Subjects are scattered through large dominions, yet he can after the forementioned manner feast them all at once, and be present with them all, though they be separated from one another by the distance of many thousand miles, whilst they all eate him at the same moment of time.

[Page] At these words Therulus, who sate not far from him, replyed, You are something out in your story, Bellarmo, for the King you talk of did not convey away the meat and drink of his Guests, as you say, and by way of Transubstantiation convert them into his own Flesh and Bloud, but united himself with their Bread and Wine: And while he was so corporally mix'd with their meat and drink, they did eate and drink the King and his meat both together. This I know, for I have been feasted at his Table a hundred times; and such as cannot see how this should be, were either never at his house, or else are as blind as a stone.

Upon this Lucanius grew a little angry, and said, For my part I cannot see it, yet I have been there many times, and I believe as oft as any in this Company; and I thank God I am not so blind, but I can read a Book, which I have heard you both acknowledge for a true Record of that Story; and by what I find there I am forc'd to deny credit to your report. For it saith, That Anaxanacton went to Heaven long ago, and at his Ascension declar'd that he would not return till the Restauration of all things, which is not only not past, but, as I fear, a great way off. Were you at Supper in Heaven, Bellarmo, or you Therulus? Did either of you see his Subjects cut that Glorified Body in bits? But that it cannot possibly be true, that the Bread and Wine are chang'd into the Body and Bloud of the King by any Corporall Metamorphosis, is manifest in that the hallowed Bread and Wine, of which you affirm such incredible things, will grow mouldy and soure; which are things impossible to be attributed to Anaxanacton's condition, who since his reception into Heaven, is according to the most perfect sense in a state of Incorruptibility.

Bellarmo and Therulus were so offended with these words, that they rose up in a great passion, and would needs be gone: But Erotidius prayed them to have patience till he also declar'd his opinion; unto which with much ado they consented, and sate down again: whereupon [...] began after this manner; Bellarmo, you and Therulus have related strange things, which amaz'd me to hear, and I understand that you have told these stories formerly in divers Companies; but I fear much [Page] to the dishonour of Anaxanacton. For whilst you report such impossible things, you tempt people to doubt whether ever there was any such King, or whether he made any Feast at all; because they are sure he could make no such as you mention'd, the thing being in its nature impossible. Some body hath extremely abused you, to make you esteem it for an Excellency in his Religion to be fill'd with Opinions which are contrary to common sense; and to introduce a suitable Faith, which commends its worth from a power of believing such Doctrines as contradict the Principles of Naturall Reason which God hath planted in our Souls; unlesse God should be thought to design the Extirpation of the Roots which he hath set. If you put such monstrous Assertions into Religion, men will be apt to take it for an old-wivestale, or a fabulous Superstition invented by brain sick men; and those that are initiated into your mysteries being taught to believe any thing, will as easily believe nothing; and by being religious after this fashion, will be effectually disposed to Atheisme: for when they examine their Faith, they will find that in truth they only believe for fear, or professe that they do for worldly regards, but that they have no reason for what they hold. Ingenuous men are govern'd by the Divine light which shines in their Souls, by which they know that God cannot do that which implies a Contradiction; and upon the same ground they assure themselves that there was never any such Feast. You affirm unreasonably that the Body of your King, which is but One, may be in divers places at once; that it may be a thousand miles remov'd from me, and yet but the distance of a hand-bredth at the same time; and so you make the same distance greater and less then it self. For if he be corporally present with me at his Feast, and after the same manner with another at a thousand miles distance from me, the same Longitude will be shorter then it self. You deny not but his Body is in Heaven, and you affirm it to be in a Chappel upon Earth at the same time: so that if you draw a line from the same point of my Hand to the same point of the King's Body, which is the same line, because it is a straight line between the same terms, the distance will be but a yard long, and yet reach many hundreds of miles: [Page] which is a plain Contradiction. Your Monster hath another head also no lesse deformed then this; for your Transubstantiation doth suppose one Body may penetrate another, whenas all the world have confess'd it to be the nature of Bodily substance to be Impenetrable; and ever since that Propriety was stamp'd upon its Essence by the Creator, each Material Substance doth stoutly and irresistibly keep it self from being penetrated by another. So that whilst you report that the Viands were transubstantiated into the Flesh and Bloud of your King, you would make people believe that either he had no true Body when he made that Feast, or at least that he hath not now. You say, to make the wonder the greater, That the whole masse of your King's Bloud is in each drop of Wine, and that every Crum of Bread is converted into the whole Body; not one Crum into the head, and another into the feet; and so the Whole is thrust into every Part: which doth necessarily infer a Penetration of Matter; which can no more reasonably be affirm'd then Contradictions can possibly be reconcil'd.

This Contradiction is swell'd with another; for whilst you allow the Convertiblenesse of one Body into another, without the destruction or augmentation of each other, you grant leave for an absurd Inference, which is, That Body may be without Space or, which is all one, Extension, for Space is Extension. Since therefore the Essential property of a Body is Extension into Longitude, Latitude and Profundity, your Transubstantiation and Consubstantiation are confounded with this absurdity, That a Body may be without Space, and that Extension may be not extended. Therefore, Gentlemen, since our Master's Body is in Heaven, and that he hath told us he will not return to Earth till he come to restore this miserable world, and hath appointed us to commemorate the love of his death by the renewall of his holy Feast, where each dish is a Symbol of better things then any fleshly eye can see, let us receive the benefits of his Divine presence by an humble Faith, without this quarrelsome dispute for the bold determination of the manner of his being there. So shall we, who are now divided by that which was appointed to unite us, become [Page] again a holy Synaxis, and in stead of offering a ridiculous sacrifice, we shall celebrate an acceptable Eucharist.

When Erotidius had sate down, Lucanius rose up with an intention to speak further concerning Erotidius his Arguments; but Therulus netled with the former discourse prevented him, saying, Hold thy tongue, Vain Man, thou wilt consent to his silly talk: dost thou not see him so ignorant of the Nature of Faith that he will not believe Contradictions? After those words he went out of the Room, saying, I will talk no more with such Asses.

Bellarmo took the opportunity to wave an answer with pretence of great wrath, and went away to the chief Governor of Exosemnon, to give him an account of what had pass'd. How he reported the discourse I know not, but in recompence of his ill-bestow'd Zeal in such a pitiful cause he received a Red Hat.

As soon as they were gone, Erotidius guessing Lucanius to be inwardly vex'd, as far as outward Looks are significations of the Mind, ask'd him the reason of those immorall passions which had been entertain'd that day by such as boast themselves to be Christians, and look down from the high battlements of Spirituality, as they call it, upon the Holinesse of Morality, as a poor low thing; pretending in their own more rais'd spirit transcendently to contain whatsoever is good in it, as the Reasonable Soul doth the Sensitive Faculties: adding withall, that such irregular expressions would not be kept secret, but be improv'd to the greatest disgrace, whilst they were divulg'd by such adversaries as they had, who were not so heedlesse as not to make use of such fair pretences of accusation. To this Lucanius answer'd, not without a fretful peevishnesse, that he understood no great reason for such carriage, only he knew that by a just though most dismal Judgment they were predestinated to these distempers: so rising up with that cholerick haste that he overturn'd his Chair, he went away. Erotidius sitting still in a posture of extreme grief, pull'd his hat over his eyes and wept heartily, whilst the teares ran down both his cheeks so fast as if each tear had been pursued by his fellow, and that one eye vied drops with the other.

[Page] Urania taking notice of his passion, came near and demanded the reason of his sorrow. Alas, Madam, said Erotidius, I would gladly with these waters quench the unchristian heates which you saw just now kindled, and to these teares I would willingly adde my Bloud, if by that I could wash away the guilt of these foul distempers. Come Erotidius, said Urania, grieve no more, you have done your best; be patient till they repent of their follies. Come along with me, and I will carry you where you shall hear other matters discours'd after another manner. Now she intended to conduct him with her Company to Theoprepia, into the sweet vales of Sophrosyne, where divers Virtuoso's did daily meet, and with most excellent Understanding discourse upon the most profitable things knowable.

As they were leaving the Room, a company of illiterate fellowes, but more fierce then the former, would needs renew the Disputation; and one that thought himself the wisest among them, earnestly desired that the Argument of their discourse might be Kiskildrivium. They brutishly agreed, being much taken with the wonderful sound of the word. It cost them much time to know from what Language it was derived, but at last they concluded it to be of Roman pedigree; and when they had been as long in enquiry after the signification of it, one of them recollecting his memory, told them it was Transubstantiation. I do not believe that, said another, for notwithstanding our talk all this while, I am confident that Kiskildrivium is an insignificant Term. So it is, quoth the other, but no more then Transubstantiation, for they both signifie nothing. Upon this they resolv'd to dispute no more upon that subject, having heard it exploded but a little before.

After this they quarrell'd a good while one with another about the choice of some Question to dispute of: but coming to no agreement, they resolv'd to dispute of nothing, and so went away all together to Logomachia.

This meeting being thus dissolv'd, Urania and her Company withdrew also; and as they went by the door which leads into Logomachia, they found that entrance was now very easie, [Page] for a great part of the company being wearied with an Expectation, of whose effect they at last despair'd, were gone away; only the Grandees which were Leaders in several points of Controversie remain'd, and such little parties as had resign'd themselves to the soveraignty of their Dictates. Towards the upper end of the Room in three select Chaires more high then the rest sate Aganacton, Polymachus and Dysarestus, for they had no small Authority in Agazelus. Antinomus and Hypernephelus sate by the Table: over against them sate a proud Fellow with a Sadducees Coat on; as they were musing who it should be, one pointing to him said to his companion, That Atheist is Agerochus. A little below him sate a frantick Enthusiast, call'd Magicus, and Melancholicus lean'd upon the back of his Chair. Towards the lower end stood an empty Chair; and as Alazon and Deisidaemon were scuffling for it, a bold fellow of a simple visage with his eyes sunk under a great forehead, call'd Ignaro, possess'd himself of it to their great discontent. As they were discoursing, a humorous fellow, call'd Heautus, made a great disturbance to their affaires; his manner was to walk up and down amongst the company, to hug himself, to talk of himself and to himself. A sober man displeas'd with his impertinencies, demanded of him what he sought there. He said, Himself. He ask'd the reason of his troublesomenesse to the meeting. He said, Himself. Whilst some that minded not the Mystery of his folly fell a laughing, he moved the company that the arrogant fool might be put out of the Room; alleging that there was but small hopes of doing any thing whilst he stayed, and that when they were freed from the hindrance of his clamorous noise, they might the better hear one another, and more quietly bring their businesses to some good conclusion. It was wonderful with what loud eagernesse the company answer'd, No, no, let him alone, he shall not be turn'd out, we can bear with his follies well enough, we have been us'd to them. Whereupon he being much pleas'd that the company had voted his stay, began to be more quiet.

Upon one side of the Room, where was a crowd of busie Talkers, they saw one in the form of a Shepheard, clad in a [Page] white Mantle, put on so handsomly, that many were much delighted with looking upon him: but he was another kind of thing then that of which he made show; his name was Lucifer. Urania jogg'd Bentivolio to take notice of his carriage; for though he demean'd himself vvith a great deal of vvary cunning, yet sometimes he could not chuse but discover himself: for vvhen Magicus vvas talking of some great Prophet lately sent from Heaven, that vvas, as he said, above Christ Jesus, and vvho vvas the only Comforter; or vvhen any of Kenapistis magnified a Vain Faith, and reproach'd Morality as a poor Heathenish Vanity, he vvould encourage them. When Agerochus provok'd the company to anger vvith bitter vvords, and undertook aftervvards to prove that it vvas impossible that there should ever be agreement in the Church, they perceiv'd him to laugh. But vvhen any Vertuous man vvho loved peace advis'd the rigid to Moderation, shovv'd the inconveniences of an uncharitable spirit, or desir'd them to lay aside conceitednesse, and to order Heautus to vvithdravv, he express'd an extreme Discontent in his looks.

Things vvere managed in such a confus'd manner, that any body ventur'd in amongst them, many vvhich had nothing to do, and some vvho vvent only to do hurt, and (vvhich vvas strange) Miasmasarka and Pneumatodes vvere espied there, but they shrovvded themselves under the Patronage of Antinomus and Agerochus.

Before I go any further to tell vvhat happen'd at this meeting, it vvill not be amisseto set down a short story which Ontagathus told to Urania the night before at the house of Philoxenus concerning Aganacton, Polymachus and Dysarestus. They are, said Ontagathus, persons of no mean esteem for Religion, and have express'd such a zeal for their particular Opinions, that they have not refus'd to fight for them, each of them striving with their greatest force to bring the other two into obedience to their Sentiments; and as they had the advantage of the upper ground, they threw those which would not submit to their Constitutions into great affliction: but they defended themselves from the imputation of Cruelty for so doing, by saying that the chastisements which they appointed were only [Page] godly persecutions and wholsome corrections, very needful to reduce disobedient people to their duty; and that they did not punish after that fashion which the wicked use, when they kill one another, because they had a charitable intention in their severest castigations. But as far as any by-stander could perceive, whatever the Intents were, the Actions were mischievous, and utterly unbecoming the very pretence of true Religion, which as it contains a most excellent love of God, so it never leaves out a great Charity to all our neighbours.

Aganacton was first deputed the chief Governour of Agazelus; but he executed his Office with such Rigor, that he ruin'd poor men for a word, and made people offenders for such trifles as were not to be regarded by a prudent Governor. Though many of his wiser Friends advis'd him to the contrary, knowing that a good Governour should neither multiply unnecessary Lawes, nor inflict such sore punishments for small Faults that the severity bears no proportion with the guilt. A poor man was once required to come before him, who was unwilling to go, not that he thought himself guilty of any Fault, but because he could ill spare the time from his labour, upon which he and his family subsisted: but being compell'd to make his appearance, he desired to know his Charge. They answer'd, he was sent for because he had prophanely digg'd his ground and sow'd it upon Assumption-day. When he ask'd what Assumption, they told him that of our Lady; and when the ignorant man demanded, what Lady? they angrily replyed, The blessed Virgin. I crie you mercy, said the poor man, for my Ignorance of that Assumption, and I hope it is very pardonable, for I could never meet with that Story in a holy Book which I have at home, where they say all good things are recorded: but I honour the Virgin-mother, whom all Generations do justly call Blessed, and I know that she is so full of Grace and gentle Goodnesse, that she doth not desire a poor man to worship her with a Sacrifice made of his Childrens bread, or that any body should die of hunger for her sake. Thereupon he pray'd them to dismisse him, for that he had at home a sick Wife and five small Children, and if he should [Page] do no work that day, they could eat nothing at night. Notwithstanding this fair plea, after many reproachful words, they told him he should pay ten shillings for his offence, or else go to prison. Then I must go to prison, quoth the poor man, for I am not able to pay half often shillings. According to their word they committed him, that by his Example others might understand what they were to Expect if they offended in like manner.

Amongst others Polymachus and Dysarestus were punish'd, because they did not comply with Aganacton's Rules, and also by their Example and Arguments [...] many Agazelians from their Obedience. But Aganacton at length growing very weak by reason of a violent sicknesse which seiz'd upon him, Polymachus was put into his Room; which was brought to passe by the importunate Intercessions of the people: For Polymachus had so frequently declaimed against Aganacton's fiercenesse, that they made no doubt but he would expresse extraordinary meeknesse; and they seeing Aganacton low and feeble, made use of the opportunity to advance Polymachus to the Government; which he had not managed very long, but they plainly perceiv'd how strong a Tentation great Power is to mortal men, how hard it is for such as rule to do right in all things, how unanswerable men are unto their promises when they are chang'd from an adverse condition to one more prosperous, and how apt they are to disturb others when they think themselves secure, and to slight the Comforts of such as were the Instruments of their advancement, if they do not humour them afterward with all possible submissions. Polymachus began to bestir himselfe, and consign'd his friends to all preferments: he was hard to Aganacton's Officers, and dispossess'd most of them, to bring his own Relations into their places. He put also no small affronts upon Dysarestus, and at last sign'd an order for his banishment. But as Dysarestus was upon his journey towards the Sea shore, he met a Troop of the Agazelian Horse, and made known his case to the Captain, by a full relation of his sufferings under Polymachus: whereupon the Captain, Centaurus by name, commanded his men to lay hold upon Polymachus his Officers, and taking Dysarestus back with [Page] him to Polymachus, he upbraided him with many disgraceful instances of his ill management of affaires, and particularly reprov'd him for his cruel carriage towards Dysarestus and his friends; and told him that for the time to come he must deport himself more gently, and for a security of doing no future harm he should take Dysarestus into the partnership of his Government. Unto this Polymachus was forced to give an unwilling consent, for as matters stood then he could not help it. The power being thus divided between Polymachus and Dysarestus, they order'd things so, that either party thought themselves well appayed, for they enjoy'd quietnesse and preferment, but they both slighted Aganacton, scarce ever visited him in his sicknesse, and long'd for his death. It is a hard matter for such as have govern'd others to learn Obedience themselves. Aganacton's sicknesse continued upon him, and his friends also by a passionate sympathy with his distresses were brought very low: but they suffer'd not alone, for divers things happen'd which occasion'd Polymachus and Dysarestus to disagree, and their parties, being much divided according to the Interest of their Leaders, did much mischief to each other.

Thus much of Ontagathus his story I thought good to insert, because it makes known some of those reasons which occasion'd the distractions of Agazelus, which were now grown to that height, that their once-flourishing Society wither'd into little Factions, and instead of the happinesse of mutual love, they had now an Union only in common Afflictions and the dissatisfactions of an unsetled condition.

A wise man who had observ'd the Rise and Progresse of their Troubles to depend in a great part upon a spirit of Uncharitablenesse, pray'd them that they would so far resent the misery of their present condition as to enquire into the possibilities of Recovery; and since they saw the Dangers of their disagreement, to think speedily of terms of Accommodation.

Though they were unwilling to hear of Accommodation, every one being much indispos'd to bate any thing of his Selfwill and Idiopathies; yet being gall'd with many ill Effects of their Dissentions, they were perswaded by the Reasons [Page] and Authority of one generally esteem'd a very Wise man, to try if they could come towards each other in nearer distances. And this occasion'd the meeting of which I have made mention already: but what small hopes of successe were at this time produc'd was too apparent by the unfriendly manner of their converse.

Among several things, too many to be here inserted, one was very observable, that though they had all one common pretence of Appeal to an Authentick Record call'd Jus divinum, for putting an end to their Controversies, which was therefore plac'd in the midst over the Table; yet it was upon the top of such a high Pole, that none of them could easily reach it: whereupon each party did very rudely throw their Bibles at it to bring it down to their own side; by which violence they did often give unhandsome blowes to their Opposites, which usually occasion'd so much anger, that after they had [...] together a long while, they parted with much more hatred then they met. It being impossible to bring good affaires to any successe when they are manag'd without Prudence and Charity.

When they had jangled a good while according to the forementioned disorders, and were all going to rise in a great fume, Bentivolio desired some of the chief Disputants, that they would have the Goodnesse to receive a few words from one who was sorry for their divisions, and did hope that he might show them a way to make up their uncomfortable breaches. The motion was acceptable, because they were now even wearied out with discord: and having demanded his Name, when they understood it was Bentivolio, they were extremely pleas'd, having heard of him often, but never seen him before. They received in a good part a confirmation of what wares ported concerning him, from the Grace of his Speech and the Lovelinesse of his Countenance, and earnestly desired him to make them happy with his seasonable Advice, if he had any Remedy for such a deplorable condition. Bentivolio answer'd, that however it should succeed, he would show the reality of his Good will: but he judg'd it necessary before he went further, to have some private Conference with Aganacton, Polymachus [Page] and Dysarestus, and that the multitude should be dismiss'd for the present, and receive Intelligence of their discourses at the next meeting. The Company tired out with fruitlesse attendance, consented to the proposal, especially since they were to understand things another time.

As they began to withdraw, Bentivolio snatch'd Lucifer's staffe out of his hand, and drove him out of the Room; and as he went forth he took Magicus along with him.

Miasmasarka and Pneumatodes fearing the same Fate, ran away with such a frightful haste that every one took notice of them, which made their Patrons blush; for one of them holding Antinomus by the right hand, and the other Agerochus by the left, they hurried them along for company.

Then he desired that Heautus might be given in charge to one Autaparnes to be kept in safe custody till the next meeting; at which they should hear such a bill read against him as would procure him shame and punishment.

He bade them send Hypernephelus home with a guide, and appoint Ananephon with a sharp rasor to shave off the wilde haires that grew round about his Crown, and to apply some Remedy which settles the Braines, and frees the Fancy from arrogant Conceits, and makes ordinary men unapt to dream that they are the Saviours of Mankind, or to desire to be worshipp'd with Hosanna's, or to think that they are the Judges of the world, come to pronounce the last Sentence. He order'd that Melancholicus should take a lusty dose of Hellebore to purge discontented humors. Upon this Hypernephelus and Melancholicus wept bitterly, and pray'd him for pity sake not to take notice what Mad-men say in their Fits, nor to impute the faults of their distemper'd Heads to the choice of a wicked Will. To which Bentivolio answer'd, that they should do well to follow the foremention'd directions, and perfect their Repentance.

When one had pull'd Ignaro out of his Chair, he bade them throw him out of the Room; but first advis'd him to go to school with little boyes of his own size of Understanding, and charg'd him, as he would not suffer such punishment and worse, that he should not venture into that Company any [Page] more. When Alazon and Acephalus heard these words, they sneak'd away.

Bentivolio was not willing to take any notice of Agerochus, for he scorn'd all advice, though he extremely wanted it; but because of his intolerable Arrogance he thought it requisite to give him a few reproofs. Agerochus, quoth Bentivolio, you might do well to learn so much Ingenuity as to think that others may possibly understand sense as well as your self. Leave off your design to make the world believe Contradictions or nothing, for you will lose your labour. Be content that some things are in their own natures Right and others Wrong without your appointment. Repent that you have endeavoured to chase Faith out of the Societies of men, and to banish Honesty out of the world, by making your Books base pleas for Hypocrisie and Villany. Let Almighty God be a Spirit, because he hath told us that he is so; and except him from the foolery of your determination, That whatsoever is not a Body is nothing. Put not the Soveraign Lord of the world to so much unworthy trouble, as to ask leave of his Subjects that the Commands which he hath given them may be obligatory. Take heed lest for those rude affronts you have put upon Religion, the people do not justly call you the Northerne Antichrist. Read the four Evangelists sometimes, and having set a Deaths-head before you meditate upon the Reasonableness of the Last Judgement. Take down the swollen sailes of your Windmil; and when you are grown sober, you shall have leave to write one Book more, but with this Condition, that you do recant all the rest. Agerochus was so mad that any body durst offer to teach him, that he went away with such expressions of scorn, that he sufficiently signified that he judg'd none in that Company worthy to learn of him.

The Room being freed from the tumultuous multitude, Bentivolio desiring his fellow-travailers to sit down, accosted Aganacton, Polymachus and Dysarestus with his wonted civility; and having crav'd leave to ask them a Question or two, he first demanded, If any of them had ever been sick. They all answer'd, Yes. I got a fall said Aganacton, with running too fast: I scarce ever went abroad since, only by the help of a Horselitter [Page] I came to this meeting in hope to find some cure, of which I should be sorry to be disappointed. I could wish with all my heart, said Polymachus, that you had us'd a softer pace; for when you ran so fast I was weak, and could not get out of your way, but you trod so hard upon my breast, that you struck almost all the breath out of my body, and made me labour under a difficulty of speaking for a great while after. I, said Dysarestus, was Sea-sick once. Bentivolio ask'd them further, If they had not some thoughts of their Sins in their Sicknesse, and if they did not entertain some purposes of amending their Errrors, if they should obtain their former health. They all said, Yes.

Bentivolio giving them thanks for the freedom of their Converse, told them, Gentlemen, you are upon a fair way of recovery, and two of you seem to have regain'd more health then Aganacton. When you come to your perfect strength, make good the promises of your sicknesse. Take heed of relapsing into a disease which is Epidemical to your Country, and doth so infeeble mens minds, that they know not when they are well, and doth sometimes so inrage them, that they do not think themselves well unlesse they see others ill; which is a hellish kind of distemper. I have heard that you, Polymachus, was much offended when Aganacton was sick of this disease, and would not quietly enjoy his own Liberty until he had depriv'd you of yours; and yet you and Dysarestus having gotten power into your hands, would not let him enjoy his. You pronounc'd your self in the right, and esteem'd that a sufficient warrant for your peace, when Aganacton condemn'd you for Error; and now you will not give him that leave to judge for himself, which you took before. He thinks he is in the right, and you say, you know you are not in the wrong: you may be mistaken; you see the Confidence of the Person is no sure proof of the truth of the Opinion. Each of you is as confident as the other, and if one believe any one of you, two of you are deceived. But suppose you be not mistaken, will you prosecute another for not knowing so much as you do? And if you say he may know if he will, or he doth know, but he is obstinate; If that be a good plea, could not Aganacton have justly made use [Page] of it against you when you were the sufferers, and complain'd of your usage as injust? You ought to have so much Charity, as to be willing to grant that to others which in times of necessity you ask'd for your selves. Take heed of Violence, Friends, and prefer the safety of all before a hazardous venture of what you have, and may comfortably keep, for the unrighteous acquist of more then is your due. Those are mad people who when they are fallen out, will rather kill one another then be parted.

Concerning Forms of words be not too troublesome. You have a Book at home which is half Hebrew, half Greek; make that the Confession of your Faith. Be not Imperious in imposing your Interpretations of doubtful Expressions upon such as understand them not. When you have a mind to be zealous, expresse your Heat in those famous and undoubted Instances of Goodnesse, True Piety, Charity, Righteousnesse and sober Prudence, which are written in your Book with great Letters. I had almost forgotten Heautus, who stands committed prisoner to Autaparnes; it is fit that he should never be releas'd. To manifest the Justice of such a sharp Censure, he gave them a List of such horrid Accusations, that they were very unwilling to read them.

Here Bentivolio ended his Discourse, entreating them to receive favourably what he had propounded with a sincere regard to their Happinesse. They gave him thanks for his Good will, and promis'd to take his Advice into their serious consideration. The day being far spent, Bentivolio took his leave of them, and accompanied Urania and Panaretus unto the House of the most courteous Philoxenus.

THE FOURTH BOOK, OR THEOPREPIA.

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AS a Travailer, after he hath sojourned a good while in a forreign Country, doth naturally desire to return to his Native soile; and when he finds parts abroad far inferior to the reports which made him travaile, the Aire being unhealthful, or the Manners of the people unsuitable to his Disposition, and that the diversions of the place do make no considerable Compensation for his patience, he grows weary of his stay, heightens the value of his Home by every inconvenience of his absence, and quickens his desires of departure proportionably: So it was with Bentivolio and his Companions; for though they never esteem'd the Countries through which they pass'd as good as Theoprepia, yet they had now found them so much worse then their Expectation, that their longer continuance in them grew tedious, and they fancied nothing but a safe return as the Price and Consolation of their wearisome Pilgrimage.

Philoxenus and Ontagathus had so ordered their affaires, that they were ready to go along with them; of which their guests were not a little glad, for they had found such Truth of Love and Reality of Goodnesse in them both, that they thought it impossible to have better Company.

Ontagathus was their Guide through that part of Vanasembla [Page] where they were to go; for he knew the Country, and conducted them by a direct Path, which leaving the muddy Lake call'd Borborus upon one hand, and the high Rocks of Hypsocardes upon the other, leads straite forward into Theoprepia. After they had travail'd some houres with such a pace as is proper for a Journey, they came to the Top of a rising ground, from whence they had a fair Prospect into a pleasant Dale call'd The Valley of Agon; and there they were accosted with such a sight as struck them with great admiration. It was an encounter between a sprightly youth call'd Nicomachus, and one Peirastes, whose lookes were more courteous then his intentions, as appear'd by the effects of his converse.

Nicomachus had design'd a journey into Theoprepia the Higher, where the beautiful Arete dwelt, upon whom he had bestow'd his affections so entirely, that it was truly reported of him that he loved nothing but her. Peirastes having understood his purpose, resolv'd to do his utmost to hinder the execution of it. He had three Kinswomen, which though they were so inferior to the Incomparable Arete, that all their Beauties put together would not make so much as a fit resemblance of her Excellencies, yet he would needs think them all worthy of Nicomachus his affections: and he was so indifferent in his desires as to any one of the Three, that he had commanded them all to do their best to procure his Love, imagining to himself abundance of Pleasure if any of them could prevaile. Their Names were Narke, Nynhapanta and Orexis. Peirastes was more willing to hinder this Journey, because he was affraid that if Nicomachus had once seen Theoprepia, he should never be able to perswade him back to Vanasembla. He endeavour'd to deter him from his undertaking by many misrepresentations of the Country, which he made the most unlovely part of the world: and finding that course unsuccessful, (for Nicomachus was not foolishly credulous,) and knowing that he could not force him to go back with him by a compulsive power, (for Nicomachus was so strong, that none might constrain him to any thing against his will,) therefore he procured these three Girles to assist him with their devices. They had provided themselves with many Charms, and were willing to do any [Page] thing for Peirastes, both because their hopes did much depend upon him, and because he gave them good rewards for their service; and he was as willing to imploy them, because they had often serv'd him with good successe: and indeed they were so skilful in their Art, that if the person whom they assaulted did not very well know his way, and had not set a firm resolution to keep it, they would inveigle him back again. They gave such proof of their power upon Nicomachus, which show'd they were no Punies; though being overmatch'd with an unequal Combatant, it prov'd ineffectual. If one have a watchful Mind, a true Faith and an upright Heart, free from Hypocrisie, they can do nothing.

Narke had a box of Sweet Powder, which being cast into the aire produc'd such an intoxicating perfume, that such as took in the sent thereof were apt presently to fall asleep. There is no Antidote against it but an excellent fort of sneezing-powder call'd Melita, which doth utterly frustrate its force. She had also divers Gall-traps in her hand, which she us'd to throw in narrow passages of the way. They were Balls set round with such sharp pricks, that those which were destitute of just preparations for their journey, and were not guarded with a resolv'd Patience, were not able to go over them. She did use also to meet passengers upon the Rode, and tell them strange stories of Lions and Bears, which she affirm'd to be in the way, and of desperate Hills which could not be climb'd without peril of breaking ones neck, and of impassable Boggs in several places which seem'd to be firm ground; by which means she did often so enfeeble the minds of simple people, that they would return with her, who made them a prey to Peirastes, in whose Castle they were kept prisoners. For her fair pretences were so inwardly malicious, that though she could conquer none but such as foolishly yielded themselves up to her allurements, she alwaies undid the self-taken Captives.

When she perceiv'd that these and such like Charms would not prevaile upon Nicomachus, who had arm'd himself for greater Assaults, she call'd to her Companion Nynhapanta for assistance; who came forth with a splendid Coronet upon her [Page] head, a golden Hook in her Hand, and a basket of Atalanta's Apples upon her arme, and attempted Nicomachus with much entreaty to accept of a Civility which many that pass'd that way did not refuse, which was only to divert himself a while at her house, which was in sight upon the Edge of a Hill joyning to the Valley of Agon. Nicomachus with many thanks wav'd her offer, alleging that he had not travail'd so far as to need a Bait, and that he had so far to go, that he could not stay to accept of it; and therefore desired her that in stead of offering a Courtesie she would not do him a Hindrance. Alas, Sir, quoth she, you need not make such haste: peradventure the place whither you are going will not give you such welcome as I shall. It is not fit, replyed Nicomachus, to undervalue the favour which I cannot accept, by comparing it with others: The Country whither I am going shall content me with the meanest welcome: If I can but arrive safe to it, I seek no more. It seems then you have heard great matters concerning it, quoth Nynhapanta. I have, said Nicomachus. To which Nynhapanta answer'd, I see a small evidence of Truth will content a man of an easie Faith. Reports concerning that Theoprepia are so different, and the Excellencies of it are so weakly assured by any that I have heard talk of it, that for my own part I wonder any wise man should ever move a step out of this pleasant place upon such uncertain informations. I perceive you are a pretender to Vertue, and a rival Lover of the Lady Arete, which makes you so squeamish to receive the entertainments which I offer; and according to the guise of your partners, you think your selves oblig'd for her sake to abandon this present world, and then presume that you have done such a great matter, that you shall not fail to be rewarded for it in Theoprepia.

Some of your Faction are so high-minded, that they applaud their Felicity in the Love of Arete with arrogant words, and dote so much upon her Person, that they will make lavish protestations that they care for no Portion. This they may the better say, because she hath but little. But if she were accompanyed with a great Dowry, they pretend it would not make her more lovely to them; and therefore slighting such common [Page] Motives, as they call them, they avow that he is no true lover of Arete who needs such poor Incentives of his affection, and that Love which doth desire any Addition with her is not so generous as to become her Suitors. For my own part I wonder at their stupidity, that they should talk of not loving that which makes their Mistresse more desirable, and that they should not understand the folly of their affectionate Temper: for though, like fire, it may shine bright for a while, yet it must needs go out, since they reject the fewel which should supply it with new Vigour. But others which have seen this youthful heat evaporate, being made more wary by their Experience, say, that though Arete's person is as amiable as any Creature can be, yet she was never so despis'd by her father as to be denied a Portion, and that it is such as only Arete is worthy of it. But when those which do not understand that she hath any at alldemand what it is, they say it is most in Reversion: and when they are ask'd where it lies, they reply, in Theoprepia; not in this world, though that is all they ever saw, but in another, of which they give such an imperfect account, that I think this sort of Wooers is almost as silly as those which would make us believe that they love Arete without a Portion, since they know not what it is, nor understand that she hath any at all, but by hear-say.

As she was going to say more, Anger begun to sparkle in the eyes of the good Nicomachus, hearing Theoprepia blasphem'd and the Noble Arete dishonourably represented; and he stop'd her with this smart Reply. Hold thy tongue, prophane Nymph: thou hast said nothing but what I can disprove, neither hast thou offer'd any thing but what I know to be a Vanity. I have had experience of the falshood of all Sensible things: they make a great Show indeed, and promise largely; but they have still made such untrue performances, that I will never trust them any more. And though you censure it as an Absurdity in those that pretend to love Arete for her person, and think you have found a grosse Solecisme in their Affections; alas! you do but shew your own Ignorance: For, is not Beauty lovely in it self? Are not all fair things, by the nature of their Being, amiable? You may as well use other words, and say that Loveliness [Page] is not amiable. That Vertue which you disparage is the Beauty of the Soul, and hath an Essential Pulchritude in its Constitution, without any reference to any thing but it self; as the natural unloveliness of Bodily deformity is acknowledged not to depend upon external appurtenances. But you would teach Nature some new Lessons, and have it work upon new Principles, and make us believe that a Person of incomparable Beauty doth not rationally move any affection in the beholders, till they have enquir'd whether her Handsomeness be accompanied with an equal Fortune. Away with your grosse Ignorance. If one haply fall into the converses of a Wise and Vertuous man, who concealing his name, doth by prudent Discourses and good Actions shew the Excellency of his Accomplishments; you would not have us set any value upon his worth in this simple Consideration, till we be assured that he is one of the richest men in the Country where he dwells. I wonder you had not made some scruple also about the Parentage of the Divine Arete. But as it is a known Truth that she is nobly descended; so if it were doubted, the unparallel'd graces which shine in her Composition would give a clear Evidence of her Original. She is of such an Excellent Understanding, noble Disposition, and alwaies conversant in such honourable Actions, that she is admired by all but such as never knew her. But because she should not be disesteem'd in the world for want of such an Appendage as a Portion, her Father hath endow'd her above any other of his Children: for they have but an Annuity out of his Estate for life, or some small Pension determinable upon the expiration of a few yeares; but her's is an Immortal Inheritance, exceeding the rest both in Value and Duration; which he bestow'd so liberally upon her, because he perceiv'd she was most worthy of it, and would improve it to the best uses. This estate you depress under the disgraceful term of an uncertain Reversion, not knowing that her great Fortunes are proportion'd to the vast measures of her Fathers riches, and the extent of his singular Affection towards her.

The Uncertainty which you objected, I suppose you refer either to the Value of her Estate, or the truth of her [Page] Title. As to the Title, he which never did nor ever could deceive, promised it to her by word of mouth, and before he died set it down in his Will, which he seal'd before many honourable Witnesses with his own Bloud. As concerning the Value of the Estate, he declar'd thus much to her, that it was so great, that if it should be reported to her, she had not a sufficient understanding til she should come to her ful age to comprehend it. Which Infiniteness of Worth not drawn into a particular relation must needs transcend any little inheritance circumscrib'd with narrow instances, and bounded with the small dimensions of our short apprehensions. It is fit it should be Eternal, because Arete is Immortal. What should one that is made to live for ever do with a perishable Estate? She hath enough in present possession to keep her whilst she is in her Non-age, sutably to her Birth and Quality: for her allowance is so vast that no Prince's upon Earth equals it. How shall I reckon the particulars that constitute her present Felicity? Peace of Soul, Harmony with Nature, Improvement of Mind, Beautiful Health, true Honour, solid Joyes, Freedom from Error, Converse with her Father in the other world by Letters, frequent Tokens sent by Angelical Messengers, Liberty of Spirit, Contempt of Mortality, and such like.

Though her Father would not give a perfect Inventory of her Future Estate, there was great reason for that, though you do not understand it; for by this means he hath prudently consulted for his Daughters Honour. If he had fully reveal'd the riches of her Fortune, every base-spirited person would have made love to her, and she should have wanted a Tryal of her Suitors Ingenuity. Such would then have pretended that they could love none but her, who now can love any that hath wealth and worldly Quality: nay peradventure some would have courted her that are so cheaply constituted, that they would think themselves highly honored by a smile from thee, Nynhapanta, who hast nothing but an Estate for life, and that of so small value, that I think a man of a very ordinary Judgment may easily find reasons enow to despise it. It was fit that such as wooe Arete should bring noble Affections, and those they do something discover by making love to a Virgin of a [Page] conceal'd Dowry: which was never hid to cheat any true Lover, but to keep off false Dissemblers. He who shall be so happy as to enjoy her, will find himself so well contented with the Experiment of what was promised, that the Expectation of her future Revenues will not be troublesome; and it will please him also to see himself made more acceptable to Arete and her Father by the proof which they have receiv'd of his ingenuous Affections.

Upon this Reply Nynhapanta blush'd and retired; and Peirastes, in a great fear lest his project should utterly faile, came forth of a Thicket of Myrtles, where he lay in Ambush to see how things would go, and if need were, to succor the weakness of his Complices. He accosted Nicomachus with a Speech fram'd to express a mixture of Love and Anger: he began thus; In sooth, Young man, your presence would make one think you more civil then your actions do allow you to be. You seem to be careful of Vertue, and yet you understand the nature of it so little, that you make no scruple of doing Wrong. Though you would make us believe that you are one of the Sons of Wisdom, yet I see you have need still to unlearn your Folly. You abandon your own Good, and cannot but be unreasonable in what you design, since you have not the use of that most famous Principle of Nature, Self-love. What Right will you perform to others, who have no Charity for your self? You pretend that you ought to love those which hate you, and yet hate those that love you. But though you take a pride in loving your Enemies, and count it the Top of your Perfections, yet what need you multiply your Enemies by expressing Incivility? You have enough already: or since you boast of loving those which do not love you, do you make that a dispensation for your slighting of those that do? What? have you abandon'd your faithful servant Orexis? She was, as you know, committed to your care by her Parents, who believing the truth of that great respect which you often express'd for her, durst have trusted her very life in the pleasure of your Will. You said she should be as dear to you as you are to your self. You did sometimes manifest a great regard of your promise, and seem'd to employ much care for her Wellfare: [Page] and because her Estate was often troubled with litigious Controversies, when any of her concernments were under question, you would get leave to be Arbitrator of the difference, by promises of an impartial sentence; but for the most part give the Verdict for her, whatever Reason said to the contrary. What hath chang'd your mind? Hath she offended you? or is the Offence so great that it may not be pardon'd? If you would not forgive it, could you not have order'd a more moderate punishment then to banish her from your company? which you must needs acknowledg to be Cruelty, since you know that she will die if she be cast out of your Favour. I met her the other day in a most miserable plight, and she did not stick to complain of you; which she would not have done, but that you had pitifully neglected her, and that she hath no hope of redress but from the same hand that inflicted the harm. See what an unjust love you bestow upon that Arete, which makes you thus unmerciful to every body else!

By that time he had said this, Orexis, who understood her time, appear'd, but to the great grief of Nicomachus; for Peirastes his talk and the presence of Orexis did work upon him so powerfully, as if they had been within his heart, and turn'd his affections about with as much ease, as if they had got into their hand that Helm of the Soul by which Nature steers what course she pleases. Having hearken'd a little longer to their discourses, which were made up of intreaties to stay presented by Orexis, and reasons to disswade his going forward urg'd by Peirastes, pull'd by Nynhapanta, clogg'd by Narke, and hindred by them all, he stood afflicted with such contrary motions, as we see express'd upon the balance of a pair of Scales when by a violent blow it is made to waver this way and that. Diversity of cunning Stories began to work upon his Credulity; false representations of things dazell'd his eyes, and intricate questions made him doubt the reasonableness of his Resolutions; plain things involv'd with perplex'd Circumstances enfeebl'd his choice; and in short, he was brought to that passe, that he began to dispute with himself whether he should go forward or backward: and thus he stood a while, taking time [Page] to pause upon his thoughts, but sore distress'd with the difficulties of contrary perswasions.

Peirastes seeing his charms begin to work, thought it great Imprudence to neglect so happy an Opportunity to perfect what he had begun, and said, Nicomachus, you see how you are afflicted with the change of your Affections: what can you expect but a worse conclusion of these disastrous beginnings? Your affection to Arete is too excessive; Vertue consists in the Mean between two Extremes: Your Immoderation is irregular, your Violence unnatural. You blow the coals of your love so fiercely, that though you make the flame more scorching for a while, yet it will make it go sooner out. Love less, and you will love better and longer. You love Arete unvertuously. But it may be you are willing enough to return, but for the shame of Apostasie. That fear is needless: who shall reproach you for coming back, but such as peradventure have not gone so far themselves? Say that Orexis and I compell'd you to return. All men will pardon a Fault which they see to be so natural, that it is in a manner necessary. Prove to all that censure this action, that it was impossible to go forward over so many hindrances as lay in the way; and then they will confess it was no Sin to come back.

Here I must needs take notice of an Accident which was very wonderful. Bentivolio and those which were with him observ'd that all the while Nicomachus kept on his pace towards Theoprepia, he seem'd to be cloath'd with a garment of Light, and his words seem'd to be pointed with sharp rayes, as he spoke to Narke and Nynhapanta in the beginning of the Conflict; but that now one side of him was grown dark, and that he made such a kind of show as the Moon doth when one half is eclips'd. Upon which sight Urania, guessing the true reason of this change, express'd the Compassions which she had for one whose case she judg'd very pitiful, in these words; Yon young man seems to be agitated with the Vicissitudes of Rational and Sensitive Appetites: and I am affraid that the choice of Vertue is dull'd in his Soul by the force of Tentation, and that he inclines too much towards the solicitation of his worse part. God grant that he do not believe the false Tempter, [Page] and that he, which now stands still, do not go back with those Traitors, but return speedily to himself and Theoprepia.

She had scarce finish'd the words of her short Prayer for Nicomachus, which the rest of the Travailers accompanied with their Hearts, but they saw the Light environ him round about again; of which they were very glad, not doubting but God had heard their Prayer, and sav'd the Tempted Passenger. Then he began to talk again, having recover'd his courage, after this manner, (which I will set down; and if I forget some of his words, yet I am sure I do not injure the sense of his Reply.) Peirastes, are you so vex'd with the Imprudence of your Fault and the misery into which your Sin hath thrown you, that you envie all that stand in the Happiness of that Grace which God hath bestow'd upon them? Are you so evil, that you are offended because God is good? Will the multitude of Companions, whom you draw into your Pit, alleviate the Torments which you suffer there? Are you so maliciously devilish as to make sport with the Infelicities of others, which are in a great measure due to your Faults? But though you are so ill-minded, you shall not make a prey of me. Doth not humane nature miscarry too easily of it self through Ignorance or Incogitancy, and doth it not go astray fast enough through false Opinions, unless you hurry it on by your provocations? But how noble you are in your Proffers! Would you consign me for a Companion of that sleepy Hagge, Narke? or since she will not give content, must Nynhapanta be her Second? No, Nynhapanta, I have receiv'd a glass from Theoprepia, by which I can see beyond the presentness of this world. And for this Orexis which you talk of so passionately, did I ever take her otherwise then as she was commended for a faithful servant? or did I deprive her of that Office in my house, till she quarrell'd with the Loves which I had entertain'd for Arete, and declar'd that she highly scorn'd her for a Mistress? It's true, I often took her part, defended her concernments, and made my judgement give way to her Desires; but I will do so no more: a former Mistake is no prescription for future Errours. She hath reveal'd her infidelity by many abuses; and I have no reason to trust one that hath [Page] often deceiv'd me. I endeavour to love my Enemies; but not in such instances as to make me Enemy and Traitor to my self. I could never be quiet for her unreasonable demands: She is not to be satisfied with granting, but denying her immodest cravings. I will never receive her again, but upon her promise to recant her Arrogance, and to submit her self in all duty to Arete, whom upon her knees she shall aske forgiveness before she be pardon'd.

But what do I talk thus long with such as you are? Away Peirastes; do not think that I am ignorant who you are. Retire and hide thy shame in the darknesse of thy Infernal Grott. Crooked Serpent, dost thou think by subtile arguments to wind me out of my way to Blessednesse? Thy Perswasions are not forcible: Thy Fraud is very easily discovered. Dost thou teach me the way to hate by remitting my present affection? and endeavorest to put me into a suspicion of loving one too much whom I am sure that I can never love enough? I need not fear excesse in Affection, when the Object makes it impossible; except I chuse false instances, or use due expressions indiscreetly: for then I shall love my Happiness with all my Heart, but not with all my Mind; and so in stead of the whole, by dividing my self fondly I shall give but half, and so offer to the God of Love an Unreasonable Sacrifice. But I must be moderate in my Affections, lest I exceed (forsooth) that Mediocrity in which the nature of Vertue is founded. You are very Philosophical, Peirastes; and I grant that Vertue is sometimes beset with enemies on both sides, and that it is a fault if the Soul restrain not the ardencies of affection, because many times the Object upon which they are bestow'd is not worthy of them. But it is a false Rule, if it be universally applied; for it holds not in respect of God, who is the Principal Object of Love: and how much he abhors a Luke-warme Temper you have heard before now. It is Vertue it self to exalt our love to the highest degree when God is Object; and it is most prudent to affect him with excesse of passion, because that Intension is but proportionable to his unmeasurable Goodness. Shall I think those contracted affections worthy of my Best Good, which I may bestow lawfully [Page] upon every token that I receive from him? Are some lame Velleities a vertuous pursuit of the Chief Good? or is it enough to have begun to love him whom we are to love eternally? wil the treading a few steps countervail for perseverance in our journey to our last and best Home? Thou wouldst have me so sottish as to think I had finish'd my journey, because I have gone part of my way. What else can it mean that I should seek comfort in a vain return, because I have gone farther then others? Should I remit my affection, that I might take breath and deliberate foolishly about so great a necessity as my Salvation, which is the Best Good of which I am capable? As wisely might one ask advice whether it be Prudence to endeavour to be Happy. And since the Goodness of my Creator hath made Felicity attainable, shall I bestow no other exercise of my Will upon it, then upon some Good which is impossible? For that also I may desire with the imperfect action of a weak Velleity. No, Peirastes, Theoprepia is my Happiness; and since it is design'd for me, I will not rest till I come to it.

Since thou didst talk something to little purpose concerning the shame of returning, I will take a slight notice of those words. What? dost thou conceive that I would most willingly be miserable, but for the disgrace of Apostasie? and wouldst thou have me take off that, by pleading the Compulsion of external Force? No, Peirastes, that will not do it. Why shouldst thou endeavour to make me give credit to that which thou dost not believe thy self? I am of that Constitution which my Maker hath plac'd above the jurisdiction of Compulsion, and thou dost know it: I desire not to be miserable, though my unhappiness should not be joyn'd with my fault; but since I am free from Constraint, I cannot be undone but by my own Will. Shall I call that by the false name of Compulsion, when I consent to the design, and make my bodily powers contribute to its execution? My action in the Return would not be involuntary, unless thou didst carry me away upon thy back; nor then neither, if I were willing to be so carryed.

The Difficulties of Tentation, which thou didst also mention, leaving no stone unturn'd where thou hast any hope to [Page] find a means of my harm, are of no such efficacy with me; for though they grow much stronger by their Sympathies with my Fleshly Appetite, yet they are not of that force either to excuse Vice or make Vertue unattainable, but are appointed for another more excellent End. What? doth Tentation take a man from himself? Or doth that which heightens the price of Vertue, and assures and encreaseth the Reward, disannul our Duty? What is Vertue good for but to raise our lower inclinations, and to overcome the evil spirit which domineers over this wicked world? What serves our Understanding for but to discover the fallacy of worse satisfactions, and to make them uneligible, when by comparing them with others it doth show that they are manifestly prejudicial? Is not our Will a [...] given us to preponderate our powers to such actions as Reason pronounceth good? And though some slight inconvenience may accompany the Good which Reason propounds, and some Benefit may be joyn'd with the Ill which the Appetite desires; yet is not the less ill of the two a great good in respect of the other? and shall I not form my choice accordingly? I know it is natural to gratifie the Body, for which thou hast made so many Orations; and I do it when its [...] are reasonable, and when I do not see great reason for the contrary: but it must never be done to the prejudice of the Soul. Whose Will shall be perform'd? that of the Master or the Servant? Why dost thou, by the help of Orexis, endeavour to impresse upon my Mind such a fair representation of fleshly Objects, and to obscure the beautiful Image of Vertue? My fix'd Will shall pursue its love, and excite my Mind to reassume the Contemplation of true Goodness; and to further my better sort of affection with a clearer sight of that which I cannot forget and be happy. I do not only foresee the Excellent End of my designed journey, which moves my Will to undertake it; but I perceive also the meliority of my choice above all thy Contra-proposals: and I will use the same Understanding to direct me how I may obtain my End, by which I am convinc'd it is necessary that I should persevere in the use of Means.

By this which I have said thou seest of what inconsiderable [Page] opposition those rubs are which thou hast put in my way to make the paths of Vertue unpassable, and Return to Vice excusable. No, they make the choice of our Duty more commendable, Obedience more noble, and the Reward proportionable. All Excellent things have difficulty annexed to them. It's a sign of Strength, when a man is not overcome by such things as of their own Nature are apt to vanquish our resistances. Do not think by the difficulty of some Means to make me slight that which could never be easily attain'd. The Excellency of that End which I have propounded to my self is so transcendent, that it sweetens the most harsh Means, and makes any thing that doth further my design acceptable. I am not one of those [...] Cowards, who when they are tempted think they are plac'd between a bare necessity of doing well and unconquerable allurements to do ill, and then cry out feebly, If [...] be sweet, and not to [...] necessary, why is Nature so imperfect as to disobey the Law, or the Law so severe as to hurt Nature? Away with this witty [...]. Shall a man esteem his Duty impossible, because it is easie to sin? Or can any think themselves good, whilst Vertue is unpleasant? He is never necessitated to sin who is alwaies assisted by a Divine Spirit; and a good mans temper is so form'd, that nothing is so sweet as Obedience, to which Tryal is no Contradiction, but Evidence. The fire refines true Gold; but the metal which is discovered to be Brasse by the Furnace, was so before. It may be such counterfeit reasons as you have alleged will passe currently with such as are deprav'd with habitual Sin, and have enslav'd themselves to irregular Passions; but to rectified Souls, which have alwaies the most serene apprehension, it is in vain to offer Appearances for Truth: For they will examine whether that which is call'd Good be True; and will try whether that which is commended for the Best, be so indeed; and will not judge of things as they are represented by the false light which Passion holds, or as they are coloured by Tentation. Be gone Juggler, or else I will break all your false glasses: you shall not inslave the Liberty of my Will to brutish Appetite: I will not for the vain jollity of soon-fading Pleasures, lose the sprightly Temper of a Holy Soul, nor be depriv'd of [Page] the true Joy of one that hath refus'd to sin when it was pleasant.

When Nicomachus had done speaking, Peirastes vanish'd, Nynhapanta turn'd away with great indignation, Narke fell down in a swoon: and as Nicomachus went away, Orexis follow'd him at some small distance with a dejected countenance, intending, as she afterward declared, to submit her self to the Lady Arete.

Bentivolio and his fellow-travailers having patiently awaited the conclusion of the Combate, and much rejoycing at so happy an issue of a doubtful Tryal, made haste after Nicomachus; and when they had overtaken him, congratulated the happy Victory which he had lately obtain'd; which they did the more passionately, because they had been spectators of the Fight. He return'd thanks to them after such a manner as show'd that his Triumph was only in God, to whose Grace he ascribed his Conquest. They understanding his purpose for Theoprepia, gladly encreas'd their number with one more, whom they had good reason to admit for a fellow-Travailer. In a few houres they pass'd the Valley of [...], and enter'd into the borders of Theoprepia.

When they had gone but a little way into the Country, they perceiv'd such a change of the Soile and Aire, that they seem'd to be come into another world. Though the ground was not high (for that part of the Country was call'd The humble Valley of Tapinophrosyne) yet it was not clouded with such thick Foggs as infested Pammelaena, and made it both dark and unhealthful. It was blest with a serene Aire, ever free from Storms; neither was it troubled with the stifling heates of Agazelus, but was sweetned with fresh Breezes which came from those healthful Hils which lay round about it. Though it was low, it was firm, and had no Boggs. The Earth was wonderful fertile, being watered with many streams which descended from a great common Spring, which by and by I shall have occasion to describe. As they sate upon the green banks of a little Rivolet, and had refresh'd themselves with crystal liquor, Nicomachus, having first demanded leave, express'd the joy of his late successe in a short Song, whilst the silver Brook did courteously [Page] accompany his voice with a purling noise, and supplied the want of a Through-Base with a kind of Hydraula.

I think it will not be amisse to give a Character of the Inhabitants of Tapinophrosyne; for by that the Reader will see that Pride is not in that esteem every where which it hath unjustly gotten among us.

These people were of a Modest Temper and discreet Carriage; they had a sedate Calmnesse in their Spirits, and a solid Joy painted it self with true colours in the lively chearfulness of their faces. They were so courteous to all, that one would think it to have been a Law of their Country to prefer all others to themselves; for when others were such as they could not give them Preeminence in the estimations of severe Judgment, yet they would do it in Expresses of Affection and all offices of Love. The greatest amongst them were the most civil, not in word, but in deed; for it was a receiv'd Opinion with them, that The more any Person is rais'd above others, the more he ought to stoop to do them good. They would perform the meanest services for one another without grudging, nay, with that prompt affection, that one would have thought that of a Servant a chief Office among them. Though they do much undervalue such Complements and respects as are made up only of words, yet they express their heartiness with all civility of language and proportionable deportment. When they were demanded any thing concerning their Country, they gave such answers as sufficiently prov'd that they did not overvalue themselves; and when others prais'd them for any thing, they would blush and utterly refuse to speak any more of that matter, and say that they could not receive that as their due which others gave them in courtesie. They never vainly boast of their Excellencies, or make a show of them, as if they were going to sell them, as some [...] spirits do. As it is criminal with them in the highest degree, to pretend to what they have not; so it is next to that, to praise themselves for what they have. They wonder at the folly of those who please themselves with those childish plumes and straw-hats with which ordinary Pride doth adorn it self; because the instances have no worth in them: and they do also condemn the Pride [Page] of those that are endow'd with truly-noble Gifts, because Humility is a part of that Thank fulness which we owe for what we have receiv'd. They admire the [...] of the Stoicks, who give no thanks but to themselves for their [...], and ascribe their Felicity to themselves alone. They [...], that since God hath made things worthy to be chosen, though a man doth freely select them from others which are not so good; that a creature hath nothing to pride it self in for that, but that God is more adorable, who could make such an Excellent Creature: and since that acts not neither according to its nature but as it is under the assistance of his almighty [...], the mistaken reason of others Arrogance becomes to them a rare instrument of Humility. Though they persorm [...] things that are worthy in themselves, and make for the [...] of him that deserves all praise; they make no [...] at it, then that the Streams do run into the Sea from [...] they came. They count it but Justice to serve him who [...] them something by his meer pleasure. And when they have further'd any of his designs, they are glad, because they could have done nothing so good; but they count it Poverty of Soul to expect thanks of him, to whom we owe more then we can perform. This Temper makes them resent their own Worth no more then if they had none; and they [...] it so much the greater a favour from God and worth in them, if, when they have done well, they attribute nothing to themselves.

Their external Garb was significative of an inward [...]: neither men, no nor women nor young men dress'd themselves as if they desired to be valued for their apparel; for they cloth'd an inward worth with true Humility.

If any of them spied a Fault in another, he would be [...] to cover it till he could show it to him [...] private, and then [...] would do it with so much sweetness, that the [...] could scarce tell whether he was reproved or courted, and would receive the reproof with the same spirit of content, with which those that cannot endure to hear of their Errors receive Flatteries.

In all these practises they keep such an exact [...] to [...] [Page] their Rules, that they carefully shun a base pusillanimity and all sor did submissions of themselves. Their chief Enemy is one Philautus, who dwells not far off from them in a high rock in the Hills of Hypsocardes, and he steals down sometimes unawares: his design is to take prisoners and carry them to his Den, of which he will tell strange Stories, and magnifie his lofty Cell in which he overlooks their dirty Hutts, as he disdainfully calls their lower houses, and will make many praises of himself which are most of them Lies. If he prevaile upon any of them, he commonly throws them over some precipice; but when they reject his perswasions, and leave him to himself, he goes back afflicted with the greatest shame imaginable.

These courteous people conducted the Travailers to the House of their chief Governour, whom they call'd Gnothisauton: His seat and garb was such as became the Prince of Humility.

He was at that time discoursing with two Young men, who travailing towards Theoprepia, had lost their way; one of them aiming at the higher part of the Country, had made more haste then good speed, and the other neglecting his directions miscarried fouly. Both of them having wandred a good while, for fear of perpetual erring, were come to be better inform'd by Gnothisauton.

One was call'd Megalophron, who, as he came from Vanasembla, finding the way dirty which led towards Borborus, inclin'd so much to the other hand that he went up to the Top of Hypsocardes, never making question but that the noble Theoprepia lay beyond the rais'd Height of those lofty Hills: and as he follow'd the several turnings which winded about divers wayes upon the Mountains, he was so bewildred at last, that he knew not where he was, till he was come back to that part of Polyglotta which is call'd Kenapistis; where being much amaz'd at his mistake, (for he had such great thoughts of himself, that he presum'd he could never have erred,) he took the wisest course to recover his loss, which was to mend his pace back again; and observing well where he lost his way, he took better heed to escape a second error, and so by [Page] good hap, though he was well tired, he came to Gnothisauton. He could not but smile to see what a wild maze the young man had trod; and after a short pause, he ask'd him what thoughts possess'd his mind upon the Tops of Hypsocardes. O, quoth Megalophron, I look'd down from that height with great scorn upon all the world, and did easily imagin that it was made for me: I thought that all men which I savv vvere but as Grash oppers in respect of my Greatness, and I believed it vvas not amiss if they did adore it: I imagin'd my self far above the lovver sort of Stars, and kick'd the Clouds out of my vvay. But I confess as I vvander'd here and there, I vvas almost stifled vvith the rank sent of a venemous Herb call'd Authades, and I had like to have broke my neck divers times over abrupt precipices.

Gnothisauton desired him to say no more, for by that vvhich he had declar'd, he knevv vvell enough vvhat had seduc'd him; and taking him into an inner room, he set before him a large Glasse, vvhich shovv'd him the intire proportion of his Body from head to foot, vvith a most true representation of each part. Upon vvhich Megalophron fell a vveeping. What aile you? quoth Gnothisauton. Alas! quoth Megalophron, enough to make me vveep, I see the face of my Nativity. I thought so, said Gnothisauton, my Glasse doth present such as look upon it vvith such a reflexion of their natural Image as vvill take dovvn a higher Crest then yours. Have you seen your self indeed, and begin to knovv the frame of your constitution? Do you perceive that the Beauty vvhich you so extremely admired vvas a borrovved thing? that you ovve to another for your Being, and depend upon his pleasure vvhether you shall be any thing or no the next moment? Do you mind that you vvere not the other day, and that you did lurk in the beggarly shades of Nothing amongst the rest of increated things, vvhich durst not shovv their heads by reason of poverty and vvant of Being? You vvill not boast, if you believe that you receive what you are from the great Father of all things; nor aspire to such heights of Self-conceit, if you reflect upon the lowness of your Original. You know now by your own Experience, Megalophron, that such as mount Hypsocardes with an arrogant [Page] Spirit, do but climb downward; and when they think that they have made a fair progress in Excellency, my Glasse will convince them that they have only encreasd their Imperfections.

But did you see nothing else in my Glass? quoth Gnothisauton. Yes that I did, said Megalophron, and much more then I desired. I saw my life pictur'd, and all the most remarkable passages of it so accurately pourtray'd, that the imperfections of all my actions seem'd to stare in my face. I thought as much, quoth Gnothisauton; for this Glass doth not only serve the Eye, but the Memory: such things as proud men, who will know nothing but good of themselves, cast into the pit of Oblivion, it awakens their memories and recals, and makes them take more notice of their unworthy acts then when they first committed them. You see now that what you foolishly boasted of is not your own, and what you are forc'd to own against your will proves your shame. And it is good reason that you should blush in both respects, Megalophron; for you arrogated to your self what was anothers, and would neither see your own faults, nor the Wrong which you offer'd to him who endowed you, by employing his Gifts contrary to his will. But since you are return'd to ingenuity, you are welcome to me, I will put you in your way again, and give you such directions as shall serve you throughout your whole journey. I am not sorry for your tears, since such clouds do often rise from the Salt sea which afterward fall down in sweet showers. An excellent wariness may grow from this Error, and true Prudence be more diligently [...] by you from the dissatisfaction which you have experimented in this mistake.

As Gnothisauton was about to perfect his advises, he was forc'd to break off his talk in meer pity to Borborites, for that was the other wanderers name; and seeing him dropping wet with water and mud, he ask'd him how he came in that sad case. I was travailing, quoth Borborites, towards Theoprepia, and kept my way till I met a Serpent, call'd Hyla, in the Road; and I was so taken with the beauty of her Skin, the comeliness of her Shape, and those various forms into which [Page] she would wind her self, that I went very near unto her; though I had good reason to have taken better heed, since I saw that she did eate dust, and went upon her belly. She taking the advantage of my heedlesness, twin'd her self about one of my leggs, and then hiss'd and pointed with her head which way she would have me go, and for my life, I thought, I could go no other. In a while I was come to the borders of the muddy Lake; and though I saw my danger, I could not but step into the edges of it. But when I found my self ready to sink into the foul mire, I began to think that it was very probable, if I should go a little further, I should never come back; and thereupon I resolv'd to return: but finding my self disabled so long as the Serpent inclasp'd my leg, I laid hold of my sword; and the wily Snake suspecting to what end I would draw it, [...] her self, and crept away with as much haste as I could desire. I rejoyc'd at the flight of my enemy, but pursued her no further, not knowing but the false guide might yet serve me some treacherous trick, and repeated my way back with a speedy pace; which having continued some houres, I arrived here, though in such an unhandsome manner, that I am heartily asham'd of my self.

Young man, quoth Gnothisauton, who had well minded his discourse, I would I had been acquainted with you sooner, for I perceive you have been a great Stranger to your self; I would have endeavour'd to have made you better known to one who is most concern'd not to be ignorant of you. It is no wonder that you were seduc'd by Hyla, and that you are so besmear'd with noisome filth. It hath been your opinion a good while, that a man is only a living thing made of Bloud and Earth kned together; you minded not that the Soul is not only capable of higher things then this world affords, but is utterly unsatisfied with the most honest of fleshly delights, and therefore must needs be afflicted with those impure entertainments in which you had like to have immers'd your self: and but that your Soul was confin'd by its Maker to a longer abode in that house of clay which you have made so loathsome, to attend and further your emendation, it would have left that flesh, which you so unworthily indulg'd, buried in [Page] the depths of Borborus. There is a Poole in my Garden, where I advise you to wash your self; for your Pollutions are so offensive, that till then I cannot endure to converse with you. The name of the Poole was Metanoea, which, as they said, was fill'd with the teares of Penitents and Lovers. One call'd [...] having suffer'd shipwrack upon the sands of Microcheires, with the help of a broken board getting ashore upon the South-West Coast of Theoprepia, happen'd to come to Gnothisauton's house, and hung a Votive Picture, containing the Description of his Danger and Deliverance, over the door of this Poole; and seeing in the wall hard by it a fair Table made of two smooth Stones joyn'd together in a handsome square, he engrav'd upon them a Copy of Verses, vvhich express'd the thoughts vvhich he had upon his plank: one of the Stones being brittle, the weather had worn away a part of them. I cannot tell where to procure the entire Copy; however since they are not impertinent to my story, I will transcribe those few that are left. They begin abruptly, thus;

And been undone had I not been undone.

This Storm hath calm'd my Mind, and fond Desire

Doth with its Fewell in these Waves expire.

Those Stones which I so priz'd had I brought home,

Could only build my Prison or my Tomb.

Thus whilst my Soul endanger'd with my Bark

Began to sink, my Shipwrack prov'd an Ark.

So Vertue takes a Benefit from Shame,

And makes bad Blots to serve an After-game.

So Broken Bones grow firmer when they'r set.

What we have paid for, we shall scarce forget.

Our Wisdom's made of Second-thoughts. To stray

Once, makes us for the future mind our way.

When stubborn Soules, softned with grief, are bow'd

To God, the Rainbow's painted on a cloud;

[Page] And when by Love it melis in showres of Teares,

VVhere Sin first enter'd, Sorrow first appeares.

When those which bath'd themselves in this place came forth of the water, one Ametameletus, who look'd to the Bath, would whisper such words in their care, that they never desir'd to return again to Borborus. Though they wept bitterly, it mov'd not him, for he would tell them, that it was but just that they did lament the madness of their wicked life; and he would alwaies say, that those tears should do them no good, if they repeated their sins. With some such language Borborites being dismiss'd came into the house: whereupon [...] bad him and Megalophron to take the nearest way to Sophrosyne, in which place they were to stay some time, from whence they would receive further directions. As they were ready to take their leave, he counsell'd them as they pass'd through the Vale of Humility, where now they were, to observe the manners of the people, that they might be able to expresse them in some competent resemblances, assuring them that except they did, they would not be admitted in Sophrosyne or any other part of Theoprepia.

As Gnothisauton had finish'd his discourse, Bentivolio and his friends came in. He quickly perceiving that they were persons of another sort then his former guests, (for Gnothisauton had a rare apprehension) gave them entertainment accordingly. He bad them welcome into Tapinophrosyne, and congratulated the happy success of Nicomachus, of which they gave him notice. Bentivolio perceiving by all his discourses that he was endued with singular Wisdome, ask'd him many questions; and amongst others, he demanded of him the reason why he had chosen that low Valley for his habitation. I shall soon tell you that, quoth Gnothisauton: for though it is low, it is both healthful and fruitful, and is plac'd at the bottom of one of the Highest Hills in all Theoprepia, call'd Theorus, whose top is blessed with the holy fountain Agathorryton, vvhich vvaters all Theoprepia, and it is very bountiful to us, for you could not but often crosse those many streams which run thoughout our Valley, [Page] and to these we owe our fertility. That Spring sends forth two Streams, which are call'd Taano and Takato: the qualities of one are something different from the other; for Takato is lushious and more thick, Taano is clear and Crystalline, and besides the incomparable tast, which makes those which drink of it to confess that they never tasted the like in any other part of the world, it hath a rare virtue for clearing and strengthning the eye-sight, and is us'd with good success as a generall medicine for most infirmities. The Theoprepians, who have an exact palate, do perceive a more earthly Rellish in that of Takato, and say that sometimes it tasts as if it came through minerals of Silver, Brasse and Iron. It is so necessary to make the ground fruitful, that the Theoprepians could not well be without the use of it; but they only drink and bath themselves in the streams of Taano.

From the top of this Mountain you may discern the whole Compass of Theoprepia, which is laid about the Hill in such a posture of Situation, that it doth manifest a necessity of its beholdingness to the Spring Agathorryton. You will wonder perhaps that the Countries are laid so together, that they seem to be checquer'd one within another. But this conjunction is a Type of their more strict union in Heart; for they have no Monopolies of Love, or such particular Privileges, but that all have a common interest in them.

Whilst you stand upon the Hill and look Eastward, you will descry straight before you a smal Lordship which belongs to Eupistis. Upon the right hand joyning to that is the flourishing Eusebia, and beyond that Eastward the lovely Philadelphia. In the Confines of each where these three meet, stands the well-govern'd City Phronesia, whose present Governesse is a wise Lady call'd by the same name. Her Husbands name was Phronimus: He left a Son call'd Theosebes, whom the Eusebians honour exceedingly; and they have good cause so to do, as you will see when you come thither. He had a Daughter also call'd Agape, famous for her Charity, and very much lov'd by the Philadelpbians for the likeness of her Temper. Not far from Phronesia towards the North you will behold the healthful Country of Sophrosyne. It's a middle sort of ground [Page] between high and low, and of no very great Compasse. Throughout the middle of Theoprepia lies a great straight Rode, which is call'd Biocalon, and it leads at the further end into the pleasant Valley of Elpicale; from whence there is a way into the Higher Theoprepia; which doth well deserve to be call'd by that name: for though when you see this Country which I have described, you will judge it to be the highest of all you have known, and so it is; yet it is not comparable to the Upper Theoprepia.

You will wonder, Noble Travailers, that I should comprise the Description of Theoprepia in these few words, which perhaps you have heard represented for so large a Country that it needs many Books to map it out, and sometimes requires divers Volumes to describe a little part of it. But it is a compact Country, and more to be admired for Worth then quantity of ground, and is often misrepresented by such as were never there. As you travaile you will find my words true, and having the Country it self still in your eye, you will need no more directions. God be your good guide.

The Travailers, so courteously dismissed, took their leave gladly; for it was but a small satisfaction to hear of such a Spring as Agathorryton, unless they saw it and tasted of it. They soon climb'd the Hill, though it was high; but when they came at the Top, they receiv'd the reward of their Labour. For though Gnothisauton had bestovved no mean praises upon Agathorryton, yet their Experience proved it to be many times more excellent then his talk; and the vvaters, especially of Taano, are of such a Nature, that some of their qualities are not discernable by Report, nor understandable but by Taste. Having vvell refresh'd themselves by drinking of that most delicious stream, and pleas'd themselves vvith the fair prospect of Theoprepia, they vvent dovvn from Theorus to see each place at a nearer distance, and kept the beaten road vvhich led tovvards Eupistis.

As they travailed, they discover'd a great mistake in the relation vvhich they had heard in Vanasembla concerning the path through vvhich they vvere to go to Eupistis his house: for that disparag'd it as a very perplex'd Roade; but their experience [Page] undeceiv'd them. And vvhereas, it vvas told them that Eupistis lived in an obscure place, very hard to be found out, vvhich much troubled them, because they could not go to Phronesia but by it; they found that discouragement also groundlesse, for it vvas situate upon a conspicuous Hill, and might be seen a great vvay off.

They had not gone very far through the grounds vvhich belong'd to Eupistis, but they met him busied in a very vvorthy Employment. He vvas in the field encouraging his servants, vvhom he engaged to diligent Labour for the good of others; for the proceed of their daily vvork vvas the Relief of his poor Nighbourhood. His Hopes vvere plac'd higher then the possibilities of this present vvorld; and therefore having a competent Provision for himself, his Family and Friends, he vvas so far from endeavouring to undoe others, that he did not care to improve his ovvn Estate.

He had tvvo Sons, Pistalethes and Alethalogus; and they follovving the excellent pattern vvhich their good Father set them, bestovv'd a great part of their afternoone-time in Charitable offices: sometimes they did instruct their neighbours in the main points of their duty, and propound such motives as made them do their vvork chearfully, and ansvver'd all the objections of Disobedience. If any vvere feeble and apt to faint, he had a Daughter vvhich vvas very like her Father, call'd Elpis; and though she did not come much in sight, yet upon such occasions she would appear, and very courteously direct those which needed them, to such Cordial Herbs as grew plentifully in their Garden, which would give them present Relief.

Eupistis invited the Travailers into his House: and when they found their entertainment in all expressions sutable to the good character which a friend had given them of Eupistis, it put them into a considence of talking more freely with him; and after much pleasant intercourse they demanded of him the reason why he was call'd by so many Names, as they had heard in Vanasembla. I know no just cause for it, said Eupistis, only they in Polyglotta have so much tongue, that they love to make many words; and according to that lavish humor they [Page] have bestow'd so many Names upon me, that when plain Travailers ask my neighbours where I dwell, they use such odde significations of their mind in their enquiry, that the poor people, which know me well enough if I were call'd by my proper Name, cannot give them any answer; nay, sometimes they are apt to be angry because, as they think, I am miscall'd. And when they come to me, they will scarce believe who I am, unless when I tell them, I name my self by the same word which was us'd by those that sent them. Pretending to do me honor, they have made the world believe that there are so many Mysteries in my Nature, that one word is not able to expresse them, and that I am above any common Name. They say that in Agazelus they have long disputes which of my Names doth fit me best, and sometimes contend which of them doth expresse me more learnedly; one is for Assent, another for Consent, a third likes Perswasion better, a fourth saies Recumbency is fitter then all the three, and a fifth thinks that none of them are comparable to Assurance. Some divide between me and my self, making my Christen name to signifie one, and my Surname another: by which means some, having convers'd with me a good while, have at length ignorantly ask'd me where they might speak with me.

But the truth is, these things do not much trouble me; only I am offended with the Kenapistians, for I hear that they have drawn my picture, though I do not love to be painted, and as they think to the Life, though it was done only by the memory of one who pretended to have seen me once: but sure he forgot himself and me, or was not Master of his Art, for the Picture is made with pitiful colours, so scurvily laid on, that it doth ill-favouredly represent one that is Dead, or at least make an unhandsome Image of a liveless unactive person; for those which have seen it do say, that they have disgrac'd me with the pale visage of one that is ready to give up the Ghost. I suppose it is rather the Picture of some old bed-rid Kenapistian: as for me, you perceive that I can speak chearfully and walk ftoutly, that I have a good Colour in my face, and, though I say it, I thank God I have a good Courage in my heart, and, if you had come a little sooner, you should have seen me use both [Page] my hands; for I was setting some medicinable Herbs, and ingrafting the Cions of such Trees as usually bring forth as much and as good fruites as any in the world. But I pity their Ignorance, and can easily forgive them, since I am not kill'd by their mistake, nor dead, though their Picture is a kind of Epitaph made upon me beforehand. I pardon also the folly of the Agazelians, who have made the notice of my person so obscure with a numerous company of uncertain names. I am a plain man, and did never change my Name. I was young, and now am old; but I am the same Eupistis still, and have alwaies dwelt in this place: And I am of a plain Nature, neither did I ever attempt to alter my natural Temper by Art. My known property is, To give credit to what my Creator is pleas'd to say to me; and I do depend upon him, according to those declarations by which he is pleas'd to reveale his good will to me, and my care is to compose my self wholly according to his Commands. I wonder sometimes that the Vanasemblians are so dull as not to know what it is to believe, since they can tell well enough what they mean when they say, they give credit to one another in any thing, whether it be in matters of bare Report, or such Contracts as have mutual Conditions annex'd to them.

By this description of your self, quoth Bentivolio, you seem to be near a-kin to one, that is call'd Faith, in our Country. It may be so, said Eupistis. But do you know what is understood by Justifying Faith? quoth Bentivolio. Yes very well, said Eupistis, and so may you too; for I have told you already what it is. Why, quoth Bentivolio, was none ever justified but by that Faith which you have described? No, replied Eupistis, nor ever will be. Pray what do you make the chief ground of your Belief? quoth Urania. The Nature of God, said Eupistis, which is so Gracious, that I cannot but expect good from him; so Powerful, that he can easily do more for me then I need; and so True, that he will not fail to perform what he hath promised. But you may be deceived, quoth Panaretus, in your Opinion concerning the extent of his good will towards you; because Self-love its apt to multiply needlesse wants, and great desire may make you believe that which you [Page] will not find true: we easily give credit to that which we passionately wish. It's true, said Eupistis; but to prevent that danger, I have a book, call'd Hierographon, which was written with God's finger, and in that he hath declar'd his mind, and given me so many and so great Promises, that I cannot exceed in the measure of my Faith, and they are so plainly express'd that I cannot easily mistake his meaning. They say God wrote this Book with the bloud of his Son, which was a great love in them both; and I am apt to believe it, because the Son of God seeing me to be a sinful Creature, and that I was affraid to go alone to my offended Maker, of his own accord doth mediate for me, and gives me access through his Intercession, and in very deed is such a friend to me in all respects, that I may truly say, That God's Son is my Father.

Since you are so intimately acquainted with Faith, give me leave I pray you, quoth Nicomachus, to propound two or three Questions to you for my better information in that point. With all my heart, replied the gentle Eupistis. I would first know, quoth Nicomachus, why Faith is made the first thing in Religion. Because, quoth Eupistis, God will have nothing to do with such as do not give credit to him. But why do they say, quoth Nicomachus, that without Faith it is impossible to please him? Because, quoth Eupistis he which doth not believe him to be a God who hath commanded, or doth not expect a full reward for his work, will never do his duty. Why, quoth Nicomachus, is Faith call'd the Evidence of things not seen? Because, replied Eupistis, though the things promis'd are not seen, Faith doth as much assure the Truth of them to all good men, as if they saw them with their Eyes, or were convinc'd of them by Demonstration. I perceive, quoth Nicomachus, that you are very careful about Good works, why will not a naked Faith content you? Because, quoth Eupistis, it is impossible for a negligent person to live by Faith. How comes it to pass, quoth Nicomachus, that Obedience is sometimes included in the signification of Faith? There is good reason for that, said Eupistis; for since Obedience is the Natural Child of true Faith, it may well be call'd by the name of its Parent. But they say, quoth Nicomachus, That well-grown Obedience [Page] doth wonderfully strengthen Faith: How comes that? It is no wonder, quoth Eupistis; for why should not the Child, when it is come to age, nourish the Parent, who would die if it did not attend him with an obedient regard? Do you think, quoth Nicomachus, that a firm belief of God's Truth and a Confidence in his Good will are separated from Good works or from each other? No indeed, quoth Eupistis: for he which considers God's Promises fill'd with such things as he doth most want, must needs desire them; and believing God to be True and Powerful, he will consequently expect them at his hands; and seeing God hath declared the Effects of his Promises attainable only in waies of Obedience, if he neglect that Means, it is manifest that he doth not desire the End. He which expects any thing of God, supposeth him Faithful, or else why doth he trust him? And because he believes God's Truth, he knows he will no more give his Blessings to such as he hath declar'd against, then he will deny them to such as are qualified according to his prescriptions. And therefore he which doth really believe God, cannot but put his confidence in him, and must in all reason charge himself with his Duty towards him.

Nicomachus, having receiv'd satisfaction to his demands, gave thanks to Eupistis for making so many patient Answers to a Stranger. Urania perceiving that Nicomachus had ended his discourse, desired him to have the goodnesse to bear with their troublesome company a little further, and to give her a little satisfaction as to a Report which she had heard concerning his Deportment towards his Sons, by which she was inform'd that he constrain'd them to perform daily very hard Tasks. Have you heard that? quoth Eupistis. I confess my sons do God's work every day; but the Rewards, which he hath promised to give them, are so vastly bigger then all the proportions of their Diligence, that they make all their labour in attaining of them not only easie, but pleasant. My Children call no Task hard, but when they are sick or very weak. I shall only trouble you, quoth Urania, with one story more; which I do not believe, for I have great reason to the contrary from my own knowledg of your Wisdom; but I desire to [Page] satisfie others with your own words: which is, that you require such as you instruct to believe impossible things; and that when many of your discreet Auditors are offended at the harshnesse of your Impositions, your two Sons, Alethalogus and Pistalethus, have divers times fallen out about it before your face. Have you heard that too? quoth Eupistis: You have convers'd much with my enemies; for I assure you it is a meer scandal cast upon my Family, and especially upon my son Alethalogus: for I never gave any such absurd occasion of their quarrel as you have mentioned, and they are and have alwaies been so loving, that they did never fall out in all their life, which can be truly affirm'd but of few Brethren; and by reason of this inviolable Affection, what one consents to, the other likes, and what one is not pleas'd with, the other never approves. Sometimes, I confesse, they are disturb'd in their most intimate Converse by the malicious interposition of two Bastards, which use to come a begging to my house; they are not improperly call'd Pithopseudes and Pseudognosis: their chief Endeavour is to do mischief to my Sons with false Reports; they watch opportunities to find them alone, for they dare not tell them their lies when they are together. But however their design is ineffectual, for neither of them will believe any thing against the other: each of them doth acquaint his Brother with what is said, and then they examine it strictly. I thank God they are both prudent, and are not apt to believe everything. They commonly find their Tales, either some absurd Flatteries of Pistalethes, or malicious Slanders rais'd against Alethalogus. These Liars, being often discovered, have not dar'd of late to come near my house.

But that you may receive full satisfaction in this particular, I will call my Sons; and, if you please, you shall discourse with them, and understand their mind from their own words. When they were come in, Eupistis, turning towards Pistalethes, said, My Son, I hear that you have lately reported your self to be a despiser of Humane Learning, (as they call it, though it is Divine, for it is the gift of God) and that without my knowledg you have burnt all the Philosophical Authors which I gave you: and these Noble Travailers have been perswaded [Page] by some to think this true. Sir, quoth Pistalethes, my Study is but small, and I have not many Books: but if these Worthy persons will take the paines to see it, they will find that I have not so madly abandon'd those Excellent Authors, which, I suppose, you meant, Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus, Epictetus, &c. and my Brother can bear me witness that I do often read them, for we study together, as you know. But do you think it worth your labour? said Bentivolio. Yes indeed do I, quoth Pistalethes; for I perceive by their writings that they had participated of an excellent Spirit, and some of them do discourse well concerning many things which our Holy book hath declar'd no lesse then necessary to Salvation. As for example, That there is a God; That he is the First and Best of all Beings; That he is the Creator of all things; That he Governs all things with a most wise and just Providence; That he ought to be worshipp'd by his Creatures with the best [...] of Adoration. They have in a good measure discovered the beauty of Vertue, display'd the truth of Goodnesse, and proved that Honesty is far exalted above all Profit and Pleasure. They have discours'd well concerning the everlasting bounds of Right and Wrong, and represented the different offices of Vertue in their Definitions, and illustrated their Rules with some fit Examples. Many of the Poets have put wise Sentences into Verses, and made them more delectable in the reading, and easier to be remembred. But, Pistalethes, quoth Bentivolio, doth not your brother Alethalogus quarrel with you for what you believe, and affirm that somethings written in your Holy book are contrary to Reason? No, never, said Pistalethes, he is better inform'd: for though some will hardly believe me, yet I can truly affirm, that when I told him of Salvation by the Mediation of God's Son, of the Resurrection and Immortality, of the great duties of Forgivenesse, neglecting Revenge, and loving our Enemies, and such like; he said they were rare Doctines, and had such an admirable Connexion with all true Reason, that he was so far from objecting against them, that he was ravish'd with the glory of Truth that shin'd in them: and that though he was so weak-sighted as not to have been able to have found them all out, yet he was not so proud [Page] as not to approve of them when they were discover'd to him. But doth he not sometimes say, quoth Bentivolio, that it is a foolish thing to believe without Reason? Yes that he doth, said Pistalethes, and so do I. We do not worship God with a brutish Faith: we think we have all the Reason in the world to believe what God saith; and our Book contains nothing else. When we read this Book, we find many things which we did not know before; but when we have examin'd them, we find them so far from offering Contradictions to Reason, that we cannot but judge them Fooles that count any Point which is asserted there to be Unreasonable. Some weak people will needs think that my Brothers Conversation is a hindrance to my Faith; though I am assured by my Experience that he doth help me to give a more firm credit to Divine Revelation. I am not of that facile Faith which makes men believe that for which they have no rational ground; and to every thing which can show that, my Brother never denies Faith-We do both of us fear that such as cavil at any Divine Revelation are either dull in their Understandings, or vitiated by some perverse habit of Affection; and we can name many who have been counted Philosophers, who scrupling at these things, have given credit, or at least pretended to do so, to others far more unlikely.

Is all this true? quoth Bentivolio to Alethalogus, who ftood by. Yes, Sir, quoth Alethalogus. For though I pretend to Reason; yet since I grew acquainted with Revelation, I find no cause to complain, but much reason to rejoyce; for it doth clearly direct and strongly assist my Faculties in the attainment of that which my Nature doth most rationally desire. It doth present such noble Truths, that I cannot entertain or improve my self better then by devoting my mind to the Contemplation of them.

I perceive then, quoth Bentivolio, that you are not so in love with your Philosophical Authors, but that you have reserv'd good affections for the Book call'd Hierographon. Alas, Sir, quoth Alethalogus, it is not the first time that this Question hath been put to me, by such as have received false information concerning my temper of Mind and course of Studies. Those [Page] Heathen Books, which I esteem at a higher rate then those who undervalue them, because they never read them, or have heard others speak against them, do fall short of these Divine Writings, both in that most of them give but a doubtful notice of Felicity, and all of them discover a great imperfection in the directions which they give for the attainment of it. So that what was desirable before to my Nature, and probable by such Arguments as I could frame, is now fully credited by me for the sake of Divine Testimony. What was granted as possible before, is now revealed to be: What I did but wish formerly, I do now believe; the doubtfulness of my guesses being taken away by the certainty of God's positive declaration. By this help I can determine my Belief; which unassisted Nature could not do, because it did not know the mind of him that made Nature: besides this, I can perform that which I could not before, because I had not such instruction or incouragement.

That you may not retain any doubt of me in this point, I will be more particular in my discourse. The Philosophers were very uncertain in their Opinions concerning the Reward of Vertue. Some of them assign'd none to it: In which they were sufficiently to blame: for will any man undertake a long Journey in which he must suffer many Inconveniences, having propounded to himself no valuable Recompence of his paines? Is any person in the world so foolish as to set no other end of his Travaile but that he may be wearied?

Others indeed assign'd a Reward to Vertue, but with such uncertainty of being attain'd, that it would not answer the Objections, nor support the industry of such as should endeavour for it. For when a man should have taken all possible paines to become Vertuous, they could not assure him that he should be Happy: making Felicity to depend upon worldly Prosperity, and openly asserting, that if that fail'd, the most Vertuous man would become Miserable; and therefore durst not pronounce him Happy before his death, not knowing but that he might become unhappy before that time. It's true, some of them knowing the Uncertainties of this world, did more wisely place their Felicity in the securities of an Immortall state [Page] in the other, and took the paines to write Books to perswade men to believe the truth of their Opinion. But besides the weakness of many of their Arguments, which were far enough from Demonstrations, and capable of Objections hardly to be answer'd by them, they themselves did speak so doubtfully sometimes of their own Faith, that it must needs make the belief of others to stagger. It was an Opinion which they wish'd to be true, but many of them were not assur'd but that it might be false. As any body can see a vast difference between beautiful Speculations and a firm Faith; so their desires which produc'd in them some raw hopes of Immortality, were so chill'd for want of certain Revelation, that it was very difficult to ripen them to any vigorous Expectation. The Great Tully, who talk'd of a foresight of Immortality, doubted whether the acceptablenesse of the Opinion had not made him believe an Error; and in stead of proving it to be a Truth, he was fain to say only this, That the pleasingnesse of this Faith made him not only willingly to believe, but also firmly to resolve, that if it was an Error which did so delight him, he would not be convinc'd of it while he lived. I know not what made the excellent Socrates say at his death, That he hoped to go to good men, but durst not affirm it too confidently. But peradventure it was only his Humility, and knowing that there were two contrary states in the other world, he doubted whether he was worthy to enjoy the best.

It cannot be denied but that some were very confident of the truth of this good newes, and that not only single persons, as Cato and Cleombrotus, but some whole Countries, as the [...], instructed in this point by Zamolxis, are reported to have slighted this life in hopes of a better. And others, as the Pythagoreans and the Platonists, were so well assured that an Immortal enjoyment of God was their Happiness, that they esteem'd their life below not worth the having, but as it referr'd to a better by way of preparation. But how few were they in comparison of the vast multitude of incredulous Philosophers, of whose vitious lives I cannot but think their unassurednesse in this matter to have been a great cause? Being no better ascertain'd concerning their Reward, they must needs want sufficient Motives to Obedience; and being destitute of a steddy expectation of Immortality, [Page] they could pursue Vertue but a little way: For when the sweetnesse of Allurements made a strong Tentation to return to Vice by a gust of offer'd Sensuality, how should they but faile as to a power of abandoning present Joyes, though they were besmear'd with sin, who did not much expect any future Compensation of their Self-denial? When Aristotle said that Young men were not to be admitted to his Moral Lectures, did he not tacitely confesse that he had not perswasions strong enough to subdue their vitious Passions?

I might also adde here the Diversity of Opinions concerning Felicity found amongst those which could not but think that there was some such thing. Whilst one said one thing, and another another, the By-standers would be apt to think that there was no such thing as Happinesse, since those which pretended to be the wisest men in the world could not determine what it should be. It is easie to judge how infirm those perswasions must needs be that are bottom'd upon such weak foundations. How should ignorant people reconcile themselves to their duties, when their Teachers differ'd so much about their Reward, that they could not tell them certainly what it was?

But to contract my Discourse, they seem'd not only to be uncertain of the Journeys end, but to give insufficient directions concerning the Way; that is, made not only doubtful promises of Happiness, but discours'd imperfectly of Vertue. I do not mean here that broken account of mens Duties, which is to be seen in the Lawes of several Nations, which were either impos'd by Princes as the collection of some of their Favorites, or made by the consent of the Multitude, that is, by some few more able men among them which outwitted the rest to vote for their Opinion: but this Imperfection discovers it self in the Books of not a few Philosophers.

They also are blun'd with horrid Contradictions to Nature, with which they were acquainted; and to Morality, which they profess'd. To omit many things which I could name, they fail'd grosly not only in giving a short account of the Divine Providence, but asserting such unworthy things concerning it, as did teach those which believed them to neglect [Page] all dependance upon God. I need not prove this by recounting the swinish Doctrines of Epicurus, or those of Aristotle, not much unlike the other, by which he circumscribes God's Government in such narrow bounds, that he doth not allow him leave to extend it beyond the Confines of the Moon, nor to take any care of Sublunary affaires. I do not wonder that the Stoicks, a Sect of great name, rais'd the Structure of Vertue no higher, since they fail'd in laying the right Foundation, which is Humility, and ascrib'd their Goodnesse to themselves. Though I cannot put this upon other Philosophers, for some of them call'd this an Atheisticall Vertue; and indeed it must have been but a proud Humility, if they could have been Humble, which doth not acknowledg God for the Author of it. For want of this humble dependance upon God, the Father of Lights, and an honest improvement of those good Gifts which they had receiv'd from him, and for stifling their Natural light with a wicked life, the Divine Justice let them fall into self chosen darknesse: and then it was no wonder that they came short of prescribing to others their Duties, who had disenabled themselves in point of Knowledge, by neglecting to do what they knew to be their own. By this means true Goodnesse and Wisdom was so hard to be found among them, that Anacharsis having diligently search'd the most famous places in Greece, not with a capricious Lanthorn, but a sober intention to gain knowledge, which consisted not in great Words, but such as he measured by soundnesse of Mind, short and significant Speech, and accurate correspondencies of Life, having met with many disappointments, at last he found it only in an obscure Village dwelling with the humble Myson.

But the Institutions of Hierographon are perfect in both respects: It hath both plainly reveal'd our Felicity, and given us such clear Directions for the attainment of it, that we are at no losse at all in our thoughts concerning it. That Immortality which lay hid in the dark guesses of Humanity, is here brought to light, and all doubts concerning the Portion of Good men are resolved. Since he who hath all power in his hands promised Eternal Life, what say his Servants? We know [Page] whom we have trusted. For my own part, I see plainly that God in this Book hath written as much as was fit to give satisfaction to my Thoughts and Desires; and my care is that I may equal the fulnesse of his wise Directions with an Excellent Practise, and expresse such a Vertue as hath some correspondence with so great a Reward. I know now what I am to wish; for he hath shown me what is best. I am not ignorant what I ought to do; for he hath told me. The Reward which he hath promised is of that infinite value, that it is not only a sufficient Incentive to a chearful Obedience, but a potent defence against all Tentations to Disobedience. For being assured of so great a gain as an Immortal Inheritance amounts to, I care not to hazard, no nor to lose some small matters to attain it. And, to end my too-tedious Discourse, lest I should at any time have impotent thoughts of being Happy some other way then he hath prescrib'd, and so grow sluggish and carelesse; he hath threatned me in such a manner, that I am sure to be more miserable for despising the possibilities which he hath offered. Thus far Alethalogus.

Bentivolio and his Companions glad that the Misreports which were made of such Excellent persons had occasion'd them the benefit of hearing so ingenious a Defence, begg'd Pardon of Eupistis for his Trouble, which had been a means of their Advantage: which was no sooner ask'd, but it was given. Having upon the invitation of Eupistis diverted themselves for some dayes with him and his Vertuous Sons, Urania taking no small content in the chearful company of his most hopeful Daughter Elpis, they perform'd the Thanks which such freedoms and Civilities requir'd, and took their leave; and in a short time accomplish'd their Journey towards Phronesia. When they were come to the City, they soon found the way to Phronesia's house; for a loving Theoprepian, Philanthropus by name, who met them happily in the street, directed them thither.

They having declared to Phronesia who they were, where they had been, and what was their design, she was extremely joyful at their Arrival, and promised all manner of Welcome which that place would afford; heartily wishing that they [Page] might find some Pleasure to recompence their abode with her, that so she might be the longer happy in their company. After a few Ceremonies which are needful to make expression of inward Courtesies, and some short discourses, Phronesia led them into a fair Room, and entertain'd them with a noble Dinner. The Preparation and Attendance were so discreetly order'd, that they quickly perceiv'd that Phronesia's house was govern'd by no ordinary Prudence. After Dinner they went into the Garden; and sitting down in the cool shade of a green Arbour, which they us'd as an Umbrella to keep off the hot Sunbeams, Urania, understanding by some words which were spoken at the Table, that Phronesia had not lived alwaies in that Country, desired her to let them know how and upon what design she came thither.

Phronesia was very willing to answer her demand, and began thus: ‘My Husband Phronimus was first seated in Argentora, (it may be you have heard of that Country:) but by the Injury of the Times, which grew troublesome through the violence of the covetous Inhabitants, we were [...] to dispose of the Estate we had there as well as we could, and necessitated to seek a more peaceful habitation in some other place. For we thought it was a part of Prudence to endeavour to escape the inconveniences of this present life by honest means, and to passe as quietly as we could through this wicked world. Our desire was to sit down where we should find such a People as would best sute with our main Design, which we thought to be the principal End of Humane Life: and of this I will give you a brief account.’

‘My Husband observ'd by frequent consideration, that the All-wise Creator had bestowed different sorts of Being upon his Creatures, and that as the Nature of any thing was more Noble, it was design'd to more excellent purposes; and amongst the several ranks of Created Being, with which we converse, he found none equal to Mankind; the Reasonable Soul being the greatest Name of Honour in this lower world.’

‘By this he could not but understand that the Felicity of humane Nature must needs exceed that which is allotted to [Page] other Creatures; and after many thoughts concerning it, he perceiv'd that it was this, To live conformably to the dignity of a Rational Soul, and to serve the noblest End of which such a Being is capable. He learn'd the End of every thing by tracking the proper Actions of each distinct Nature; for having consider'd these narrowly, he saw what Mark they aim'd at. This Rule served him to discover his own highest End; whilst he view'd every thing that he was good for, he suppos'd that the best Actions of which he was capable would point unto it: and when he had demanded of all his Powers, what were the best things which they could do, they answered with an unanimous voice To Know and Love.’

‘Hereupon with a strict scrutiny he enquir'd into the Objects of those Faculties, that he might discover about what these Actions should be conversant; and that, if there was better and worse, he might employ his Mind upon the Contemplation of the most excellent Truth, and fix his Love upon the best Good.’

‘After he was gone abroad, he met with different entertainment: for some things bore great respect to bodily Nature, and gratified that part to which they were nearer allied; but gave so little satisfaction to his other half, that he found it still complaining. Searching into the reason of this difference, he found himself to be of a double constitution, a kind of middle thing between the Spiritual and Visible world; and that there was good cause that those things which had affinity with his Worsepart might very well content it, and that it could not reasonably dislike that which was as good as it self, that is, Fleshly and Mortal. But for the same reason his Better part was dissatisfied, for that, being acquainted with the Meliority of its constitution, and having a clear fore-sight of the Immortality of its Duration, form'd Appetites proportionable to its more refin'd Temper, and was not content to glut it self with material and perishing things.’

‘Upon this he resolved to try if there was not some Better thing then what lay in open view, which was reserv'd for worthy Souls which would take the paines to find it out: and he had no sooner drawn the vail of Fleshly Being with a [Page] quick hand, but he espied behind it the lovely Image of Spiritual Truth and Goodnesse. Then he went up and down the world hoping to meet something which would tell him the name of that Spiritual Being.’

‘He had not gone very far, but many rare contrivances of Wisdom, great effects of a mighty Power and infinite testimonies of an unspeakable Goodness inform'd him, that the beautiful Picture which he had in his fancy did represent the First Essence which had created all the rest, and that his Name was, GOD. They pointed also to him so directly, that he could not but see him; and whilst he look'd upon him, the Divine Perfections display'd themselves so gloriously in his countenance, that he could not take off his eyes from his face: and when his Mind began to be satisfied with Light, and his Will with Love, he concluded that he had now found out the true North, because the quick point of his Soul, which did so scornfully disdain all other Rest, had fix'd it self here. Whereupon he resolved to bestow the Remainder of his life in the Contemplation and Love of the Increated Goodnesse, and to consecrate all his Powers to the service of his and the worlds Creator, and to make him, who was the Beginning of all things, the Last End of his life; especially since he saw that whatsoever contributed to the happinesse of it, depended entirely upon the First Good, and was wholy due to his Benignity.’

‘But I remember, and I think I shall never forget it, he told me, that when the joy of these thoughts began to grow [...], he seem'd to hear a soft whisper, which delivered words to this sense, If you dwell alwaies upon the top of this Hill, what will become of those Friends whom you have left below? If it be so good to be here, go down and endeavour to bring them up with you. Whilst he mus'd upon the meaning of this advice, he took notice that he was so constituted by his Maker, that he was obliged by natural ties to many more besides God and himself; and that as Knowledg doth lead to Action, so the Beams of Heavenly Light which shin'd in his Soul, were by a good part of that Action to reflect themselves upon others; and that there were several waies by which he might enjoy [Page] God and himself amongst them, to whom he should both make God known, whilst they learn'd of him, and more fully serve the Glory of his great Master, by procuring the help of so many more Hands to work with him to such Ends as pleas'd him best, and by consequence refer the Gifts which he had received with much more advantage to the praise of his Benefactor.’

‘Then looking further into humane Nature, he saw all men so fram'd, as to have in their Souls a good foundation of mutual Love, which is also encreas'd by the reciprocal necessities which they have one of another; and that they have particular Gifts bestow'd upon each, by which they may help the whole. By this he discern'd that it was not God's will that he should live alone, but rather take such a course of life which would correspond with that Universal Sympathy with all the world, which was proportionable to his relation to it; which he was to expresse in those Acts which would further all others in the pursuit of their great End, which is Happinesse, in the Knowledge, Love and Praises of God, the First and Greatest Good, a true accomplishment of their better capacities with Wisdom and Vertue, and a right enjoyment of those worldly portions in which God hath condescended to gratifie our lower Faculties.’

‘With these Meditations he came down the Hill: but when he was at the bottom, and began to consider the forlorn state of the degenerate world, and took notice how most Nations upon the Earth, by the prevalent customs of a vitious life, were naturalized to Folly and Wickedness, he was sore griev'd for the misery of his fellow-creatures, and was ready to despaire of doing any great good with his best Charity. He saw every where the Lawes of Nature perverted, the Dignity of the Soul violated, the order of our Faculties disturb'd, and that men had chang'd the true values of things by false Opinion, enslav'd the sublimity of the Mind to Sense, and dethroning Reason had set up the basest Affections. By this means the Beauty of Holinesse which shone in Vertuous Habits and Actions was obliterated, the consent of [Page] the Will and Appetites with the Understanding disannull'd, and Humane Nature so far from being rais'd to those heights of which it is capable in another world, that it is depress'd and hindred from what it might enjoy in this; Men chusing to act only such unworthy parts, that it is a shame they act them so well, because it is too clear a Testimony that they have mis-bestowed their time through deplorable Ignorance of their own worth and God's good intentions: One personating a Rich Fool, another an Honorable Slave, a third a Voluptuous Beast, a fourth some malicious Fiend. And when they have for a long time carefully endeavour'd to act them to the life, the Passions which they have represented, by Custom become so natural to them, that they are good for nothing else. Thus Humanity tumbles down from its Happiness, and loseth even congruity with such things as were design'd for its Perfection, the glory of Divine Wisdom, the Tranquillity of pure Souls, and the Praise of worthy Actions. Men keep no decorum in their Counsels, Affections or Manners, measuring themselves by no Rule; they let all run at random. So that they have in a great measure banish'd Prudence and Piety, Honesty and Charity out of the world; and having abolish'd the harmony of Truth and Practise, they live at such rates as if they had listed themselves to wage daily war against Reasonable Nature, and had conspir'd either to bring Humanity into subjection to Beasts, or else, in complyance with the Devil, had agreed to do what mischief they could to disturb the quietness of the world.’

‘Upon this sad consideration he look'd into History, to see if he could find that happy place, if there was any such, where he might discover upon the tops of some Hills any few that had escaped this unfortunate Deluge. Seeking there for Examples of a better state, he happen'd to meet with those which were cryed up for infallible Patterns fit for an universal Imitation: but upon perusal he found such eminent flawes and Errors in some, and others so contracted and narrow, that they left out the greatest instances of Perfection. But that which troubled him most was the absurd practise of the world, which did for the [Page] greatest part chuse such things for their Last End, which he judg'd so unworthy of that Dignity, that he did not esteem them necessary Means for the accomplishment of his Designs. Alas! he sought not the Garlands of Olympus, the Triumphs of Rome, or the Pleasures of Asia; he took no thought who should dig down the walls of Babylon; he wanted no Ships to transport him to the shores of Barbary; he desired not to travaile through the Sands of AEthiopia, to discover or winne either of the Indies: he knew well enough that men often go to such places as these to seek the Happiness which they have left behind them.’

‘When I have ask'd him sometimes the reason of his Teares which were oft mingled with his Meditations, he would answer, That he could not but weep, when he took notice that the chief aime of most ranks of men in all Nations was so poor a thing as Riches; and he would profess that he was ashamed of the Basenesse of men, who made themselves Servants to Money, thinking by that to become Masters of every thing else. Sometimes he would say that he was at once seiz'd upon with Wonder and Pity, both because in generall he saw they were much tormented with a confounded hope of some great good, but knew not what it was; and in particular, because they did not perceive that the End could not be Noble which was to be attain'd with such Contemptible Means; and because they were not awaken'd to a sense of their Folly by all the Sin, Trouble and Uncertainties which they endured in the wearisome pursuite of so mean a prize. But they were desperately resolv'd upon their businesse, and would go through the way which led to their Journeys End, though it was never so bad. For this he saw some Princes stuffe their Crowns with Thorns: For this Subjects dethron'd those whom God had set up, hoping to rise to riches by the Fall of such, whom they could rob when they were down. This made the Grandees take part with either side, as they best hoped to improve and secure what they had already acquired. The Citizens toil'd infinitely, because they thought there was no reason for which men should be judg'd worthy of Great Titles, but that they had been so wife [Page] as to become richer then their Neighbours. For this the Plowman strives to out drudge his beasts, that he may grow a wealthy Yeoman: upon this account the Merchant ventures all, and his Wife and Children are content that he should hazard himself too, in hopes of going to the Sea-side when he returns, and of receiving him enrich'd with the gaines of his Adventures; though it may be he and his Jewells are cast away upon some malicious Rock in sight of the Shore. This fills all sorts of Labourers with daily cares, the Highwaies and Prisons with Thieves, and the Courts of Law with endless Suits: For this the Land is oppress'd with Souldiers, and the Sea covered with Fleets, and infested with Pirates, Princes Houses infected with Flatterers and Hypocrites, and the City throng'd with Cheaters: For this Women despise their Chastity, and Men their Honor. In short, This makes the Miner dig into the entrailes of the Earth, and the Mariner dive into the bowells of the Sea, to fetch up more noble Chaines to inthral his Soul.’

‘Upon this he perceived plainly that Riches were the one General End that all aim'd at, though they took divers waies to come at it; and before they could arrive at it, plung'd themselves in unspeakable miseries, which it is impossible that they should escape, since being destitute of inward Worth they sought to make it up with such an unworthy Compensation, and whilst they pretended to admire Happinesse, slighted the true means to obtain it: nay though they see their Labour lost, and their Liberty enslaved, and find their Minds gall'd with the falshood of Flatterers, their Hopes unsecure in the uncertainty of Riches, and that they are tired with beastly Pleasures, and kill'd with rotten Luxuries, to which their great heapes of Money administer sewel; though they see that they have taken their way through Precipices, and fallen into bottomlesse Pits, and are judg'd mad by the Wise, (for they do it knowingly and willingly) they are not displeas'd that they have taken so much paines to make their condition so calamitous, only they are vex'd because it proves no better.’

‘So that the world seems to be like a company of tumultuous [Page] people, who being made falsly to believe that a Jewel of invaluable price is lost in a certain place fill'd with ordinary Pebbles, for fear of being prevented by one or other in the Morning, they make haste thither in the Night, and when they are met, scuffle in the Dark to seek what is impossible to be found there; but if any chance to take up some ordinary Stone, which they all trod upon with contempt the day before, then tormented with a groundless suspicion, they pull, fight, strike and cry, and some laugh at the ridiculousness of their own and others Folly.’

You see, Noble Guests, quoth Phronesia, reflecting upon the length of her discourse, I am so tedious in giving you an answer, that I am afraid you do repent of having ask'd me the question: but I will contract my Story. ‘After our arrival in sundry places where my Husbands feares were verified and his despair encreas'd, being much affrighted with this sad face of things which appear'd every where, he prayed earnestly to God to show us some place where we might find better Company. Heaven heard his prayer, and brought us acquainted with a Gentleman, who gave us notice of the Vertuous temper of the Theoprepians, and in particular of the good Nature of the Philadelphians, who not only maintain'd a great Charity among themselves, but for all that desired to converse with them. By the guidance of this happy Star we light upon this Country: of which time I can never think without teares of Joy; for here we found Wisdom and Love in league with Truth and Goodnesse, Religion and Righteousnesse embracing Temperance and Prudence; here we found those quiet Habitations where Charity, Tranquillity and the Freedom of all plain Converse had repos'd themselves, where every thing that belongs to the Sorenity of Rational Life flourisheth; and to conclude, here we saw what we had heard of in other places, wish'd in all, but hoped to find in none.’

So I have told you, quoth Phronesia, how and upon what Design we came hither; and I believe by the prolixity of my Narration have made you often wish that I had either not begun, or else ended it sooner. No, assure your self, said Urania; [Page] if your journey from Argentora had been no more troublesome to you then the Relation of it hath been tedious to us, we should not have compassionated your Travailes. But since you have given us such pleasure from your Afflictions, pray let us also taste the joy of your Prosperity. I make no doubt but we, who have pitied you in our thoughts for what you suffer'd before, shall much more easily rejoyce with you when we shall more fully understand the happiness of your present condition.

In obedience to your Commands, whose company is a great part of our Happinesse, I will proceed, quoth Phronesia, to a further Relation of the state of Theoprepia. ‘This City with the Consent of the people was built by my Husband, and, upon their motion, call'd after my name, and hath Eupistis upon the West, Eusebia South, Philadelphia East, and upon the North Sophrosyne, as I suppose you may have heard in Eupistis. This City is the Metropolis to them all. Here they have erected a magnificent Temple, by the advice of the Eusebians, in which they celebrate the praises of the Great and Good God, whom they all worship with most hearty Devotion.’

‘The City is seated, as you see, upon a pleasant Hill, rais'd to a moderate proportion of height above the adjacent Country. This small piece of rising ground is so situated, as if it had been mark'd out by Nature for the destin'd foundation of a Metropolis. It is plentifully water'd with both the streams of Agathorryton, which descending from the rais'd Top of the Hill Theorus, do easily run up the highest places of the City. We have not encompass'd it with any Wall, because it is plac'd in the middle of the Country, and guarded with the Strength of all the Inhabitants which dwell in the Circumference. We know that the united Courage of honest-minded people is the only safeguard of a City or Country; and have observ'd that walled Townes not defended by the Valour of those which dwelt in them, are but vain significations of Safety. The Theoprepians are so inoffensive, that they will not provoke others; and they are so united, that others dare not offend them.’

‘I would not have you, Noble Friends, to understand this [Page] relation so, as to think that the several parts of Theoprepia, which I have mention'd under distinct names, have different waies of life, each being confin'd to the strict sense of its Title, or that the City Phronesia is govern'd by other rules then the Country. No, they all live according to the same Institutions; only each Country hath taken its name from excellent Persons, who were Eminent in those particular Perfections to which their Names carry reference: and having learn'd from them the worth of those Vertues, they not only conform'd their practise to them, but as a grateful remembrance of such worthy Leaders they were willing to bear their Names in the Title of their Country.’

‘Eusebius taught his people the Worship of God; Philadelphus gave the true Rules of Charity; Eupistis discover'd the Grounds of Faith; Sophron made them understand the Laws of Temperance; and Phronimus show'd them how they might joyne all these directions together; and so both made this City a glorious Metropolis, and brought the Country by the observance of the fore-mention'd Lawes to such a good Temper, that they are not undeservedly honour'd with the Name of Theoprepia.’

‘But I shall give you a view of their Constitution in the several pieces, of which the whole frame is made up, and show you after what Method he put them together. He saw that Man was made with a natural desire to have Neighbours, and was so utterly discontented without them, that he was apt to be weary of himself in Solitude, and esteemed lonesomeness a close Imprisonment; God hath fitted him with Speech and Reason, as rare instruments of Converse, and hath so equally distributed his Gifts, that each of us must be beholden to another for something, or else want that Happiness which we might enjoy in Society. So one Nation loseth its part of the good things with which another is blest, if there be not a friendly Commerce between them. Besides this, every Single man was aware that the Felicity which he did enjoy was in danger of being disturb'd by others, unless he could make some Companions of his Fortune, and give part to secure the whole, both against such ill-dispos'd Forreigners [Page] which through Envy might assault them from without, or such ill-principl'd Neighbours which might work them mischief from among themselves. As the State of any people grows more Happy, they ever expect more Envy; and the harm which that will threaten cannot be avoided but by their firm Union. This Union can never be established but by such Principles and Rules as will make all that are concern'd in it to understand that their Interest was so really cared for in the whole, that the Union is a Common Benefit to all, and not an oblique Design to advance any particular interest, colour'd over with the specious pretence of Publick Good.’

‘This Phronimus had in his eye, for he well knew that the whole could not be happy if any part were miserable. He had often consider'd the unspeakable miseries which many Nations suffer, where a few neglecting, what they most pretend, the Good of all, take in only the Interests of the Great and Rich. Phronimus could find no way to prevent this, but by laying the bottoms of their Concord in firm Principles of mutual Regard, that by a great Righteousness and true Love, taking a prudent and just care of all mens Concerns, he might stop the main Spring from whence all Calamities do flow, which is, Covetous Ambition: for though guilty men blame other things, yet they themselves know that this only is in fault.’

‘To effect this he acquainted the Theoprepians that he had observ'd the Wisdom of Philadelphus in ordering the affaires of that Country to have been so great, that it could not be exceeded by any Mortal man: and that the fruits of it were not more visible to the Sense in the flourishing peace of the Philadelphians, then the Rootes upon which their Happinesse grew were manifest to Reason; for that he had laid the foundation of their Unity in Love, which is the Bond of all Humane Society: This Love he comprehended in a few Precepts, which were so plain, that every body understood the words; so good, that the sense was apparently just; and so full, that they included all Duties. They were these: To love others as themselves, To do what they did expect to be done to themselves, and Not to offer that which they would not as willingly receive from others.’

[Page] ‘The Prudence and Justice of these Rules was so acceptable, that they embrac'd them with an unanimous consent, and immediately setled upon such a firm bottom, that, before they were aware, they found themselves so strictly united, that they were become Members one of another. As they did by the natural intimacy of Self-love know what it was to wish well to themselves, they did sufficiently understand the Rule by which they were to act towards others; and acknowledg'd it for just and good, because they desir'd the same measure from others; and they saw it must needs be an even direction, because it had a proportionable Regard to all. By this, blind Self-will was curb'd, foolish Self-estimation instructed, and a rare Good will kindled amongst them; for they received what they could justly desire, and fear'd not to suffer the Wrong which they did not doe, and knew that they were in no danger from such who loved them as themselves.’

‘Thus in stead of a multitude of voluminous Law-books, and Pandects of intricate Statutes, which are by unjust men so much the more valued, as they are unfit for the true end of all Laws, and which they desire to be made obscure, that they might expound them as they list, he appointed onely the forementioned Rules, and so prevented the miseries which Ambition and Covetousnesse alwayes bring with them. For having received by these full notice of their own and others Rights, they knew they could not be Ambitious, and seek to enslave others to their Wills, or Covetous, and snatch more then their own share of those good things which God hath plentifully distributed among them all, but they must needs transgress the most just Lawes, and be challeng'd for their fault by an inward sense of the Unreasonablenesse of their Sin. Having possess'd their Souls with these Reasons of Charity, and lodg'd in their Hearts a true affection to the Good of others, they are so far from endevouring to thrust others below them that their own height may be more apparent, or getting unduly from others that they may swel their private Heap, that they abhor not only the Action, lest the Law should take notice, but the Thought, lest they should be forc'd to [Page] condemn themselves when they call themselves to account for thinking so unworthily; and they further the good of others, because they perceive, if they were miserable in any respect, they should bear a part of their Affliction by the just Sympathy of mutuall Love. As these Principles have fix'd upon every mans heart a full contentment with his particular portion, so they have abundantly pleas'd the whole in the possession of what God hath assign'd to them as their General Lot; by which means they are neither troubled at Home with those Contentions and Complaints which are the effects of the Rapine and Pride of Unjust Neighbours, neither do they seek to enlarge their borders by invading any forreigne Prince or State.’

‘Having agreed upon their Lawes, and made the Office of chief Magistrate hereditary to our Family, in which they have bestowed an Honour upon us which I must ever acknowledg, and prudently consulted against those mischiefs which from emulous Competitors are still incident to those Kingdoms where it is Elective; by the advise of Phronimus they chose such Ministers of Law, whose Tempers were most sutable to the Laws, and of this they made a judgement only by the Conformity of their Conversations. The experience of a regular life in a private capacity administers hopes of an excellent Governour. But Phronimus was more careful in this point, because the people look at the Magistrates Example both as a warrantable Pattern, and a kind of Law to defend what they do in imitation of it. And he knew that the Composition of one who is intrusted with the Rights of many is of that important Goodnesse, that many things are requisite to make it up, as Prudence in the management of affaires, Perspicacity of Understanding, impartial Honesty in the distribution of Justice, Meekness of Disposition that he may be willing to serve in Love, a Modesty not apt to be discompos'd with Honour, Temperance that will not be disgrac'd with Luxury, a Generous mind that scorns to be corrupted with Money, a Gravity correspondent to his Authority, and such a Courage that dares do a Just thing though it displease.’

[Page] ‘As the Ministers of Justice come not to their places by those unworthy waies which are us'd in other Countries, so neither are they hindred in the discharge of their Trust by the obstinate Manners which elsewhere are some discouragement to the best Officers. They honour their Governors as petty Gods. As those who are by God above others, ought to love those for whose good they were rais'd; so the people ought to yield free Obedience, since for the Happiness of the Whole it is necessary that they should be govern'd by others, who for that reason must be above them. Here they like their duties, and take their obligation from an habitual love of Vertue. The Fear of Punishment prevailes not here: for though Punishment be an appurrenance of Law, and necessary in regard of some unjust persons, who must by it be compell'd to do their duty, or suffer to make Reparation and Example of violated obedience, (and they have such here as are fitly appointed according to the nature of each fault;) yet it is less needful here, because the people count no punishment equal to the deserving of it. So that the chief work of their Judges is to decide some doubtful Cases with an impartial Judgement, and to make their definitive Sentence end all further Controversie with the power of their just Authority.’

Here Phronesia making a little pause, said, ‘Noble friends, you will it may be expect, that since I have affirm'd Theoprepia to be built upon so brave a Foundation, I should be able to show you some correspondent Superstructure; and that I will do immediately. For those Holy Rules, being inviolably kept by them, have produc'd all the desirable Effects of good Government, and made all orders of people among them as happy as the condition of this world will bear; both by improving and securing all their Enjoyments, and relieving the Infirmities which are common to them with all mankind, as far as the comfort of Society with the best of Neighbours can give succour.’

‘If I should speak of all Particulars, I should weary you and my self: but I will recount some few, that by them you may judge of the rest. Every man is sufficiently secured against Wrong among those which rejoyce to do good, and [Page] esteem it but a small piece of Righteousness to do no hurt, and who judge it unjust not to help others in every thing which doth not harm themselves. The concernments of Soul and Body, which divide our whole Man between them, are carefully preserv'd by all. Why should they wrong others in Body, detract from their Name, despoile them of their Goods by Force or Fraud, when their own desires not to be so used would make their Actions odious to themselves, as well as afflictive to others? They will very hardly do Wrong, who have accustom'd themselves to part with their Right, which they can spare, when they are through mistake wrong'd by others; and though the case require some, yet then content themselves with moderate Satisfaction.’

‘They have a principal care of Souls, to teach them Knowledg, and improve them in Vertue by good Example. They esteem this duty but a Gratitude in themselves, because they have receiv'd the same Favour from those which are gone before them, that they might be enabled and obliged to show it to such as come after them. Their sorrow for others Miseries engageth them to further the Happiness which they desire, by directing them in the way to it, and by showing them how to escape the calamities of Ignorance, Vice, Youth, Age, Sicknesse and Poverty.’

‘Because things of Immortal concernment are greatest, they acquaint the Ignorant with the Nature and Duration of Souls, and teach them so to order this short life, as to attain the peace of a good Conscience by an early Vertue and constant perseverance in well-doing, and so prepare them for a true hope of a happy life after a chearful departure from this world. If any erre, they show him his way; when they see him sluggish, they provoke him to his duty with strong Incentives; if he offend, they admonish him; and if he be dejected, they administer Consolation according to the nature of his Grief.’

‘Because Children are born Impotent and Imperfect, they endeavour to prevent such mischiefs as may be separated from their Nativity; and because an excellent complexion of [Page] Nature is a great advantage to Vertue, they are carefull of fit Marriages and good Nurses: the Mother is always Nurse too, if she be able to perform that office. When their Understanding begins to come in use, they are curious of their Education; for want of which many that are ill born are worse bred: and as they grow in yeares and come into the Confines of Childhood and Manhood, and are lyable to the Vices of both states, they use all possible means of their preservation, and amongst the rest the vigilant eyes of wise and Vertuous Tutors; who in Theoprepia are persons of good esteem, and want no due encouragements. They have a sufficient number of Schools at convenient distances, by which the attainment of Knowledg and Goodness is unspeakably facilitated: For they are taught to know worthy things as soon as they know any thing; and their inclinations are ingaged to Vertue before they are seiz'd upon and ruin'd by habituall Sin. Which is, in my opinion, a great piece of Prudence: for from this practise they find a benigne influence to flow upon the whole Country; whilst those which have learn'd, do afterward teach others, and give as good an Example as they have received. The Theoprepians are great lovers of true Learning and all Ingenuous Arts, and have better Methods of Study then most other places, and so arrive at that height of skill in a few Months, which others after the expence of many yeares scarce attain at last, by reason of the Preposterousness of their Industry. Their custom is, when they perceive in any a particular inclination to some Art, taking it as a probable Augury of special aptitude, to consign them to that Study, in which they usually prove excellent.’

‘But as things are valuable according to their Uses, and Means are rated by the Ends which they serve; so the Theoprepians bestow their paines chiefly to improve their best Faculties, that having accomplish'd them with the Knowledg of Tongues and the more Noble Arts, they may be more able to advance the good of Mankind.’

‘Their chief design is to make their Youth perfect in Ethicks, that so they may be Prudent, Religious and Good. They inform them carefully in the Principles of true Logick, [Page] and help Natural Reason with Artificial. They industriously pursue the Knowledg of Nature, that they may understand the Works of God, and by them Him. They are well vers'd in Mathematicks; which Profession is honorable to the Student, because it makes him serviceable to his Country. They neglect not Agriculture, because the Earth brings forth all things. Knowing the several benefits of Converse with forreign parts, they are expert in Navigation. In short, they encourage the knowledg and advancement of every useful Trade.’

‘They make their Recreations of such things as have Art in them, and pay the Rational part something for the Intermission of its more Spiritual Exercises: and though they are afraid of Corporal pleasures, yet they do allow honest and healthful Exercises of the Body to strong and active Constitutions. In stead of those foolish playes of Dice and Cards, by which Youth in other places makes a vain Consumption of their time, (by the Permission of their Uncharitable Parents, who through unspeakable Imprudence do often besides their Time waste also their Estates in that most hurtful sort of Idleness) they please themselves with expressing the Rules of Rhetorick in Masculine Orations; and sometimes [...] themselves with Musick; and when they use their Voice, they set good Notes to Moral and Historical Ditties, and so practise Musick and Poetry both at once.’

‘They neglect no Art that hath any Worth in it; but they care not for Science falsly so call'd, by what Title soever it be magnified: of such Arts as make only for Pomp and serve Vanity they are not curious. They esteem none learn'd for knowing a few odde words, but such as are enrich'd with useful Notions. They let alone the trifling niceties of Questionists, because they have not yet learn'd what they are good for. They condemn some mischievons Arts which are allow'd in other careless Nations, as Divination by the Stars: A Judicial Astrologer would be punish'd for a Cheater among them, and they esteem his profession but a black Art.’

Here Phronesia being almost tired, and fearing lest her Auditors should be as weary of hearing as she was with speaking, [Page] said, I have so oft excus'd my tediousness, that I have encreas'd my fault with Apologies: but I must entreat your patience, because you have set me a task which I could not finish sooner.

As they bestow a great care upon Youth that it may be fit to serve; so they neglect not old Age, because it hath done its work: and therefore, as part of their Reward, they dispose their old people in a convenient house built with plenty of Rooms, where they have company and all necessaries provided to alleviate the burden of their decrepit time, and to prepare them for a better world. In the same House they lodge their Sick, where they have Diet, Physick and Attendance proportion'd to their Distempers.

The Poor, which are but few in Theoprepia, because Rapine doth not dwell there, are accommodated after such a sort, that their Poverty doth not grieve them; though they have nothing of their own, they are so supplied by the Publick Charity discreetly managed, that they are neither forc'd to steal, nor die for hunger, as they do in other Countries. These offices of Love towards the Necessitous are perform'd with a great willingness, because it is made a part of their Religion to comfort the Fatherless and relieve Wido wes in their affliction, and to sympathize with those which are bound, as if they were tied with them in the same cords of Adversity: they count it also a base thing to afford only good Wishes to such as need those further assistances which they are able to allow.

As they are thus passionately affected with the Sufferings of Humanity, not knowing how soon they may need some or all the Courtesies which they bestow; so they are most punctual observers of those sacred Obligations which God hath laid upon men in Natural and Civil Relations. This sort of Righteousness must needs be secure, because that which is elsewhere perform'd by the necessity of Consanguinity is here the choice of Love. Those Silver cords by which other Societies are tied together, are here chang'd for golden chaines, and multiplied to an inviolable strength. The particular Vertues of every distinct Relation are so display'd in the Theoprepians practise, that you would think their Conversation a Mirrour, made only for their lively representation. It were [Page] too long to name them. The Prudence and Fidelity of Vigilant Magistrates, the chearfull Submissions of Loyall Subjects, the wise Deportment of Loving Husbands, the modest Observance of Obedient Wives, the indulgent Affections of Carefull Parents, the ingenuous Gratitude of Dutifull Children, the discreet Commands of Gentle Masters, and the ready Performances of Willing Servants.

Such as are not related to each other in the foremention'd Respects, are yet so much made one by their common Union, that you would esteem their carriage not an expression of ordinary behaviour, but rather a School, where those Vertues which concern the general condition of Mankind were form'd by industry and design, to give notice to learners to what height they may come.

Courtesie is natural, and Kindness habitual. They are abundantly Civil, though regardless of those Ceremonies which are necessary complements to hide the Defects of true Love among other people: Men having not so far put awav the remembrance of themselves, but that in most places they keep on the Form of Humanity. What is but a show otherwhere, is Substance here; declar'd in fewer words, but more good deeds. Simplicity is at the bottom of all their converse: why should they hide their Hearts from such as love them? or how can they make a show of what is not in their Hearts to such as they themselves love? Friendship is at a high pitch. Never was there a more noble Communion of Souls upon Earth. Their Joyes must needs be doubled by the Good of others whose Calamities they reckon their own. Love must needs be firm in its Nature and rais'd in its Worth, where it is not soldred with Lust or base Interests.

Humility is in great Honour. Why should such express Arrogance in word or deed, who remember how unacceptable it is to themselves to be affronted, and think none so worthy of honour as those which most willingly give it? Covetousness is easily avoided, where Want is not feared, where Worth is not measur'd by the largeness or number of great Chests, and where those which gain unduly, make account that the more they oppress or circumvent into want, the more they must relieve. This Spirit, like an allsoveraign [Page] Balsam, frees them from those noisome Plagues which do ordinarily infest the Societies of men, Hatred, Envy, bitter Zeal, Malice, Suspicion, Cruelty, Morosity, Strife and Revenge. How can they hate others who count all men their Brethren, and have charg'd themselves with such a noble exposition of Love, that they esteem it Hatred not to love them? Envy hath no room with them, for they see if it should, it would be misplac'd upon such as either they themselves should have endeavoured to make happy, or by whose happinesse they see their own Good promoted. Bitter Zeal is contrary to their Temper, for when it is most warm, it is still sweet; never stirr'd but with just Motives, and ever accompanied with great Charity. They hate Malice, both because they will not be afflicted with such a scurvy Passion, and because their endearment of their Neighbours welfare doth not permit them to think how to afflict him. They are far removed from all Cruelty, for they have forbidden themselves rash Anger. They abandon all Morosity, being so candid and affable, that they have a peevish Sowreness in the same disgrace with sordid Flattery. They are free from Suspicion, ever believing that their Neighbour is good, or hoping that he will be so; and whilst they endeavour to make him better, they know this is one means, to cover and bear with his Infirmities. They easily avoid Offence in their language and deportment, having banish'd the spirit of Contention from among them. They have nothing to do with any sort of Revenge but Forgiveness, both because it is a Fundamental Law of their Kingdom to requite evil with good, and because they do not desire to entaile quarrells upon their Posterity; neither do they allow that Unchristian notion of Honour, that passeth so currantly with such as can dispense with their duty, when they must suffer in their reputation amongst the Ignorant for doing of it.

Thus the Theoprepians lead a happy life upon Earth: Justice and Charity, which are banished from other Nations, have taken Sanctuary here; Tranquillity, which could not procure room to set her foot in other parts of the tumultuous world, hath here erected her Throne; Plenty, which doth [Page] not satisfie other places with her largest Measures, doth here take away the very name of Want with such proportions as they despise and abuse: and they see plainly by their own Experience, that it is not from Gods Unbountifulness, but mens Folly and Wickednesse, that they do not live happily in this world, whilst some imprudently manage, and others wickedly mis-spend his Gifts.

When Phronesia had gone so far, her chief Gentleman, call'd Anchinous, brought word that Supper was ready, and desired to know if she would have it set upon the Table. Yes with all my heart, said Phronesia; and took that fit opportunity to end her Discourse, begging pardon of Urania and her noble Companions, who in stead of that return'd her most humble thanks, and but that they were still to enjoy her presence, would not have gone out of the Arbour for all the Suppers in the world; for they valued her converse above all other possible Entertainments.

After Supper, as one that was present reported, they pleas'd themselves with putting divers ingenious Questions concerning the argument of Phronesia's Speech, which I do not at present remember; and because they would be too long to be here inserted, I am the lesse offended at the weaknesse of my memory. But after they had talked away a good part of the Night, they were conducted to their Chambers to sleep out the rest.

In the Morning they receiv'd a Message from Theosebes to invite them to dine with him that day, and also to favour him with their good company in the Temple that morning, where some solemn Devotions were to be perform'd. They accepted his courteous offer, and return'd a thankful answer, being very willing to partake in those Prayers which such Holy persons offer'd, and to receive Love from those who were most worthy to be loved.

When they were come down into the Hall, they were civilly accosted by Phronesia, who also excus'd her self to them, that for an hour or two she should be depriv'd of their most desired company, praying them to impute this her involuntary Absence to the irresistable urgency of most important Business. [Page] She acquainted them that she would leave with them Amerimnus, who was an intimate friend of Theosebes, to whose piety and prudence he did commit his chief affaires, and that [...] should attend them either in the Gardens or wheresoever they would please to divert themselves. They received her Civility with all thankful correspondence, and dismiss'd her, much pleas'd that she had brought them acquainted with Amerimnus, by whom they hoped to understand something of the Disposition and Manners of Theosebes. That they might not lose such a fair opportunity, they walk'd into the Garden, and taking the advantage of handsome Seats in a place where they might have a full view of Eusebia, Bentivolio [...] Amerimnus to oblige him and the Company with some such reports as he should think fit to give to strangers of the holy life of Theosebes. I should most willingly obey your command, quoth Amerimnus, but that I am not able to draw to the life the Image of such an Excellent person, or to express any just Resemblances of his Vertues. Alas! his Worth is above the highest praises that I can reach; and yet some peradventure, who have been only acquainted with ordinary perfections, would think that I extol him upon design, more then his Merit. But as I know that you have the fairest degrees of high attainments in your own Experience, and so cannot but judge that possible of which you are Instances; I will give you a short description of his Excellencies; and the rather, because it will not be long before you will converse with him, and then you may easily correct the wrongs which I shall do him.

The chief thing which he aimes at is to be a true Lover of God, to whose service he hath entirely devoted himself: he thinks all noble Affections due unto him, and judgeth Love misplac'd if it be bestow'd upon any thing else, except in very low degrees. As he finds the Excellency of things different, he appoints them distinct allowances of that Affection, which yet are but several sorts of small measures: But as God is out of all measure excessive in Amiableness, so he hath set no bounds to the Love which he hath for him. I have often heard him say, That he is not worthy of the name of a heavenly Lover, that doth not Love God with his whole Soul: In [Page] which I must confess I cannot but think him in the right, for the Greatest Good doth justly challenge the best Love. His affection is so really fix'd here, that he seeks nothing but Union with God; and doubting that he is not yet come to the utmost intimacy which is possible to an holy Soul, he doth endeavour continually to make nearer Approaches. He told me one day, that he seem'd to see the mouth of Hell open, when he did but think of such a state wherein men are remov'd from loving and being beloved of the infinitely Good God.

He hath consecrated himself for a holy Temple to God, and hath made his Soul that spiritual Image wherein the Divine likenesse doth shine; and being kindled with the vigorous heat of celestial Love, he offers up his Heart for a daily Sacrifice; the flames which ascend are all perfum'd with the breathings of Seraphick Joy, mix'd with anhelations of fervent Desires. Whilst he is conversant in acts of Devotion, I cannot say that his Body is lifted up from the ground, as they report that Pythagoras was when he pray'd; but I am sure his more noble part is carried into Heaven, which is never far from such a Divine Spirit.

It is not possible for any other man to describe the Passions which he feels; for none knowes how much one loves but the Lover himself: but he is so constantly attended with all outward demonstrations of inward affections, and they are so notoriously known to all that converse with him, that it is as hard not to think him a Lover, as it is impossible to believe that such are who can give no proof but a bare pretence to that Honorable Title. We cannot chuse but know that he is alwaies in the thoughts of God, for he is ever speaking of him, and still busied in doing every thing which he understands to be acceptable to him, and esteems nothing too hard to suffer for him if he think it be a tryal of Love. He receives every thing which looks like a signification of Anger with extreme sorrow, and yet with all thankful submission to his loved God, whom he will heartily blesse that thus he puts him in mind of his failing; for before he was apt to fear that he did not love enough. If any thing in which he delighted be taken from him, he immediately restores to God the Love which [Page] that enjoyed in his right. Though he rejoyceth infinitely when God smiles upon his Soul; yet he is afraid that he doth receive many expresses of Divine Favour in vain, because, as he saies, he is able to love God but a little. When he takes notice that God's Perfections are so great that he can adde nothing to his Glory, no not so much as by wishing him any good thing; he rejoyceth in the happinesse of God, and would not have it otherwise, lest he should foolishly desire God to be Lesse, in hope with his silly Love to make him Greater: but he is therefore more careful of the duties which he owes, since he plainly sees that he serves one who can value nothing but the Good will of his poor Servants.

By bestowing his Mind totally upon the Contemplation of God, he blasts the fairest flowers of Vanity, either wholly neglecting to consider what they are; or if he glance upon them, he sees them so Inferior to that Good with which he is in love, that he pleaseth himself to take that occasion to slight them the more, and to immerse himself deeper in the remembrance of such things as it is a death to forget.

I never heard him magnifie any Created thing. His Sister indeed hath told me that he doth highly esteem Three Jewels, which he keeps very private, (they say such as have them do not love to show them) and makes no lesse account of them then of his Life. She call'd them, as I remember, Ommelion, Terpsithea and Galenepsyches. There is great reason why he looks to them so carefully, for besides their inestimable value, by means whereof none that hath them can ever be poor, they have other rare Virtues; for such as keep them, find themselves ravish'd with a secret delight in God, and a strange alacrity in his service, they are never destitute of a placid calm of Soul and a serene peace of Conscience, their minds also are fill'd with rais'd Meditations and abundance of heavenly thoughts. They say also that these Incomparable Jewells cast such bright rayes, that they show the Beauty of Holinesse, the Reasonablenesse of Religion, and the Excellency of Vertue, and make them as visible to good men as any bodily thing is to our common Eyes. Besides, they say that he which is possess'd of them is so happy and content with his portion, that [Page] he depiseth the best Jewells of this world as contemptible Bits of ordinary Glasse.

But if these Jewells, quoth Urania, be of such incomparable worth and rare effects, methinks Theosebes should never trust them in any Cabinet but his own Bosome. I am of your mind, replied Amerimnus; and though they talk of a Closet in the house, which is so secret that none knowes where it is, which is the Repository of these Jewels, yet I have often thought that he wears them ever in his Breast.

The whole Neighbourhood is convinc'd that his private entertainment is the Love of God, because in publick he doth expresse an unparallel'd Love to men, and chuseth such Instances as will best make those which partake of them to become Lovers of God: for his Love imployes it self chiefly in the care of those greater necessities of their Souls, having lesse need to busie himself in the Relief of their Bodily infirmities, because his Sister Agape doth of her own accord discharge that part so excellently, that she proves her self not unworthy to be Sister to such a Brother.

His affable temper hath made him so accessible to all, that his neighbours come freely to him, knowing that they shall be more welcome if he can do them any good; and when he visits them, (which he doth often perform to such as are capable of that Civility,) he ever sets before them a most eminent Example, which is the best of Books.

In the Temple, where he is Chief Priest, (according to the Custom of ancient times, for then the Prince had also that Honour,) he celebrates the Divine Perfections with due Praises: And that others may do it the better for his assistance, he sometimes helps them with a clear Explication of the Divine Attributes, as Goodnesse, Wisdom and Power; and sometimes makes them to understand some of God's most famous works, as the stupendious Creation of the well-fram'd world, that admirable Providence by which he takes care for all things which he hath made, and the most Mysterious Redemption by which Wisdom and Love, in a sacred Conjunction, have brought the greatest good out of the greatest evil. Whilst he performs these things with an incomparable Clarity of Divine [Page] instruction, the people think they see the Invisible God, and cannot refrain from that sort of Adoration which is made of most rais'd thoughts and equal affections. Though they do not omit that sort of Worship which consists in Corporal prostrations, but bow their Bodies in humble reverence of the Divine Majesty; both because we are to glorifie God with our Body as well as with our Soul, as also that the outward submission is some signification of the inward: yet because the External is lesse, and sometimes destitute of the Internal, and then worth nothing, he hath taught them especially to adore the Supreme King with humble demission of Soul, and the unfeign'd subjection of their Self-will.

We have not many Ceremonies, because we know that God doth principally delight in Spiritual services, and because Men are apt to be content with outward Rites, if they be so multiplied that they may have some pretence that they will dispence for in ward truth. But as that fancy is foolish in it self, though they were never so many, so here it is warily prevented: for we have but two great Rites of External Worship; A Sacred Font of pure Water, in which we consecrate our Children to the Redeemer of the World, who was incarnate for our sakes; and A Holy Table, at which we frequently commemorate the Love of our Saviour who died for us.

I may not forget one particular Charity which Theosebes doth frequently perform, and that is Pious Orations; in which he doth so plainly reveale to the People the Nature of Vertue, that they seem to see her come down from Heaven and stand in the midst of them when he speaks; and they cannot but fall in love with her, whilst he makes exhortations to them to resign themselves to her love and service, being infinitely taken with the person and arguments of the spokesman that wooes for her.

Sometimes he numbers to them the chief Precepts of Wisdom, that they may leave none out of their memories, and find them there more readily for practise. Otherwhiles he demonstrates to them how vastly the Reward doth exceed all the duties of Obedience, that they may more plainly see how good a Master they serve, and so both work more chearfully, [Page] and fear to offend one whom they have so much reason to please. Sometimes he shows them how the Rules of Truth have been verified in rare Examples of true Saints, and those of the same rank and state of life with themselves, that they may not think Holinesse impracticable except in a few, nor a heavenly life such a high thing as ordinary people should not aspire unto; and then they will blush and weep to see how imperfect they are in comparison of others. At other times he takes occasion to discover the folly of such, as envying themselves the happinesse which God hath propounded, deprive themselves of the glory of a good life by Sloth, Hypocrisie, and the love of sensuall Pleasures. By these convictions they finde vain joyes to begin to dye in their hearts, and they presently excite themselves to a vigorous pursuit of Goodnesse, and strive after a portion in a happy Immortality. When he mentions the Divine Threatnings, or reproves sinners, which he never doth publickly but for most weighty causes, they think it thunders; though the terror which seizeth upon them doth not proceed from loudness and noise, but the smart penetration of Reason and Love, which shine so clearly in his Corrections, that the Offender cannot but grieve for himself, when he sees such a worthy person sorry for him first.

Our daily Incense is Fervent Prayer; our Oblations are Holy Hymns; the Altar upon which we offer is the Love of God. Our Prayers are such as no good man will refuse to say; for we do with all possible prudence expresse this sort of dependance upon our Heavenly Father, begging of him both such things as our own Necessities do mind us of, and those which an universal Charity doth require us to ask for all the World.

Our Hymns are compos'd to minister unto Thanksgiving: for as we think our selves, and that truly, happy that God is our Patron; so we hold our selves perpetually obliged to acknowledg the Benignity of our Benefactor, to whose Good will we owe whatsoever we have. Our Songs are usually design'd to celebrate the Praises of the great Creator and most merciful Redeemer of the World: but Theosebes doth so prudently order the Ditties, that if we do not forget them we shall have a particular [Page] remembrance of the Divine Benefits; by which means he hath both prevented the vilenesse of Ingratitude, and kept in our minds every thing for which we are to give thanks, as the pious Love of our Parents, the Supplies by which he made their Death lesse afflictive, all means of good Education which concurr'd to the happy instruction of our Youth, Sufficiency of external accommodations, a good accomplishment of our Businesses, and successe in our Undertakings, deliverance from great Dangers at Land or Sea, recoveries from Sin, Vertuous Friends, by whose Counsels and Examples we have been incouraged to bear up against the spirit of the wicked world, the Assistances of the Holy Ghost, the knowledg of true Religion, the enjoyment of the Scriptures, and such like.

Amerimnus having given them this account of Theosebes, was now going to make an Apology for the length of his Speech, when Phronesia return'd and saved him that labour, by acquainting the Company that Theosebes did expect them at the Temple. When they were come thither, they perceiv'd by the manner after which it was built, that the people did not esteem all Cost thrown away which is spent any where but in their own houses; for it was a most delectable place, and so adorn'd with lightsome Windows and convenient Seats for all sorts of Worshippers, that as all were well pleas'd with the House of Prayer, so the poor thought themselves highly honored there; for though their Homes were far meaner then many enjoy'd whom they saw there, yet here they equall'd them: which stirr'd up their hearts to think of the Kingdom of Heaven; for they thought the nearer they came to that State, the lesse difference they should find in their Mansions.

Theosebes receiv'd them with that welcome which one of his Princely Temper must needs bestow upon those concerning whom he had fram'd extraordinary thoughts: but he was more especially glad of their Company, because he thought his Prayers and Worship would be more acceptable when they help'd the performance, and that God would be more willing to bestow his Blessings among them when so many of his friends were present.

[Page] Having finish'd their usual Devotions, he conducted them unto his House, where he gave them that entertainment which he thought would most answer their desires, and was himself the greatest part of it; for he administred rare content to them all by his pious Discourses. When Dinner was ended, Panaretus giving him hearty thanks for the delight which by his means he receiv'd at the Temple, and particularly from the holy Song which was sung and accompanied with a soft Organ, which he prais'd for the rare connexion of proper Notes and excellent Words; but wondring that the people express'd it with such an exact harmony of well-agreeing Voices; he ask'd Theosebes how he had brought them to that perfection of artificial Singing: and further demanded of him, whether some were not offended at that sort of Musick, as too carnal a thing, and unfit to be us'd in the worship of God; both because mens Minds are apt to be more attentive to the artifice of the Composure, and the pleasure of Sense, then to the praise of God which is design'd to be rais'd by it; and also because I have heard, quoth he, that in some places such are imployed in playing upon the Organ and other Instruments, or in accompanying them with their Voices, which are so far from being acceptable to the God of Heaven, that by their prophane lives they are grievous to good men upon Earth.

I am much pleas'd, quoth Theosebes, with your freedom of talk, and I am heartily glad that you will by any argument occasion the continuance of our Conferences; and as to the particulars of your demand, I shall endevour to give you satisfaction. That Musick is advantagious to good men in the service of God, seems to me a thing easie to be put out of question. It is well known that it hath a great Influence upon the Spirits, and a rare power to work upon the Affections: it is confess'd also that Affectionateness is the Life of our Devotions: That assistance therefore must needs be commendable which doth cherish that essential quality of Religious addresses, without which they would be rejected. If my Experience were a thing to be quoted, I could truly say, that by the Exaltation of rais'd Affections I have found the good agreement which Musick hath with Divine Service. When we give thanks, we should [Page] do it with Joy, and that is exceedingly promoted by fit Songs both by reason of the sweetnesse of Poesie, and the melody of good Notes: for which respects I suppose Musick was us'd of old in the famous Temple of Skiamelluses; and we find Psalms and Hymns continued in the Institutions and practise of Anaxanacton, though he made a great change in the Worship of those dayes. By which we understand that artificial assistances of Devotion are not so carnal as to merit rejection; and that regard to order of words and sounds which makes Verses ryme, and agreement of select Notes which makes the Tune, do not necessarily withdraw the Mind from attending upon God, who is in that way prais'd. But left the people should receive harm in this point, because our Songs are accorded to an Instrument; I have often told them, That in Divine service there is no Harmony, without the Heart do accompany every part of the performance; and if that Instrument be not us'd or out of tune, they sing to themselves, not to God. I do also exhort them frequently to mind the sense of every Song more then the sound of the Words, and not lose their spiritual Joyes in the allurements of audible pleasure, which is abus'd when it doth not serve to lift up the Soul more affectionately to God. Our Ditties are both so holy, that any good man will be content to bear a part in them when they are sung, and so plain, that they consort with mean understandings, and are for the most part set to such familiar Notes, that Vulgar auditors easily learn the Aire. The Composer is still charg'd to avoid many fractions; and when any new Tune is appointed, they are willing to observe it carefully till they have got it in their memories. If they have not the words which are sung by heart, they have Copies of them given to them, which they will make their own; for they do not grudge time or paines to further their service of God. Thus they accommodate their Voices without any disturbance to their Minds, and the intention of their affections is both more engaged and furthered.

As for the other part of your discourse, I am wholly of your opinion, that the Unworthiness of Wicked Artists doth not only make the Musick unacceptable to God, because [Page] they live out of tune to their holy Songs, but also justly offensive to good men, who think it so odious a jar to sing one part and practise another, that they can scarce endure to hear it. But I have alwaies had a great care lest our Musick should be spoil'd with such untunable Instruments; and I am sure that Amiantus, who is Master of the Quire, will admit none but such whose Conversation doth very well accord with their Profession.

I give you thanks, Theosebes, quoth Panaretus, not only for resolving my question, but because you have vindicated so good a thing from great abuse, and made it fit for the praise of the best God.

Then Theosebes broke off their Conferences by desiring them to retire to a Grotte which he had upon a clear River which ran through his Garden, where they might both avoid the heat of the weather and enjoy the pleasure of further Intercourse.

When they were come thither, some of his chief Musicians, plac'd in a Room which he had built for such purposes, began to perform such select Musick as he had appointed for their entertainment. Amongst many other excellent Songs one was compos'd in defence of Church-Musick. There Harmony reveal'd the utmost power of its sweetnesse, not so much to please, as to produce those Effects which would witnesse its Usefulnesse in such applications. Some speak against it which never heard it, and so are ignorant of its Nature; for it only can expresse its profitable delight, which when it doth, the action hath some resemblance of that of a handsome Limner when he drawes his own Picture.

I have a Manuscript written by Amerimnus, and as I turn'd it over one day I chanc'd happily to find the forementioned Ditty: the Notes were there too, but they were prick'd in a Character which hath been out of use in these latter yeares. The words were these:

[Page]

I.

We sing to Him whose Wisdom form'd the Eare;

Our Songs let Him who gave us Voices hear:

We joy in God who is the Spring of Mirth,

Whose Love's the Harmony of Heaven and Earth.

Our humble Sonnetts shall that Praise reherse

Which is the Musick of the Universe.

CHORUS.

And whilst we sing we consecrate our Art,

And offer up with every Tongue a Heart.

II.

Thus whilst our Thoughts grow Audible in Words,

And th' Body with the ravish'd Soul accords,

We hallow Pleasure, and redeem the Voice

From vulgar Uses to serve noble Joyes.

Whilst hollow wood and well-tun'd Strings do give

Praises, the Dumb and Dead both speak and live.

CHORUS.

Thus whilst we sing we consecrate our Art,

And offer up with every Tongue a Heart.

III.

Through chearful Aire with quicker wings we fly,

And make our Labour sweet with Melody.

Thus we do imitate the Heavenly Quires,

And with High Notes lift up more Rais'd Desires.

And that Above we may be sure to know

Our Parts, we practice often here Below.

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CHORUS.

And whilst we sing we consecrate our Art,

And offer up with every Tongue a Heart.

When they had ended this Song, Theosebes commanded them at Urania's request to sing the Hymn which they heard in the Temple in the morning: and when they had done, Urania talked softly to Phronesia, who sate next to her, and asked her who made the words of that Hymn. I know not, quoth Phronesia; but as you may guesse by the sense of the words, they seem to be sung in Heaven by good Angels and Men, when they design to expresse the worthy Praises of the Creator and Redeemer. And to acquaint you with what I have heard, my Sons good Genius knowing that he us'd to sing such Ditties, threw the Copie one day into the window of his Study; and they are so taken with the design of the Song, that they sing it frequently. I desire, quoth Urania, to have a Copie of it. You shall command it, quoth Phronesia; and withall took out one which by chance she had in her Pocket. And that my Readers may know what kind of Hymns they sing in Theoprepia, I will set it down. I cannot say that it is a perfect Copy, but I received it from one of Urania's friends, who with her good leave transcrib'd it, and sent it to me. It was as followeth;

Angells

We praise thee, God; Thy works do make us know

Both who's the Author, and what Praise we owe.

When Thou didst leave the Regions of that Light,

Which is so great it blinds Created sight,

Thou wrapp'dst Thy self in darker light, that we

Might the Creator through thick Crystal see.

Thy Power and Wisdome, equally above

Our reach, are thus brought down by higher Love.

Heaven is thy Throne, thy Footstool Earth, the Sea

Some drops from thy great Spring: The chearful Day

[Page] Glances from thy bright Eyes: the Starry Night

Takes from the Spangles of thy Vest its Light.

All Orders of Created Being say

With different tongues thy praises, as they may.

Whatever is, or growes, or useth Sense,

Reason embodied, pure Intelligence;

Whatever swimms, or creeps, or goes, or flies,

Doth, when we blesse Thee, eccho to the skies. (us be,

Thy Works will praise Thee: whilst Thou makst

At once we find our selves, Great God, and Thee.

Men

And we poor Men, through whose great fault the World,

Vnhing'd by sin, was into Ruines hurl'd,

Curst because sinners, have more cause then you,

Blest Angels, as we can, this work to do.

The Son of God, made Man for us forlorn,

That we might live, disdain'd not to be born:

And when our Staines requir'd a Holy flood,

He saw our need, and wash'd us in His Blood.

Heaven is new open'd, He hath made a Dore

For all that do repent, and sin no more.

He by his Love ended the dismall strife;

Hell's hope is frustrate; Death's the way to Life,

Which growes Immortall from the hallow'd Grave:

How can we chuse but sing, when God will save?

For since He designs the ruin'd World to raise,

It is but just it should fall down in Praise.

Angells

All Heavenly Powers do in Thy Praises meet;

Archangels throw their Crowns before Thy feet.

[Page]Men

Old Patriarchs and Prophets bow before Thee;

Apostles and the Holy Church adore Thee.

Angells

We offer praise because we kept our Place.

Men

Because we are Restor'd we thank thy Grace.

Angells

'Tis One great Sun whose Glory shines so bright

In Heaven;

Men.

And fills this lower world with

Both

By Thy blest Influence, O Holy Dove, (Light.

Men

Men are inspir'd;

Ang.

And Angels taught to love.

CHORUS.

We blesse Thee, God, the Father of us all,

And celebrate the Worlds Originall.

The Heavens and Earth, made and restor'd by Thee,

Joyne Praises in a gratefull Harmony.

Accept our thankfull Hymne, though such poor laies

Fall infinitely short of worthy Praise.

And since, Great sourse of Being, we can never

Praise Thee enough, we'l sing and praise Thee ever.

After the Song was ended they spent the rest of the Afternoon in the spacious walks of a fair Garden, and by various discourse made Theosebes bring forth those rich Treasuries of Divine Knowledg which he had laid into his Soul by frequent Meditations in the same place. When the Evening began to spread her duskish wings, they hasten'd to Phronesia's house, and took Theosebes along with them.

When Supper was ended, Nicomachus desired leave that he might propound two or three Questions to Theosebes; which being chearfully granted, he begun thus: I have been told, quoth he, in Vanasembla, that if one do but desire and entertain a purpose to go into your Country, that he shall be carried thither immediately without any more adoe. No, quoth Theosebes, all Forreigners must take the paines to travaile, or else their Wishes and Resolutions will never bring them hither. [Page] If I be not misinform'd, your Experience will witness what I have said to be true; you found not the passage free from all difficulty. But the Borderers, especially one call'd Hemicalus, who though he dwells near unto us would never come among us, hath rais'd many ridiculous and false tales concerning Theoprepia. Others, quoth Nicomachus, say that you live a very Melancholick life in Eusebia. They were never there which told you that, quoth Theosebes; you have seen the contrary. They are unreasonable people who condemn such as they do not know. We do not live discontentedly, for then we should be miserable; neither do we abandon Joy, for so we should become Stones: if we would live without the sense of humane things, we should be forc'd to pull our Hearts out of our Bodies. But we know that there is a sort of Masculine Pleasure, which doth recreate and ennoble the Soul: and we dare not sink our selves in the Voluptuousnesse of Sense, lest we should stick fast in Mire, as we have understood that they all do who will know no reasons or Delight, but such as are derived from brutish Rellishes and dull correspondencies with the Worse part.

You take great paines for Knowledg, quoth Nicomachus. Is Wisdom so difficult? or must you needs know every thing? why do you do it? Because we believe, quoth Theosebes, that God will not accept of Ignorance for a good Plea. But they say, quoth Nicomachus, that your labour is never at an end. There is good reason for that, quoth Theosebes, for our state consists in habitual Goodnesse, and that is not to be attain'd without many Acts; and besides this we seek a noble prize of our diligence, Eternal Blessednesse. Is that then, quoth Nicomachus, the great End of all your Industry? Yes, quoth Theosebes. But methinks we need not doubt, said Nicomachus, but God will give us that, although we should not strive so much for it, because he knows that we are weak: No, said Theosebes, we have no hope to make Imbecillity the refuge of Idlenesse, since we find God is ready to help us to do all things that he requires of us. But what need you be so careful every day? said Nicomachus. Because, quoth Theosebes, we shall be judg'd for every day. But what need you do this more then others? said [Page] Nicomachus: Many do not trouble themselves so much. Because we see, said Theosebes, that many are stupid and mind not their concernments, and we have no such esteem of those whom we pity for their Errours, as to make them exemplary to our selves. Why, quoth Nicomachus, do you often vilifie the Interests of this world, as they say you do? Because, quoth Theosebes, we see them desert those who have courted them with most servile affections. Since you have attain'd a great Perfection, quoth Nicomachus, why do you trouble your self any further? Some think you are more burdensome to your self then you need to be. To this Theosebes replied, They which do but imperfectly understand their own condition, cannot so well pronounce concerning others; but I am assured that if I should slack my endeavours; to grow better, I should wax worse, and so fall into a doubtful hope of Happiness, and after that into a certain fear of Misery. Those which resolve to sit down upon the Hill side, will never reach the Top; and if they fall asleep there, peradventure they may tumble down again. I despair of obtaining my End, which I have told you, but by Perseverance; and I have no hope of that, but by vigilant Care and constant Progressions.

There Nicomachus broke off his discourse, praying pardon of the Company that he had continued it so long, and by his speech occasion'd their silence: and since it begun to be late, Phronesia acquainted the Company, that if they pleas'd she would waite upon them the next morning to the healthful Plaines of Sophrosyne, and desired Theosebes to make them one more with his company. The Noble Travailers signifying a thankful consent to a motion which contain'd so much Civility, they ended the Conferences of that Night.

In the Morning Phronesia rising something earlier then ordinary, though she was never late in bed, having prepar'd all things necessary for their Journey, conducted her friends towards Sophrosyne with such a convenient Equipage, that they easily perceived that true [...] extends it self to all things. They came in a little time to the borders, which were adorn'd with plenty of ancient Trees; and having travail'd a little way through the [...] Woods, they came to old Sophron's [Page] Seate. His house was built with the plain stone of the Country, not adorn'd with Pillars of forreign Marble, or rich Columns of Corinthian Brasse, nor furnish'd with the overworn Statues of such as had nothing else by which they could be remembred; neither were the Rooms furnish'd with stately beds of Ivory, or golden Goblets: in stead of the trouble of such dangerous household-stuffe they had plain Utensils, and were serv'd in Earthen Vessels, were content with a little, and form'd their desires according to the proportions of true Necessity. One of Sophron's Sons (for old Sophron was dead) that had in nothing degenerated from his Father, met them in one of his Walks, and conducted them into his House; where they found all things appointed with respect to a decent Soberness, and saw that they were as far from Sordidness as from a luxurious Delicacy.

After usual salutations, and civil entertainment perform'd after the manner of Sophrosyne, Bentivolio according to his custom enter'd upon discourses sutable unto his design, and acquainted Sophron that, as amongst the many singular Courtesies done to them by Phronesia, they esteem'd it a great honour to be accompanied by her to his house, so he desired Sophron to favour him and his Friends with the knowledg of their Manners and the reasons of their Discipline, which they had heard to be the most conformable to Humane Nature of any in the World.

I have nothing to say, replied the Modest Sophron, in praise of our Customs in comparison of others; but what they are you shall soon know. Since the Roots of Immortality wither'd in Paradise, Life hath not been purchasable in Fee-simple; and therefore our Ancestors took thought how they might improve their Time during their Lease; and perceiving that they were to enjoy it in joynt-Tenancy with the Body, they took what care they could to make it least cumbersome to the Soul, that the Spirit might be more content to dwell with it, and more able to accomplish its actions without disturbance from such a dull Companion. The chief thing which they found advantageous to these purposes was an universal Temperance: and this they esteem'd necessary to [Page] their Design, both because some in a very short time forfeit their Lease of life by the neglect of Moderation, and though a longer space was allowed to them, they foolishly shorten it, and scarce out live the time of a Gourd; and others so disenable themselves by the Effects of Intemperance, that they live to as small purpose as if they had never been born, and in the close die as unwillingly as a Beast catch'd in a snare.

Health is our Pleasure; and our Riches, Content with competent Portions. We emulate nothing but the Simplicity of our Ancestors: we think that we then enjoy our Body as we should, when we keep it subservient to a thoughtful Soul. We look upon it as an Inne where we are to sojourne a few dayes, and provide such accommodations as are proportionable to the stay which we are to make: but our principall Employment is to prepare our selves for the estate which awaites us at Home, and to do such things here as will prove beneficial to us when we come thither. All that we desire by the way is a healthful Chearfullnesse and a serviceable Temper; and these we obtain and secure by denying satisfaction to all unreasonable Appetites, which, as we have observed, wheresoever they are indulg'd, destroy those who are so foolish as to be in love with them.

If the Instances be lawful in which men please themselves, we wonder why they transgresse their Bounds; for then they displease: and since God hath commanded us not to passe the limits which he hath set, we esteem it most unworthy to offend, because he never forbids till the Excess hurt us. When men chuse unlawful instances, we are astonish'd at their brutishness, because the allow'd are better; besides that they leave no gall in the Conscience.

If men pretend a joy in such freedoms as they fancy and then rifle to themselves, we think they are sufficiently punish'd for their boldness by the sad dyscrasies of their wrong'd bodies, as the Surfets of Gluttony, the Vomits of unmeasur'd Drinking, the Crudities of indigested Varieties, which are the Rootes of afflictive Diseases, unclean effects of bestial Lust, dishonorable Sickness, sleepless nights, disturb'd Dreams, and untimely Death; besides what is to be expected in another World.

[Page] Whilst we see such things to be the necessary consequences of a dissolute life, we please our selves in a sober preservation of our bodily Comforts; and what we have we enjoy without the checks of a discontented Soul: ours must needs be far from reproching the Pleasures which it help'd us to procure: we preserve and recover the Body by the Soul; a discreet observation of our Constitutions is our chief Physick. Whilst a Holy Soul dwells in a healthful Body, it hath an Antepast of their future and better Conjunction. The Sensitive part is apt to be mistaken, and frequently makes the Soul suffer for its Errors; and therefore we keep a strict watch upon its Tentations, lest it exceed due Proportions in the Quantity of Meats and Drinks, or be too curious as to the Qualities of either. As we avoid Excesse, so we are carefull to use things which administer proper Nourishment; and of those we think our selves well provided, if we have such as secure our End: the End of Eating and Drinking is Health, and the End of Health the employment of Soul and Body in worthy actions.

We are not troubled with the incivility of offering great measures of drink by way of Complement; we esteem it no great Courtesie in any man to invite us to drown our selves either in Water or Wine: It is a great abuse of good nature to please another with our own hurt, and no lesse folly to pretend a regard to some friends Health, and at the same time to despise our own.

We care not for delicate Odours, sweet Herbs are enough; and in stead of curious Meats and Drinks, we chuse those which have a less troublesome preparation, and give more natural satisfaction. Yet we are not ignorant that there are different Tempers of Body and Uses of Life; and therefore we can tell how to allow that to others which we take not to our selves: but we are wary also to distinguish between the true Infirmity of a weak Stomach, and the Curiosities of a fantastical Palate.

Hunger and Thrist are our best Sauces; and we are not so lavish in the expence of them, but that we still keep some to rellish our next meale; and therefore though we have dined [Page] or supped, we rise not without some Appetite. To what purpose should a man for so poor a gain as a sick dullness, endeavour to eate as much as he can?

Sometimes we have moderate Feasts, but they are alwaies proportion'd to the just considerations of the Number and Quality of our Company: and those who are entertain'd, do then more especially mind their Rules, knowing that their Vertue is under a Tryal: and though we allow a greater measure of time for Converse, and Chearfulnesse is not prohibited; yet we so order the matter, that we may not indispose our selves for what we have to do, by sitting too long; and do both deceive our palate with the best Discourse which we are able to furnish at the Table, and cause the Cloth to be taken away when we perceive the Company have eaten and drunk enough.

I must confess that we are more strict in these Observations, because by this means we endeavour to way lay an inconvenience which others accelerate by Excesse in meats and drinks: for by that, one sort of Intemperance ministers to another; and of the latter we are more afraid then the former, because it is more dishonourable: but if they were equall, we would be loath that any thing should make our Bodie so disobedient to the Government of our Soul, that it should be provoked by its own negligence to lustful Sympathies, and be destroy'd by the Beast which it could have master'd, if it had not fed it too high. The Pleasures of Abstinence have a rare gust, being sweetn'd with subservience to Chastity, by which we preserve the Honour and Strength of our Bodies. And since the best of Spirits, who is the Love of all Noble Souls, doth ever refuse the Mansion which is disgrac'd with bodily Uncleanness, and doth most of all abhor to be lodg'd with [...]; therefore we do so far abandon the use of alldishonest Pleasures, that we keep the very thoughts of them from desiling our Minds, and esteem those which are with just limitations allow'd to be then strictly forbidden, when they are not joyn'd with abundance of Temperance, and hallow'd with a great deal of Modesty.

We are more easily defended from the danger of these Pollutions [Page] when we come to riper yeares, because our Wise Parents took great care that the Modesty of our young Natures might not be ravish'd with evil Examples, light [...], obscene Books, or wanton Pictures, and that the unspottedness of our Virgin-life might not be stain'd with bad Company, lascivious Dances, or the mischiefs which constantly attend upon an Idle life. Idleness is esteem'd with us no better then it deserves, that is, an Ignoble thing; and those who know not, nor will practise some good Art, are accounted uselesse members of the Creation.

For other particulars wherein we have no set Rules, we guide our selves by the best Examples, and incline to that part which is most severe to the Flesh, keeping in all things a decorum with the Prudence of universal Moderation. But that I am afraid to be troublesome to your patience, I would tell you also that we do more heedfully observe the Orders of our Ancestors, because we have heard, and know it to be true, that the Divine spark which is plac'd in the constitution of our Souls, can scarce be discern'd where it is, when it is [...] with an Atmosphere of bodily Fumes; and that it is alwaies unfitted for its highest operations, when it is clogg'd with turbulent Passions. Converse with God is the top of our Joy; and we cannot ascend to him but in a serene Calm of Soul, no more then we can see the Sun when it is [...] up in thick Cloudes.

We do not desire to be buried alive: which misery we should think to befall us, if the Eye of our Soul were darken'd to the sight of our best Good, the gust of our present and future Happiness dull'd, and the hopes and desires of Immortality choak'd in us, and the power of the Soul, by which it lifts it self up to the attainment of celestial life, depress'd or extinguish'd. And since we find that an immoderate resentment of fleshly Pleasures doth perversely aime at such dishonourable Ends, we abandon it, being so far in love with the Dignity of Humane Nature, that we scorn to degenerate into Brutes through such mean perswasions; but we subjugate our Fleshly part to advance the honour and liberty of our Minds, having observ'd that men of the best-govern'd Affections [Page] have ever attain'd the greatest excellencies of Judgement.

Whilst vve content our selves vvith a Frugal vvay of life, vve provide fevvel for charity, and redeem something to bestovv upon such as vvant, from lavish entertainments, superfluous variety of gay Clothes, and multitudes of needlesse Houses. In short, To the prudent Institutions of our good Father vve ovve an excellent Health, an agile Body, unhurt Senses, quiet Sleeps, a peaceful Soul, serene Contemplations, a symmetry of Passions, freedom from shameful Lust and violent Anger, preparations for Heaven, and a happy Death after a contented Life; from vvhich vve part vvith little trouble of Body, but vvhose remembrance is so acceptable to our Mind, that if we were to live it over again, we should repeate it according to the same Rules.

When Sophron had finish'd his Discourse, he desir'd them to walk into a little Grove which joyn'd to his Garden, and there by an ocular demonstration he show'd them what pleasure may be found in a Little, and by what way Wise men make the half more then the whole: for with Herbs, Roots, Fruits, Milk, Honey, Bread, and the native Wine, which he call'd by another Name, he made a Feast, which was a Practise upon his former Rules.

But this first part of the Entertainment was far exceeded by that which follow'd; which was a rare Discourse manag'd by two young Ladies, of which I shall give an account by and by.

It may be some Reader will wonder why I do so much magnifie this sort of Entertainment: and because I have mention'd it divers times, I will now give the reason of that Theoprepian Custom. You must know that although the Theoprepians did frequently retire themselves to Contemplation and Piety, and had appointed select Places remov'd out of the Noise of the Tumultuous world as fittest for Education; yet they were not ignorant of those Advantages which may be had in Converse with others: and it was received as a common Opinion amongst them, That Ingenious Conference is one of the most pleasant sorts of Recreation, and a most profitable, as well as delectable, exercise of our Natures; since [Page] by this means every one doth teach and learn, and by a free. Communication of Souls in a lively and vigorous way of Knowledg, enjoy a delight as far above that which is attainable in lonesome life, as an excellent Song of many Parts is above the pleasure of a single Voice, or at least as the performance of a good Composition with fit Voices and Instruments passes the mute joy which one can take by looking upon a Song prick'd in a Book. The Theoprepians being us'd to this way, and having confirm'd their love to it by the experience of the Benefit which they reap'd from it, slighted those mean Sports which ravell out the time of other people, and leave them discontented when they see to what little purpose they have spent it. Lest their Conference should be tedious if they managed it alwaies after the same fashion, they have learn'd to vary the Mode of their Discourses with much pleasing Change. Sometimes they put Questions, that they may enjoy the Learning and Knowledge of each other in their Answers. Sometimes they make it their task to recite Examples of Noble Precepts, by which the possibilitie of the highest Vertues is demonstrated. At other times, by observing the happy Successes of Good men, they encourage themselves in the pursuite of that Holynesse which they practis'd. Sometimes they recount the sad Catastrophes of Splendid Tyrants, and take a view of the true Miserableness of Fortunate Wickedness. And otherwhiles they make little Orations, in which they declare and commend the Excellency of some particular Vertue. That day Euergesia and Philothea were appointed to a loving contest for the Priority of the Graces which they bore in their Names; and Phronesia having acquainted [...] with the design the Night before, prevail'd with her to do them the Honor to accept of the Moderator's Chaire, and with a short speech to determine the Controversie according to her own most excellent judgement. Taking her by the hand she led her to her Place, and having set the two Ladies Euergesia and Philothea in the midst upon two green Seats, all the Company being dispos'd round about in a convenient Circle, Urania becken'd to Euergesia to begin: Which command she obeyed after this Manner;

[Page]

Illustrious Auditors,

It is hard for me to say whether I be more encouraged or dishearten'd in the performance of my Task by this Noble Company: For as it would be my singular Joy, if I could present you with any worthy enterainment; so it doth extreamly afflict me to think how much I shall abuse your Patience against my will, and that my Power doth in a time or so great necessity desert my Wishes. As the Noblenesse of my Argument doth inspire me with Desire, so the Imparity of my Abilities doth spoyle my hope or making good my Undertaking, which I think so far above my Endowments, that I have much to do with my self not to find more fault with my Province because it is too good for me, then many others do with theirs because they judge it inferior to their Worth, Since my skill is too weak to display the divine Beauty of Charity, I must be sain to draw a Veile instead of a Face: only I have this comfort, that as I know this bright Sun needs not borrow my small finger to point to it; so I make as little doubt but that it will show the All-conquering Vigour of its native Lustres the more, whilst it breaks through the cloudy Representations of my dark Dscourse.

That I may be clearly understood in what I intend, I shall say what kind of thing I mean by Charity, and then give an Argument or two for my Opinion concerning it. By Charity I understand a Good will so comprehensive that it includes an Universal Regard to the Necessities of all Mankind, and a hearty endeavour for [...] Relief. Of this I am to speak by way of Commendation, and my praise extends so far as to call it the most glorious thing that is sound amongst men: which I think will easily appear by the exact Conformity which it bears to the Archetypali pattern of all Worth. To be most like the Divine Goodnesse is to be next best to it. This place Charity doth of right claim, since it is an [...] Benevolence putting obligations upon all the World by good affection, and making all sorts of infirmities to wear its Livery, in the effects which it produceth by Beneficence. And therefore mankind with a common Love doth, [Page] as it were, adore those persons which are crown'd with this Glory, as Visible Gods. Confirm'd in my belief by these Reasons, I am more bold to affert, being not only satisfied in the grounds of my private thoughts, but well assured that if I erre in what I think, I shall be justified by the Generall Vote of the World.

That God is the Original Pattern of all Excellency is a thing out of all Dispute; and it is as clear a Truth, That the brighest Notion which our poor Minds can form of Divinity, is Goodnesse, and that this is the Splendor of the increated Majesty. He doth verifie the Adorablenesse of his Godhead by this Attribute, which is so full of God, that it doth Deifie the rest. By his Wisdom he would be acknowledged able to out-wit his Creatures, and by his Power to tyrannize over them; but that he will do neither, we are affured only by his Goodness. Whilst his Creatures find in what vast extents it dwells in his Nature by the incomparable Effects which they experiment in themselves, they fall down before it in submiss Adorations, and pronounce them infinitely due to the Universal Benefactor and Patron of all things. And they cannot chuse but do it, whilst they perceive that he is not only the Eternal Fountain out of which all things are derived, but, as they also take notice, that he doth incompasse the World with his out-stretch'd Arms, and reacheth Perseverance to the happinesse of his Creation; in which nothing is depriy'd of the benefit of his Love, but what, by chusing Hatred, makes it self incapable of Love. So that he is in every point of this great Circumference, and like an Omnipresent Sun is every where ready by a free Communication of his beames to fill the whole Creation with heavenly Light.

But though God hath so made up his work, that he hath left nothing unfinish'd by which any doubt may justly arise concerning his Almighty Skill or infinite Goodness; yet one may discern some shadows of seeming Imperfections to remain in its Constitution, as if he had left something undone which he would not perfect till afterward. One Visible flaw which I seem'd to find was the Poverty of many of his distressed [Page] Creatures: at which I was troubled; yet not so much for their Affliction, as for the Dishonour which rebounded upon their Maker from their unrelieved Condition. But seeking further for satisfaction to this scruple, which I knew might be had if I sought it right, I happily met divine Charity, and she told me, when I entreated her name, that she was the Counterpart to the Defects of the Creation, and deputed by God to make them up, and withall carried me to her house, which was not far off, and show'd me a Store-house, which she call'd The Treasury of God, which was able to supply more necessities then humane Nature was ever troubled with. I went away fully resolv'd in my Mind, because I saw it was no disparagement to God to make the world after the forementioned manner; since though he had not given them all things immediately or at once, yet he had put all necessary additions so far within their reach, that the want of more perfect Happiness should not be laid upon him; and that he had most justly resolv'd the Condition of men should be Imperfect if they were Slothfull or Malicious. I perceiv'd also that Want was requisite to make us understand the Benignity of his Supplies, and that without complaining; since he had provided them in abundance, and created the courteous hands of Charity to bestow them where they were needful. I understood [...] that God had by this means cast a great honour upon us, that he would not so complete every thing which belong'd to the excellency of his work, but that he did leave something undone, that we might be co-workers with him towards the perfecting of the Universal good, and so have a more honourable share in it. Whilst by this means I saw a Divine lustre reflected upon the condition of Men, yet I could not but take notice that Charity was the great Globe of light where all those beams were fix'd; and that whilst it did glorifie Vertuous persons by shining in them, that of all the Vertues it self was most glorified.

Who can consider the Nature of Charity, and not see that God hath singled it out of all the rest of his creatures, and made it his Vicegerent in the Royal Office of Love, and as trusting it above others, hath made it the sole Treasurer of [Page] those Mercies which he intended mediately to bestow?

How can I but extoll that Vertue which God hath magnified, and which is of such important use, that it seems necessary to support the defence of the Supreme Goodness? For though that hath prepar'd all Blessings in plentiful measures, not only with sufficiency to correspond with Want, but also with superabundant fulnesse to administer to Delight; yet without this key, which unlocks those Repositories where they are laid up, the Poor, which most need them, would never be able to come at them.

The truth of this is manifest, if we look into those parts of the world where Charity is not entertain'd: for in those places Ignorance, Poverty, Sicknesse, Complaint, Disorder, War and all manner of defects ruine the Happiness of Mankind. But where she is received, there Knowledg, Plenty, Health, Amity, Peace and all good things abound: for she carries her Treasures with her, and doth most freely impart her Stores, because she counts not her self a jot the richer for them till they are distributed. She plaines all the unevennesses of Fortune with a merciful hand, and smooths all the Wrinkles which seem to be in the inequality of worldly [...], and so answers those Objections which otherwise would be made against Divine Providence, whilst one man hath more then another; and makes the Poor content that the Rich should be their Stewards, and the Rich much more Rich, whilst they make themselves poorer by giving away a considerable part of what they have.

Upon Hunger and Thirst she bestows her Corn and Wine: She would esteem her Wooll good for nothing, if the naked did not want Clothes: She frustrates the dreadful threatnings of Beggery with her Money, and makes the Iron fetters of Captives to fall off with the force of Gold and Silver. The Sick want no Visits, whilst she can go her self; nor Medicines or Attendance, as long as she is able to procure them. Strangers have not leave to ly in the Streets, for she takes them into her House, or a convenient Hospitall provided for them with all necessary Accommodations. The cold Winter prevailes not against such as have no Fewel, because she hath lard [Page] up enough for them in warm weather. Desperate Debtors are hindred from cursing God and their Creditors in Prisons, for she either perswades those to whom they owe to forgive them, or payes their Debts She bestows Knowledg upon the Ignorant with meekness; formes the rude and composes the disorder'd with prudent instructions. She passeth by Offences committed against her self, and hides with candid Hope such faults as she cannot presently mend; and where any Good is begun, she helps it forward toward perfection. She reconciles the differences of Mankind with discreet interpositions: and having done what good she can to particular persons, she seeks out waies to advance the Publick Good. And by a divine Fulness would, like an inexhaustible Spring, send forth Streames continually to replenish all the Wants of men, but that they obstruct their passage with unworthy Damms; and yet she makes a shift to get over them, conquering all Evil with Good. The World shall sooner want empty Pitchers, then Charity will want Liquor or Affection to fill them up; all times being her Opportunity, all occasions an Invitation, and whosoever pleases, her Guests.

Charity makes her self a great high Priestesse, offering up prayers continually for all the World, for whose Good she is not unwilling to become also a Sacrifice; and having made all that dwell in the same Nature her Children, she would gladly, like a true Pelican, feed them with her bloud. And as she lives to no other, as her main, End, but to do good, (for she esteems it all Glory to be an instrument in Gods hand to further the good of others:) so she counts it but congruous to her Nature to be willing to dy, not only as Pylades for his friend [...], but rather as Damon for the more useful Pythias, taking it for a sufficient price of death, to lose her own, to save their lives which will be more beneficial to the world.

This makes all the World in love with a Charitable person; when they see him, they behold the true Volto divino drawn upon his face, and think that God is come down to them in the shape of Men. This puts an awe upon his presence, and makes his Example reverenc'd. They cannot think upon [Page] him without love and admiration: they know he is worth ten thousand Vulgar Souls, and strive for him as their common possession; expecting as great a darkness to seize upon them by his loss, as the Earth would suffer if God should extinguish the Sun; and is so endear'd to the Neighbourhood, that if any place should endeavour to wooe him from them, they would esteem it as great a wrong as to divert a common River. This Grace tun'd the Harp of Orpheus, and was the life of the Pythagorick Musick, which made the dull Stones dance into order, and sweetn'd the very Beasts out of their roughnesse. There was nothing in those dayes which durst be so ill as to disobey the precepts of one that was so good. Finally, Being sensible that this was the highest obligation of which humane kind is capable, though they are naturally afraid of Death as the worst enemy; yet being desirous to perform a due requital, for such a one they are willing to dy.

But I will conclude my Discourse, lest by multiplying words, I should be thought to suspect the Evidence of the Truth which I defend, for such a dark business that it cannot be easily demonstrated, and through tediousness of Speech concerning Charity forget my Argument, and uncivilly abuse the courteous Patience of those Noble Auditors who have to me more then sufficiently discover'd the power of Love, in that they could so long bear with my Infirmities.

Euergesia having finish'd her Discourse with a generall approbation, which reveal'd it self in all their Countenances, Urania desired Philothea to succeed her: which she did with a modest Smile, after this manner;

If I were able to form rais'd notions in my mind, most Excellent Auditors, and to clothe them with the beauty of Rhetorical Language, I should think my self happy in this present opportunity, having received a Subject which no low thoughts can reach, and honour'd with Company which deserve the best of Discourses. The discouragements which rise from my Imperfections do chiefly amaze me, knowing that I can speak nothing that will [...] the silence of your [Page] Attention. I should undoubtedly hold my peace, but that I know that those who are most able to do excellently themselves, are most ready to pardon the failings of others, and that they make not their Deserts the measures of their Acceptances; and that I am assured by the experience of a happy acquaintance with your Vertues, that you will take in good part what is offer'd with Humility, though it fall extremely short of what you might have justly expected. My Argument doth afford me some Comfort, because it will be its own praise, and doth contein so many refulgent perfections, that to recite them is Eloquence: and though I am not able to perform that in a manner answerable unto their worth, yet I make bold to hope that I shall be excus'd in that defect, because even Praise is not asham'd to confess its self poor of Encomiums for so rich a Subject.

Divine Love is the Exaltation of Humane Nature to the Top of all possible Perfection; the Soul rais'd to the possession of its utmost Felicity. By Celestial Love we receive the fruition of our chief Good. Whilst the Soul is enamour'd with God, it exerciseth its most noble Faculty upon the best Object. What I have asserted concerning the Object, is without the jurisdiction of doubtful disputation; all other things being in comparison of God both as little in Quantity as a Drop to the Sea, and as inferiour in true Worth as painted Fire is in respect of the real Sun. All other good things are but little Pictures made to represent some small parts of this Universal Goodness; Momentany perswasions of ill-bestowed Affections, of which they are soon deserted, having not rootes sufficient to uphold their own Loveliness, which is soon wither'd by the Sun that produced it, like the Flowers in Summer.

Concerning the Priority of the Faculty some Question is made; though I know none that pretends Rivalry with Love but Knowledg: but how unjustly it doth so, I shall soon demonstrate. There are but Two things which I can guesse by which our Faculties exalt their Worth, the Excellency of their Operations, or the Nobleness of the Object.

As to the Dignity of the Object, no allegation can be [Page] made to put a difference between them, because God is the same to both: the First Truth is the First Good; God is the most Knowable and most Lovely thing in the world; excess of Knowablenesse following the Greatnesse of his Essence, as Infinite Amiablenesse doth shine in the Goodnesse of his Nature. Here Knowledg and Love are reconcil'd, both conspiring in a strict Union joyntly to Adore so Worthy an Object.

We must give judgement then concerning the Meliority of these Powers, by the Operations which they produce; and they must stand or fall in the reputation of their Excellency, as they rise higher in their Applications towards the most Supreme Object. And here I think the difference is so visible that there is no Comparison between them; for Love is admitted to a nearer approach to God then Knowledg, and by the liberty of that access is demonstrated to be a more Sacred thing. Knowledg is but a look upon God at a distance, which is allow'd to such as are far enough remov'd from all Glory; but Love is an Union with him. Love takes it for its Definition, to be the Union of the Lover with the Object loved. Holy Love ties up the life of the Soul in God with the perfect bond of celestial Amity, and it knows no death or destruction but Separation from its beloved God, nor can endure to be absent from him. And as he alwaies loves again, (for his Love is a great part of his Goodness) or rather continues his Love, by which this Affection was first produced in the Soul; they cleave together by the close inhesions of Reciprocal Affection. So that they are no Hyperboles which an intimate Friend of the Prince of Lovers us'd, when he said, He that dwells in Love, dwells in God, and he in him, by a mutual inhabitation: and his reason is strictly conclusive, For God is Love. Holy Lovers by this affection have such a Complacency in God, that they live in him more then in themselves, and are so naturaliz'd to his Conversation, that they can be no where without him, and do passionately reject all things as hindrances of their Happiness which do offer to keep him out of their Hearts.

But how far short doth Knowledg come of such a Bliss? [Page] Where Knowledg ends, Love begins, perceiving it hath gone but a little way. What is it barely to discover that there is such a thing as God? or Philosophically to contemplate his natural Persections? What am I the richer for understanding that there are Silver Mines in the Indies? what the Mind understands only by Knowledg, the Soul enjoys by Love, and so is made happy. How little Excellency doth arise from lonesome Apprehensions is manifest in that Forlorn Spirits remain Devils still, though they know God, because they do not love him too. Its true, Love makes use of Knowledg in the accomplishment of this sacred Union, because it is naturally impossible to love that which we do not know, or to place a strong Affection upon that whereof we are but uncertainly inform'd. But what preferment doth Knowledg receive by this more then the Honour of an Instrument? I deny not Knowledg to be the handmaid of Love, for so she is, and therefore receives respect, because of the Relation which she bears to such a Noble Mistresse: in her Illustrious company she is alwaies honoured, as all are that serve where she doth; but when she hath dismiss'd her self from that attendance and is met alone, she is like a Cypher without Figures, is of small regard, and is many times corrupted with very dishonourable practises.

Of what small value Knowledg is in respect of Love, we may perceive also by the Divine permissions, which have given us leave to bestow it upon the meanest Creatures; but Love is a hallow'd Faculty, which he hath consecrated by reserving it for himself, and is ever jealous lest any Idolatrous corrival should share with him in that facred Affection. We have leave to know and use other things, but not to love them; except in such minute degrees, that they may well think that we would rather make them believe that we do counterfeit an affection, then love indeed. Wherein God doth not only secure his own right, but also expresses a great care of us; because Love conteining the Virtue of Union, if we should bestow it upon Creatures, we should debase our selves by a conjunction with many things worse then our selves, and so make our selves unmeet to be exalted into Union [Page] with God. We have prophaned the Affection which was due to God, by uniting it with every contemptible Object.

As by that which I said before concerning the Subserviency which Knowledg performs to Affection, Love appear'd to be the Exaltation of Knowledg, from which if it were separated, it would be discarded by Mankind as a thing of no use or else mischievously applicable: so lest any should think that Love is beholden to Knowledg for this service, I will prevent that mistake; for she is not only well rewarded for her labour, but it doth so redound to the encrease of her own Interest, that in the very way wherein she serves she is requited. Its true, a bare Knowledg doth give some small directions to the Love of God; but the Divine Beauty of the Godhead is not clearly visible till Love have kindled a fire in the inamor'd heart. The Light which shines from the flames of Love is like the noon-day beams, Bright and Hot. This heavenly Fire doth shine with Vital light, and with a potent heat doth dry up those fumes of Lust which would cast a cloud upon the eyes of the Soul. Whosoever sees by any other light, hath only some cold reflexion of wan Moon-beams upon glistring Snow: Though he may brag of Knowledg, he sees only with Owls eyes; and if he talk, must needs speak at random of that which he never saw but in the twilight. He may make some Fancies proportionable to what he hath heard others say, but is so devoid of the grounds of certain Knowledg, for want of Experience, that he doth but guesse at Heavenly things, as blind men do at Colours.

By this Argument it is manifest that the Soul through Love ascends not higher into the ineffable Joyes of Heaven, then into the Serenities of the Beatifick Vision; and is as far from being in debt to Knowledg here below, as he which payes his Creditor with Gold for Silver, and that in greater weight then he receiv'd.

But why do I weary your Patience, whilst I ballance Love with this Rival, who is but its Harbinger, and so though it goes before to the same place, is but sent to provide Entertainment for another? The Glory of this Vertue is better reveal'd, [Page] if we consider the Noblenesse of its Descent, accompanied with a correspondent Deportment. Love is the Natural Child of Celestial Goodness, and to produce it the God of Love vouchsafes to condescend to appear in the world, not only cloth'd with the Essential Lustres of his Natural Beauty, but also to superadd those adventitious Attractives of Bounty and Mercy, proportion'd to the Wants and Miseries of our Condition.

The Divine Goodness, designing our promotion, chose this as the best Means to make us Happy and Good both at once. For as God's Love brings his Goodness into view to produce our Love: so when our Love is brought forth, it becoms our Goodness. As we must of necessity have continued miserable if God had not loved us; so he permits us not to be happy but in loving him. That God will be loved by such as we are, is his great Condescension: but that we love the Divine Goodness, is the highest Exaltation of our Affections. So that Heavenly Love being the Flower of the Reasonable Soul full blown, and confirm'd in holy vigour by the same Goodness that produc'd it; we may well think it the chief Faculty for which we should please our selves that we have receiv'd Souls. Love is the Correspondent of Goodnesse, for which God is pleas'd with himself. Whilst the Best Good is the Parent and Object of our Love, our Affections are made Divine, and we led to Blessedness by a most pleasant way, since in the Constitution of our Happiness Love is so great an Ingredient. Thus Love is become that holy Ladder by which the Spirits of good men go and come between Heaven and Earth with reciprocal Motions. Nothing comes from above that will rest long below. The participations of this Spirit are like waters of Life deriv'd through invisible Channels from the great Sea, filling the Hearts of men, as so many little Springs, but never forgetting the way home, nor unmindful whence they came: the overflowing Stream makes little Rivolets, which never rest till they return into the bosome of the beloved Ocean.

I have often admired the noble Spirit of Love, whilst I have seen how all that are possess'd with it it make way to [Page] God with an irresistible Vigour through all hindrances, both carefully performing all services which are acceptable to him, and for his Love despising all the glistring allurements of the flattering World; and making use of a rare advantage which it hath in its own Nature, (for in Love all the Passions are seated as in their common Root) it doth with it self offer up all the Affections of the Soul to God. Taking constant Motives from the Generousness of its own Temper, it doth that which none but Lovers can perform: Where languid Souls enfeebled by the want of this assistance find impossibilities, complain of impotency, and make a stop; it goes on, and conquers with an invincible power.

It so passionately desires to please whom it loves, that it doth not only such things as are required by Explicite Commands, but never staying till it be bidden by words, complies with the most secret notices of the Beloved's pleasure, and doth whatsoever it thinks may please when it is perform'd, whether it was commanded or no: and having done all that it can, counts nothing too hard to suffer; and yet hath so poor an estimation of its own Merits, that it doth not rate all that it hath done or can suffer at the value of one Smile from God.

As a Holy Lover sees that nothing can be added to the Greatness of the Divine Goodness, which needs not what he can wish, because it hath that already and infinitely more; he is much pleas'd with the contemplation of such Perfections, and makes proportionable Adorations, and is conformably thankful, since that Supreme Goodnesse would love or be loved by Him. And whilst the Lover perceives that the Divine Goodness is only worthy of that which it needs not, he sets Love for a Sentinel at its own dore, to keep out all things which offend the Beloved or seek to invade his Portion: And in the discharge of this office is vigilant and curious. How disdainfully hath it repuls'd other Loves, when they have been so bold as to make unworthy offers? How have I seen it make other sorts of Lovers to blush as they pass'd by, upbraiding them with the indignity of those inferior Objects to which they had devoted their affections, with an injurious neglect of [Page] God, who is so inexpressibly worthy of Love in himself, and to whom all the World is infinitely obliged? How disconsolately have I seen poor Tentations sneak away after Love had mortified their vain hopes with smart denyals? How clearly hath Love convinc'd many of her erring friends of their great Folly in giving away the Affections due to their Maker, to those things which are not able to requite them; and of Insolence too, whilst to his disparagement they court every trifling Vanity before his face? By which I understood that the safety of the Divine Honor was much repos'd in the trusty Valour of this noble Champion.

But I will go no further; for whilst I look upon this Sacred Vertue as descending from Heaven, glorifying the Understanding, uniting the whole Soul with God, either clasping about the Best Good, or kneeling before the Throne of Mercy, or serving his pleasure to whom all things bow; I am so far from retracting what I have said in the praise of Divine Love, that, if I knew how, I would encrease it with more Eulogies. As there is no Goodnesse comparable to God's aboves so below there is no Affection equal to Love, nor indeed any Goodness or Affection but Divine Love.

It may be, [...] you had some expectation that I should have spoken with some Reflexion upon your Discourse made in the praise of Charity. But I shall excuse my self for neglecting all Comparisons, because I think that such as heartily magnifie the Love of God, can never speak against Charity. I find it in such strict Union with the Love of God, that I judge it an Inseparable Effect of that as an Excellent Cause, a Peculiar Instance of its incomparable Power, a rare Counterpart of its Amiableness, an honorable Companion by which its Worth is made known, and a plain Verification of its undeniable Truth.

Since Loveliness is the first-born Property of Goodness, it may be next best to Imitate, but it is best of all to Love. Whatsoever is first discern'd to be worthy of Love, is afterward for that reason judg'd fit for Imitation. Some have fancied that these two Graces are, what Nature hath made you and me, Twin-Sisters: and [...] they be, let them alwaies go together, as you and I do, hand in hand.

[Page] When Philothea had made an End Urania with no lesse grace, then if all the Vertues had bestow'd their Ornaments upon her, began after this manner.

It is a thing too apparent to receive the least shadow of doubt, That it is a very difficult Task to determine a Cause which two such Advocates have pleaded. Each of them being endued with rare abilities of Learning and Wit, and furnish'd with Subjects that justifie the Hyperboles of Praise, must needs make what they say very hard to be answer'd. Whilst I was rapt into admiration of their most excellent Speeches, methought I saw the Vertues themselves glad to be so nobly patroniz'd; and though they wondred how they came to be at such ods, as to be oppos'd in the distances of Comparison, yet they were not displeas'd that by the transcendent skill of their tutelar Professours they were both made Incomparable.

I am beholden to my good Genius for sending me a Dream last night, which whilst I call to mind methinks I see it was his Good will by that to prepare me for the discharge of this honorable undertaking, unto which I confesse my self inferiour, and to make that Task easie, which otherwise I should have judg'd impossible.

I dream'd that I did contemplate the face of the Heavens, and seem'd to see Two Suns encircl'd with mighty lustres: and as the wondring Spectators were making guesses and laying wagers which was the Parelion (and that was hard to say, their Glories were so equal;) any body would have thought that God had made another Sun just like the first, or else cut it into two pieces with the convex sides towards us. But after they had well satisfied the Curiosity of the beholders with so strange a Novelty, they made the wagerers part stakes, for the Two Suns accosting each other in nearer distances, at last United themselves into One body, and doubled their Splendours in the single Globe of Light which they both made and glorified by their Conjunction.

Whilst I meditate upon the Two divine Subjects of this dayes Discourses, I see two Intellectual Suns at once display their beauties before me: when I view each of them apart, I think them both without Compare; and when I look upon [Page] them both together, they do so dazle my eyes with their vigorous Rayes, that I know not which to prefer. But if you will have a little patience, I hope they will unite their beams, and take the praises, which I must give to each, in a joynt Encomium.

Vertue is not a thing to be pull'd in pieces, no not in Thought: being not one single Member of a Body, and so valuable according to the handsomeness of its particular Form, or Convenience of its distinct use; but an entire Body constituted of many well-proportion'd Parts, by which, when all are fitly joyn'd, the Whole is made up: and the Nature of Vertue doth so essentially consist in the Integrity of all the Parts, that if any of them be wanting, the Body is so maim'd in its Composition, and so lam'd to action, that it is esteem'd no other then a deform'd Monster. The Whole were not the Whole, but for all the Parts; and the Glory which the Parts ascribe to themselves is, that they contribute to make up the Whole.

So in the Composition of a delightful Harmony, the Thirds and Fifths have no lonesome consideration for which their Sweetness is admir'd by the ravish'd hearers, but they receive their praise as they are blended together with other Notes, in reference to which they become Thirds or Fifths, and by whose tunable concurrences they are inabled to grace the Song. The Soul accomplish'd with many regulable Faculties is the Subject of Vertue, which is content that it should be honored with her Name and Relation, if none of them be Irregular; but she allowes not any person the Denomination of Vertuous, unless he Understand, Affect, and Act according to her respective directions. Her Dominion is Universal, and her Soveraign Empire consists in this, that no Subject disobey any of her Commands: neither is that a Tyrannical Power, for there is nothing Unjust in the Government of Vertue, nor any Precept so mean, that it is worthy to be trampled upon by Disobedience.

Its true that Vertue doth display her Greatness in many Instances; but she is not so superfluously made up that she can spare any particular as a trifling Ornament. How fit it is that every thing should be in the place where she hath put it, is soon manifest by the ill favouredness of the Defect which it [Page] leaves when it is taken out. As the multitude of Excellencies shows the perfection of her Constitution; so the ugliness which presently appeares when one is separated from the rest, doth demonstrate the necessity of their essential Connexion. So the variety of Strings that are fasten'd upon the Body of a large Instrument do make it capable of higher Musick, which hath a liberty to express it self in a greater Compass by reason of the multitude of bigger and smaller Chords; but if two or three of them be out of tune, they will disorder the Musick of the Whole: For though some Sounds may come off pleasantly from one part of the Instrument; yet as soon as the Hand toucheth upon the untun'd Strings, they will jar unpleasantly, and the Discord will be so much the more observable and odious as the other Strings are more exactly tun'd; and so the Musick will become ingrateful to all judicious Eares.

When I have sometimes thought of the Golden Chain, which is said to be tied above to God's Throne and from thence let down to the Earth to draw us up thither, I imagin'd that the first Inventors of the Notion represented by it the firm Concatenation of all Heavenly Vertues: and I am afraid that if a few Links of that courteous Chain should by any dire mischance be broken off, we low Mortals should not be able to catch hold of it. Whosoever wickedly undoes this holy Combination, makes the Happiness which God hath design'd for him unattainable.

When the Tree of Life was first planted in Paradise, I make no doubt but it receiv'd singular beauty from its many wellspread Branches, and gave extraordinary delight by a great variety of Fruites: but since our Apostasie we value it most for its Medicinal qualities; that it is sweet to the Taste, and pleasant to the Eyes, are smaller praises. The Infirmities of Mankind are numerous; and as they are respectively curable by the several sorts of healing Fruits which grow upon this Vivifical Tree, and the Medicinableness of every one is so affix'd to its own Branch that it is not communicated to another, if you lop off any Arm, some Disease of Humane Nature will be left incurable.

As we have great reason to rejoyce in this vertuous Conspiracy [Page] of all the Graces, and to think those infinitely malicious who should endeavour to hinder so many friends joyntly aiming at our Good; so their attempt who should be so unworthy would soon discover its Polly as well as Malice: For the Vertues will not be separated, the Graces will not be courted alone; none of them will be loved, except their Fellowes share in the affection. What Favours they bestow, are never single; they alwaies send down Complex Influences: that Heavenly Light which irradiates the Soul with a serene Knowledg, doth at the same time awaken the powers of the affectionate part into Love; true acquaintance with the highest Goodness will be accompanied with the best Affections; and whom it makes to love, it insensibly transforms into the Image of the beloved Goodness. The Heart being made partaker of God's Love, must needs be inamored with the Goodness which is the Root of that Love: and as it is ravish'd with the Sweetness of Divine Good will, the Undeservedness of his Grace, and the Clemencies of his Pardon, a Heavenly Spirit steals into the Soul, and it loves and becomes like unto God so both at once, that it finds it self like a wedge of Steel all set on fire, at the same time possess'd with Light and Heat. So Divine Love and Charity are Twin-daughters of the same Mother, born both at once, who preserving the Union with which they embraced each other in their Original, do never after permit any thing to violate their most intimate Amity.

It can be no disparagement to Vertue to be prais'd after this fashion; neither can any take a just occasion to think that she is poor in her self, that must be made up of so many pieces: no, she is one intire Excellency in her own Nature, and those many Rayes of Glory which shine from her, do but display, not divide, Her; she sends them forth and gives them lustre, but keeps them all so fast lock'd to the Unity of her Essence, that they can no more be pluck'd off from her, then you can clip off the Sun-beams with a pair of Scissors.

Vertue is one in her self; much like the Center of a Circle, which though many Lines are drawn from it round about, and it is look'd upon sometimes as the term of this Line, and [Page] then of that; yet it is one term to them all, and is it self undivided. So is Vertue but one Perfection, though it seem to be diversified in regard of many Affections which it moderates, and several Actions which it doth produce: her Unity is thereby no more disparaged, then the Monarchy of a Prince is impaired by the multitude of his Subjects, or large extent of his Dominion. Though the Precepts and Actions of Vertue are many, they are all ordinated to one End, in which they are united, as well as in the Principle from which they proceed.

This Variety is her Glory; for by this means she sits in her Royal Throne guarded with a Princely attendance: Prudence it self manageth her affaires, Justice decides her Causes, Charity keeps her Subjects in Union, and Obedience makes them universally observant of her excellent Lawes: and she receives a complete Glory from them all, which would be considerably lessen'd if any of them should be wanting to themselves or her. Thus Vertue is beautified by the reflexion of many Splendors upon her, which were at first derived from her self. Thus have I sometimes beheld an illustrious blaze of mingled Lights plac'd orderly in distinct Sockets upon a Candlestick of burnish'd Gold, receiving their first Illumination from the midst of the Ball; but after they had mix'd their United Rayes, how dazeling was the Glory of the Room where they shone? Which they could not have effected, but that giving and taking light from each other, they made a general Contribution for one Great Splendor. So doth the generous Vine declare the Plenty of its vigorous juice by thrusting it forth, not in single Grapes, but Clusters.

But this great Truth, if I had said nothing, would have been sufficiently verified in that Noble Combination of excellent Spirits, in whose converse I and my fellow-Travailers have been unspeakably happy since our coming to Theoprepia. The Pleasures which we have receiv'd from each are so many times doubled, whilst we enjoy you all, that they are not to be express'd in words, much lesse equall'd with Thanks. We should have thought our selves blest in no mean degree, if we might have enjoy'd, as our portion, any of those single Friendships [Page] which you have bestow'd upon us united in your most desirable Company. And I must needs professe that we think our selves no lesse honoured, then if all the Muses had not only given us leave to visit them in their distinct Cells, but had also appointed a Rendezvous upon Parnassus for our sakes, there to bestow upon us the pleasures of their Musick, which must needs be an unparallel'd Consort, because it is made up of such Voices, which if they were alone could not be equal'd.

I have taken this opportunity in my own and my Friends names to give you thanks, not knowing when I should have a fitter season to pay that which hath been a long while highly due. Ever may your Society flourish; let nothing make your chast Pleasures wither. But I might have spar'd this Wish; for it is no more possible that your Delights can fade, then that those Eternal Roots upon which they grow can dy. The truth is, I can make no Wishes that signifie any thing as to your Happiness, except Duration: For if that which you enjoy be continued, you can have no more. At last may the foolish world grow wise and become happy in imitation of Theoprepia.

As to you, Philothea and Euergesia, an unparallel'd Paire of Vertuous Sisters, in what words shall I present my particular Thanks? You have made the Love of God and Man so amiable in your Discourses, that I cannot chuse but love you both. As the Vertues which you have elegantly commended are inseparable, so I give you the Praises, which you equally deserve, in a joynt acknowledgment: and I should think my undertaking highly applauded, if I were as confident that I should be pardon'd, as I am sure that you are admired.

This Conference being ended, Phronesia made a return of thanks to Urania with such affectionate expresses, that every one present thought Words to have been the least ingredient in their Composition; and after a short time bestow'd in such pleasure as leaves no grief when it is past, Sophron desired them all to retire into his house, where he entertain'd them with a Supper after the Mode of Sophrosyne, and with such Diversions as neither wasted the time, nor gave them any occasion to be weary of it. But having observed that the silent Night, whilst they [Page] were talking, had stollen away more then they thought of those houres which are allotted to Rest, he desired them to retire to their Chambers to save what was left.

Phronesia and Theosebes having staid a few dayes with no small content in Sophrosyne, they return'd to the City, taking along with them their noble Guests, whose company was as much pleasant to them, as the losse of it administred occasion of grief to the good Sophron, who would have been much troubled, but that he had learn'd among other Rules of Wisdom, to part contentedly with the best things which God will permit us to keep no longer.

The Travailers had now spent a considerable time in Theoprepia; for which though they were sufficiently paid with the pleasure of excellent Company, and the knowledg of a most Happy People, yet the necessity which lay upon them to finish their Design made them think of returning home: which when Phronesia, Theosebes and the good Agape understood, they began to be affected with the same resentements of their Condition, which men feel when a former Happiness doth aggravate a present Suffering; and thought that the Joyes which they had gain'd by the presence of most desirable Friends, were now all lost by their departure; and they were willing to have judg'd it not only an Uncharitable thing to deprive them of the Happiness which they had lately bestow'd, but also an Injustice to leave them in a worse condition then they found them. For they seem'd not only to carry their own Persons away, but also whilst they prepar'd to be gone, they robb'd the Theoprepians of their Hearts, and destroy'd the Contentment which they took in themselves before they came. But then reflecting upon the Innocence and Necessity of their Friends, and hearkning to Prudence which admonish'd them concerning their own duty, they began to think it requisite to take heed lest they committed the faults for which they were ready to blame others. They had no reason to complain, since the Travailers were afflicted with the same instances of Grief; and it had been cruelty to punish such as suffered with them, and were most of all troubled that they could not suffer entirely that Sorrow of which they perceiv'd themselves to be, though a guiltless, yet a sad Occasion.

[Page] Whoever had been present at this parting would have melted into Pity; for of all the sharp Tryals which in this Region of Changes exercise our tender Spirits with a deprivation of our better Enjoyments, there is none that doth more afflict us then the Loss of those Companions who, whilst they staid with us, made us a little Heaven with their presence. And though it doth please us that they are gone to Bliss, (for we cannot envy those whom we love,) yet the remembrance of what we did enjoy, but of which we are now bereav'd, doth make us more discontented that we have not leave to go with them, and renders our lonesome abode below more doleful.

After many Embraces and divers expressions of mutual Love, Phronesia and her Friends having accompanyed the Travailers a good way on the Road of Biocalon, they took such a Leave of them, as was a lively Resemblance of that natural affection which the Soul feels when it is forc'd from its intimate Associate, the Body.

The Travailers had not gone much further before they came to the Valley of Elpicale, which lies at the East end of Biocalon. Upon their arrival there they found themselves immediately possess'd with that sort of Joy, which Marriners sailing toward the East-Indies do experiment when they have weather'd the Cape of Good hope. It is a pleasant Dale: the Ground alwaies green, and embellished with divers kinds of painted flowers and fragrant herbs, yielded not only a rare Aspect to the Eye, but also a delicious Smell as they pass'd along; a little Rill which water'd the Valley, did glide along by them with a murmuring noise for fear of being lest behind them. Both the sides of the Valley were encompass'd with straight Rowes of fair Plants which, from their constant vigour and perpetual flourishing, are call'd Amaranth. When they had measured the better half of the Dale with a steady pace, they were accosted by a beautiful Nymph, call'd Irene, which came out of a neighbouring Grove, and brought with her a great number of little Chappelets made of the purple flowers of Amaranth, and put a little Coronet upon each of their Heads. When Urania demanded the reason of that Action, she answered that the Owner of that Grove appointed those Garlands as a Civility to all Travailers [Page] which came that way. Urania and the rest receiving her Courtesy, dismiss'd her with many thanks put into few words, because they had now a vehement desire to see the End of their Journey.

Having quickly pass'd the valley of Elpicale, they came to the famous River Lampromelan, so call'd, because though the waters were of a duskish colour, yet from the banks there is a fair view of the lofty Hills of Theoprepia the Higher: whose Inhabitants they saw shining with Glory, as if they had been cloth'd with the Sun, and so exalted above the state of this Low world, that as they walk'd, they seem'd to have the Moon under their feet.

A Ferriman, call'd Euthanatus, by order of the Prince of Theoprepia, gives constant attendance here to transport such as come through Biocalon to his Country. The man was of a grim look, and very apt to affright such as did not know him: but they having heard that he was faithful in the discharge of his Office, willingly committed themselves to his Conduct. He had no sooner plac'd them in his Boate, but they fell into a gentle flumber, which after a long journey refresh'd their weary Limbs with an acceptable repose. Whilst Euthanatus wafted them over, he diverted himself with a Song, which was fram'd to expresse his compassionate [...] of the unpleasant Task of that Boatman which wafts Evil Souls to Infernal shades, and pleas'd himself with his own more noble Employment, in that he was the Ferriman of Theoprepia. His Ditty was as followeth.

Unhappy Charon! how I pity thee

Condemn'd to toyle in Hellish drudgery?

What dost thou daily suffer, toss'd upon

The dismall billowes of black Acheron?

I guesse thy thoughts and passions, whilst I think

How oft thy rotten Boate is like to sink,

Ore-fraught with sinfull Souls; and thou dismaid

With their wan looks, whom Devils make afraid:

[Page] Who pay their fraight with grudging, telling thee,

That thou hast brought them where they would not be.

I thank my Master, I have no such task;

My Passengers give me more then I aske:

And I should count my self, though I'me but poor,

Well paid, though I for nothing waft them ore.

For they re Good Souls, and so refin'd from Sin

And heavy Flesh, that though I take them in

Many at once, I row with greatest ease,

And passe so quick, that I do ever please.

This I observe, They'r chearfull when they come,

And much more glad when I have brought them home.

By which I see, That those which no hurt doe

Where they have been, are welcome where they goe.

To keep presumptuous Ghosts out is my Charge:

Should they rush in, they'd overwhelme my Barge:

And if Despaire steal in, I know t'would break

My Cordage, or else make my Vessell leake.

Unwilling Soules who by constraint have died,

To earthly life by strong affections tied,

Shall not come in; for they'l but passe in pain,

And I be forc'd to bring them back again.

Should doubtfull Folk, which trust not God, come near,

My wavering Bark would tosse [...] Hope and Fear.

Who God [...], or weaker men beguile,

And their own Souls with wilfull guilts defile,

The wind would turn, should such to passe essay;

Or if't were fair, they'd prove a Remora.

Their dirty Wherry in foul Styx doth floate:

Those which are meet for Heaven do fit my Boate.

[Page] And as they passe, no blustring wind dare blow,

Nor one rough VVave set frownes upon the brow

Of Lampromelan, whilst a constant gale

Of cold, but usefull, Aire doth fill my saile.

Here I will sing, and work, nor grudge my stay

To waft my Masters Friends which come this way:

And when he sayes, he doth expect no more,

Ile put my Boate adrift, and go ashore.

By that time he had ended his Song, he was come to the other side of the River: and he had no sooner put his Passengers upon the Bank, but they awaken'd and started into an unexpressible gladness for their happy arrival in their Native Country. Some of their old Acquaintance walking at that time near the River, conducted them courteously to the Palace of Abinoam which was hard by.

I should now proceed to relate the joyful welcome which the good old Father bestow'd upon his Children, and to discourse concerning the Marriage of Nicomachus and Arete, and to declare how Abinoam, to honour their Nuptials, brought forth not only all sorts of rich Bliss, but certain unspeakable degrees of Joy, which he had kept secret a great while in the hidden recesses of his vast Treasury. I should also say how affectionately Bentivolio's Brethren did congratulate his Return, and made an agreement never to part more: and then describe the manner of their Life, and Entertainment in the Court of Abinoam. But being sufficiently wearied with coming hither, I will make bold to sit down and rest before I go any further.

FINIS.

§

§

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[Page]

BENTIVOLIO AND URANIA, The Second Part, IN TWO BOOKS: By NATH. INGELO, D.D.

LONDON, Printed by J. Grismond for RICHARD MARRIOTT, and are to be sold at his shop in Saint Dunstan's Church-yard in Fleetstreet. 1664.

To the Right Honourable JOHN Earl of LAUDER DAILL, Secretary of State to His Majesty for the Kingdom of Scotland, Gentleman of His Majesty's Bed-Chamber, and one of His most Honourable Privy Council in both Kingdoms.

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MY LORD,

THe Obligations which your Lordship hath laid upon me are so great, that I disputed a good while with my self whether it were not better to continue an unthankful Negligence, then to attempt a Gratitude in this poor Expression. When I perus'd the Number of your Lordship's Civilities, I felt something of those troublesome Passions which surprize a Merchant when by the Foot of his Accompts he perceives that his Debts have overgrown his Ability to make Payment. But remembring how unworthy a thing it is ingratefully to conceal another's Right, I thought it was necessary to acknowledge what I owe, though I am not able to discharge it: and when besides this I consider'd that your Lordship's Goodness can as easily take a small Acknowledgment in good part as bestow Courtesies without the Expectation of any, I grew a little confident, and thought that the Forbearance of a due Address would be as unjust a Modesty in me, as it is in any Tenant who is asham'd to carry his Rent because his charitable Landlord requires only a Pepper-corn.

[Page] This Motive, yes, my Lord, this Motive is the Root upon which my Boldnesse grows. A mean Sacrifice is not incapable of Acceptance with God, nor a little Present with such as are like him, if they be offer'd with a sincere Mind. With my own Intentions I am indifferently well acquainted, and I have receiv'd such Assurance of your Lordship's generous Disposition, that I think I may lawfully say that in your Lordship's behalf which Pindar did long since for Theron the Prince of Agrigentum;

[...]

[...]

[...]

Olymp. Od. 2.

[...]

[...]

But lest I should offend your Lordship's Modesty with a Recital of your just Praises, or presse too rudely upon your Patience with a long Epistle, I will only crave leave to tell you a short story, (which is also a Cast of my present Office) and then kisse your Lordship's Hands.

As I went one day since your Lordship's Departure from hence to that part of the Neighbouring Hill which riseth with a lofty Grace upon the South-side of the pleasant Valley Aquedon, where I had the Happinesse first to know your Lordship, I chanc'd to arrive at that hollow part of the Rock where your Lordship was sometime imprison'd, just as Apollo accompanied with his Virtuosi was making a Visit to the Muses who inhabit [Page] there. They to our great trouble were at that time weeping. We having ask'd the Reason of their Tears, they answer'd, that it was not possible to be so stupid as not to resent the Absence of one of their best Lovers, and that they had not been able to sing as they us'd to do when they thought of the Losse which they suffer'd by his Removall. VVe were going to ask the Name of that so worthy Friend; but when by chance we saw the Door of your Lordship's Cell thrown open, we knew well enough whom they meant, and replied thus; Most gentle Muses, It is ingenuous not to forget one to whom you are obliged; but you must take heed lest under the Pretence of Grief you enviously resent your Friend's Happinesse. VVould you confine him to your petty Conversation who is design'd to the Service of one of the greatest Princes in the VVorld? You do too fondly love your private Concerns, if you are displeas'd because such a Gallant Soul is taken from you, and you do not consider that it is to promote a General Good, and to undertake a part in those useful Cares to which the Muses themselves owe their Tranquillity. If great Minds should resolve to decline the troublesome Affairs of Courts, the most flourishing Kingdoms would soon find the same miserable change of their happy Condition which the Athenians brought upon their once famous City, after they had depriv'd themselves of their best Statesmen by a brutish Ostracism: [Page] with which Fate the Syracusans also were justly punish'd, for making an Apish imitation of that pernicious Custom by a foolish Petalism. The first of these States might with as good reason have built their Acropolis without Foundations, and the other have sent their Fleets to Sea without Ballast and Pilots. The Truth is, if Vertuous Persons would not be drawn out of their quiet Privacies to attend Publick Businesse, Devils and the worst of Men would only be left after their wild fashion to govern, that is, to destroy, the World.

Civility made the Muses silent till we had done speaking, and then they wept again. Whereupon one of our Company demanding what it was that could trouble them still; one of them (as I remember, it was Vrania) replied thus, We are not capable of envying one whom for many Reasons we are oblig'd to honour with our best Love; neither are we so poorly-spirited as to repine at the publick Benefit which many may reap from our Lover's Employment: our Tears do only signifie our Desires of our Friend's Security, and expresse the Fears which we must have for One incompass'd with those Dangers which commonly attend the Flourishing Seasons of Humane Life. We have been told that a Royal Poet us'd to call great Prosperities ( [...]) Flattering Lubricities; and that Atossa the Mother of Xerxes express'd the same sense in words not much different;

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[...]

AEschyl, in Perf.

[...]

[...]

To which our great Lyrick speaking upon the same Argument hath added,

[...]

[...]

Olymp Od.x.

[...]

[...]

Here Apollo smil'd and said, I see that all true Lovers are a little Jealous. I cannot but pardon that carefulness which springs from tender Affection; but withall let me advise you to comfort your selves, and to lay aside those Apprehensions which you might not [...] entertain for low Spirits; they are impertinent here. I suppose you have had so much Experience of your Friend's Vertue, long tried by many Assaults of Adverse Fortune, that you cannot wish his Return to the old Dungeon in Portland for your fuller satisfaction in that Point; and therefore it is unreasonable to distrust him now when he is brought upon the Theatre to shew the same Vertue in a new Scene of Life, to perfect his Courage in the Probations of a bright Prosperity, and to receive that Honour which is due to Fortitude when it hath prov'd it self Invincible by blunting both the Horns of Tentation. Leave weeping, Dear Muses, and pray that your Friend may doe honour to God proportionable to the Advantages of his Condition, that he may [Page] happily serve and be alwayes loved by his Royal Master, that he may encrease the Glory of his Noble Family, and after many peaceful dayes in this World be admitted into the Beatifick Presence of the Eternal King.

Here the obedient Muses dried their Eyes, kneel'd down and pray'd heartily (as true Lovers use to doe) for your Lordship's Happiness; which Performance is also the daily Task of,

MY LORD,

Your Lordship's most Obliged and very Affectionate Servant,

A PREFACE TO THE READER.

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I Must begin this Address with an Excuse, and crave pardon for a Mistake in the close of the Fourth Book of this History; which was occasion'd by a Report that Bentivolio and Urania, with the rest of their Companions, after their Departure from Phronesium, went immediately to the Higher Theoprepia: but I am inform'd since by an intimate Friend who dwelt some time in that Country that they made a stay at Theander's House in the Borders of the Lower Theoprepia, being engag'd to it by the Charming Conversation of the two Vertuous Sisters, Theonoe and Irene. Whilst they stay'd there, Bentivolio and his Brother understanding by two Gentlemen who came upon a Visit to Theander's Daughters, that the brutish Theriagene had barbarously depriv'd Alethion of his Kingdom; they found themselves very unwilling to return home till they had endeavour'd the Restauration of that Excellent Prince. As the Design was worthy of their Generous Souls, so they thought it feasible by the Assistance which they hop'd to obtain from the King of Theoprepia.

After I had receiv'd this Intelligence, I thought it was necessary to correct the fore-mention'd Errour; I look'd upon my History as imperfect without this Addition, and [...] that it might be no unpleasing Diversion to some Readers to understand the Life of Alethion, to know the Accidents which happen'd to the Noble Travellers before their return to their own Country, and to reade those Discourses which pass'd between Bentivolio and other very worthy Persons concerning Arguments which I think to be of as great Import as any in which Humane Wit employs it self. In some places I have brought [Page] them in defining the Nature of true Happiness, in some asserting the Existence of a Deity, in others attempting the Vindication of Divine Providence. Sometimes they undertake to shew the Vanity of this present Life, and the true Use of that short Time by which our Continuance in this World is limited. Sometimes you will hear them exploding vain [...] to Revelations in Matters of Religion, and at other times demonstrating the Eternal Nature of Vertue; and in some Leaves you will reade what they said when they endeavour'd to prove the Immortality of Humane Souls: besides some other Subjects very considerable to all serious Persons, which I have endeavour'd to put into handsome Dresses, both knowing that they are worthy to be [...] with the most industrious Art, and also hoping that they would adde grace to my Book whilst I treated concerning them.

I thought also it would not be unacceptable to insert a short Story of the Life, and to give a brief Synopsis of the Sacred Doctrine, of our dearest Saviour: To which I have added also a Vindication of his Incomparable Gospel, to discharge it from the Impudent Cavils of those who undervalue the Holy Scripture, not because they have much Wit, but because they are Ignorant of those Perfections for which it is not only Justifiable, but Admirable; as they have been told not long since by a Gentleman deservedly honour'd for Wit, Vertue and Learning.

In asserting the fore-mention'd Verities I found reason to be more prolix, and shorter in the Historical Narrations; which though they are in most parts Parabolical, and so not unuseful to those who will understand them, yet they being not the Principal parts of my Discourse, I thought less care was requisite to compose them.

If any Curious Reader ask, But why all this? Really I can only say that it was partly to give an account of my Time to Almighty God, to doe honour to the Gospel of our Lord and Saviour, to serve the Lovers of Truth and Goodness; and partly to entertain my own Mind. If Tully pretended this as a Reason of his writing Books, Nos autem qui non tantum roboris habemus ut Cogitatione tacitâ à solitudine abstrahamur, ad hanc scribendi operam omne studium curám (que) convertimus; I hope I may use the same Excuse, especially since I am very much satisfied that I could not employ those quiet Hours which I gain from the troublesome Affairs of [Page] Humane Life to better purposes then those which I have mention'd. What good man can dissent from him who, amongst some Extravagancies, hath recorded this noble Speech, Il ne faut pas douter Mount. Book 2. chap. 12. p. 243.que ce ne soit [...] usage le plus honorable que nous leurs sçaurions donner; & qu' il n' est occupation ny dessein plus digne d' un homme Chrestien, que deviser par toutes ses estudes & pen semens à embellir, estendre & amplifier la verité de sa creance? i. e. There is not an Employment more honourable for a Man or more worthy of a Christian, then those studious Endeavours by which we embellish Religion, and advantageously recommend the Truth of it to the World. I cannot but think that what Ion said of his Attendance at Delphi, may be much more [...] applied here;

[...]

[...],

[...] in Ion.

[...].

[...]

[...],

[...]

[...]

or what the Priestess call'd her services,

[...].

In Bacch.

Which in English speaks thus,

My Task is noble, Phoebus me commands

To wait where the Oraculous Tripos stands.

I serve no Mortal, but that God whom all

The World doth justly their great Patron call.

This Holy Office is Ambition's Height;

To serve is Honour, and to work Delight.

What can be more congruous to our Nature, if we know our selves, then this [...], to devote our Time to the service of God, and (which he values as one of the chief Sacrifices which we can offer to him) to direct our Actions to the Melioration of Mankind? I look upon the World as a great Temple whose Doors are open day and [Page] night, in which some do continually sing Hymns in the Praise of the Eternal King who is the Creator of it: It becomes all Excellent Spirits both to bear a part in that Divine Song themselves, and to use their best Art to bring others into that Holy Chorus. How far these Papers may conduce to so good a Purpose, I cannot tell; but I have made them as perswasive as I could. That for which I have Eurip. Pind. been chiefly sollicitious is that they may please [...], such as are fit to determine concerning Wisdom, and who have heartily concern'd themselves for the Interests of Vertue: and if this Expectation be not frustrated, I shall think my self [...], to have perform'd the greater part of my Task; and for other matters I think my self able to pass unconcern'd through little Censures.

In this short Prologue I think it will not be impertinent to make a particular Address to Atheists, Epicureans and Scepticks. I have many Reasons to fear that I shall not convert Atheists: I know that such as dispute with that sort of men do [...], contend with the Arrogant and argue with such as are hard to be convinc'd: but since their Infidelity is conquerable, I have done my endeavour; and if the Application prove not effectual, yet I hope they will find no just cause to be offended at my Charity, if any such shall happen to reade this Book. If I have us'd any sharp Expressions in the Reproof of their Unbelief, or endeavour'd to cast Disparagement upon their Principles; they will not have Reason to be angry if they consider the Greatness of that Interest which I defend, and remember that the Ancient Philosophers spoke at a far higher Rate; the boldness of whose Philosophick Zele I have follow'd at a very remote distance.

Plotin the chief of the Platonists pronounceth rooundly, that the Denial of an All-wise Creator is [...], Enn. 3. lib. 2. so Irrational that it can be approv'd by none but those who have neither Understanding nor Sense. Arrianus, in a great Indignation against such as could not discern God by Lib. 1. cap. 16.his Providence, breaks out into these passionate words, [...]. O God, one of thy Creatures is enough to discover thy Providence to a modest and thankful Person; those who have consider'd many of them, and yet do not acknowledge [Page] a Creatour, are guilty of a stupid Impudence, and (as he saith in another place) are [...] of a [...], Lib. 1. c. 6. they have lost their Discerning Faculty, and so cannot perceive; or are infected with Ingratitude, and will not acknowledge a God. Cicero having made use of the Admirable Courses of the Orbs as an Argument to evince a Deity, says, [...] Lib. 2 de qui vacare mente putat, is ipse expers mentis habendus est, Nat. [...]. &c. He which is not sensible of a Divine Mind so fairly represented, is so devoid of Understanding himself that he knows nothing.

Many others whom it is needless to cite have us'd Expressions of the same nature; who, though they were not so enrag'd with the baseness of Atheists as Moxus was, who drown'd the Crambians because they did not worship any God, yet being inflam'd with a sober Zele they made use of words which were justly reprochful, and condemn'd them as most unworthy Persons for attempting to extinguish the noblest sense of our Souls, and to eradicate [...], Plut. Dion. Prof. the Ancient Faith of Mankind, that Natural Belief which is planted in all Reasonable Souls, and to overthrow the strong and everlasting Foundation of Vertue. Who can justly blame their Heat, when they did only oppose such as do [...], insolently affront the common Faith? For my own part, I must say that whilst the whole World exhibites Arguments in the behalf of God, and all the Creatures proclaim a Deity echoing to one another with loud Acknowledgments; I cannot but wonder that the morose [...] should not be pleas'd with this Intellectual Harmony: whilst he stops his Ears, and with a surly voice denies the Truth which is so generally affirm'd, he makes me think of the dull-sounding Drone in a Bag-pipe, for when the higher Notes delight the Ear with various Harmonies, being pleasantly referr'd to one another, this discomposeth all with one Base, untun'd Note. I would not have troubled my self with this sort of People, but that I judg'd it necessary to shew the Falshood of their Principles, and so to prevent the Contagion of those Errours which have a most pernicious Influence upon Humane Life; for they tend directly to the Overthrow of Religion, the Destruction of Vertue, and to the Introduction of all bold Wickedness into the World.

[Page] The voluptuous Epicureans will be content that I make my Address to them very short, lest they should be too much disturb'd in their soft Repose. I confess I think it is to little purpose to say much to them of Divine Matters, whom Sensual Pleasure hath made [...], such dull-sighted judges of Truth, that they affirm there ought not to be any Knowledge of Good and Evil, that so they may eat Forbidden Fruit more securely. Lest they should be discompos'd with that which I have written in disgrace of the Life, as well as Book. 5. the Philosophy, of their great Patron, Epicurus; I think it is fit in this place to give an Account of the Reasons which I had for it. His Opinion concerning Pleasure was declar'd in the time of his Life by his most intimate Companions to be this; That our Happiness doth consist in brutish Voluptuousness. That this is the genuine Sense of his Expressions, his chief Admirers could not but acknowledge many years after his Death. Lucian confesseth plainly, that when he compar'd Epicurus with Democritus and Aristippus ( [...], that famous Master of Luxury) he had nothing to say but this, That he was [...], more impious then they, but for other things he was a good Companion and a Lover of his Palate. He was reproch'd for his beastly Philosophy by Heathen as well as Christian Writers, as is manifest to such as know Books. Among others the Noble Epictetus, as Arrianus testifieth, us'd to call his Opinions [...], Lib. 3. cap. 7. Wicked Assertions, destructive to Cities, pernicious to Families. Though Diogenes Laertius endeavour to put a better Gloss upon his Doctrine, yet what is the Testimony of a single Author against so many who are unexceptionable? That one gallant man, Cicero, whom I have oppos'd to him as a Counterwitness, is so considerable, that the learned Casaubon doth esteem him worthy of a higher Encomium then I have bestow'd upon him, and useth these words in his Praise, M. Tullius, Autor gravissimus, In Not. ad Laert. quíque esse debeat [...], M. Tully, a most grave Author, and one who alone is worth ten thousand Diogenesses. I might adde to these the disgraceful Character which is put upon this Sect in Holy Writ.

That the Gardens of Epicurus were not free from that sort of Women which I have mention'd in my fifth Book, needs no greater [Page] Proof then what I have offer'd. Besides one whom I have named, Laertius and Tully have recorded many others, the chief of which were Marmorium, Erotium, Hedia and Nicidium. The Epistle which Leontium, one of that Number, wrote to Lamia, in which she complains of the Venereous Temper of Epicurus, and disparageth him as an old Adonis, is recorded in the second Book of Alciphron, and begins thus; [...], i.e. Nothing, as I think, is harder to be pleas'd then an old man when he grows youthful again, this Epicurus doth so persecute me. He finds fault with all things, suspects every thing, and writes endless Letters to me, which keep me from his Garden. By Venus, if Adonis were now fourscore years old, lousie, always sick, and wrapp'd his head in a Fleece of Wool in stead of a Cap, I could not endure him.

But I will disturb these delicate People no longer.

The Scepticks can expect no satisfaction from me; for they teach their Scholars to laugh at Geometrical Demonstrations, and have given them this as the Summe of their Philosophy, That they ought not to believe any thing. It must be granted that Truth is not very easily found out; but they have highly [...] it by confounding it as much as they can with Falshood, and discourage all Industry by reproching our Endeavours for the obtaining of it, as Enquixies after we know not what. What else did Boccace mean by his three Rings, Sextus Empiricus by his Purging Potion, his Ladder and Fire? To what other End did he direct the great pains which he took to prove that we have no Faculties to employ in the search, and that Truth hath no distinct Character from Falshood, that we have no Connate Directions or External Helps to bring us to the knowledge of any thing; in short, that we are as much assur'd that Salt-water is mad because the Sea ebbs and flows, as that a Man is Rational because he apprehends and discourses? This stupid Unbelief was much promoted in the World by Lucian; and how much he pleas'd himself in his Attempt may be perceiv'd by his Hermotimus, the Cup suppos'd to be lost in the Temple of AEsculapius, and that slie Jeer which we [Page] find in his Piscator: [...].

I can easily foresee also that a small Effect of this Discourse is to be expected from the Rhodomonts of this present Age, who having resign'd themselves to the slavery of Vice, do publickly declare themselves free from all pretences to Vertue, and with no small scorn pronounce (as some of their Predecessors did long ago) [...], Plot. Enn. 1. Lib. 6. That Temperance is but Folly, and Righteousness a generous Ignorance; and boldly protest that Bonum is Umbra qum nescimus, quod Honestum splendido magis quàm solido nomine dicitur; Goodness is a shadow of we know not what, which by a splendid Title, without any solid Reason, is call'd Honesty.

And because they would not be condemn'd by the Vertuous Lives of good men, they would have the World believe that such as endeavour the Reformation of Mankind, and give Rules of Excellent Discipline in hope to make Men better, do only [...], S. Emp. speak great words which are above the Power of Nature; and rather declare what they wish then what is possible; and that when they perswade others to put their Doctrines into Practice, they do not tune disorderly Nature, but put it upon the Rack.

I know very well that whosoever considers the Degeneracy of Humane Nature, will be compell'd to say with Seneca, Rem difficilem De Constant. Cap. 4. optamus humano generi, Innocentiam, We desire a very difficult thing for Mankind, Innocence; and after many Endeavours, still perceiving the potent resistance which Vice makes, will be apt to use the Reflexion which Hippocrates made in the like Case, [...], These are but wishes. Yet we are assur'd In Epist. ad Cratevam. also that those who wish well to others are not to be blamed, and that thanks have been given to such as refus'd to despair in hard Attempts. It is a base Cowardise to yield to an Adversary who may be conquer'd, though with some difficulty; especially where Courage can ascertain a Victory in part: And therefore wise men have as rationally [Page] continued their Endeavours in this case, as Mariners do their Industry at the Pump of a Leaking Ship; which Seneca hath gallantly express'd in these words; Aliam excludit aquam, aliam De Ira [...]. 2. cap. 10. egerit, manifesta foramina praecludit, latentibus & ex occulto sentinam ducentibus labore continuo resistit; nec ideo intermittit quia quantum exhaustum est subnascitur. Lento adjutorio opus est contra mala continua & foecunda, non ut desinant, sed nè vincant, i. e. They keep out the Water as well as they can, they force out that which gets in, they stop the Leaks which are visible, and resist the danger which threatens them by such holes as they cannot discover, with a continued Labour; neither do they intermit their Pains, though the Vessel takes in water as fast as they exhaust it. We must use a gentle Industry against those Mischiefs which spring up continually, not hoping to destroy, but to subdue them. For this Reason I have broke through the Discouragements which arise from the Power of bold Vice, and ventur'd to describe Noble Examples in which Holy Rules appear practicable, that I might both engage and assist Imitation in all capable Souls: And I made choice of this way, knowing that we ought,In [...].as Plato hath told us, [...], to act looking upon beautiful and divine Images set before us. Some possibly will learn to despise a vicious course of Life, though it be follow'd by the degenerate part of the World, when they see how contemptible it is in comparison of better Examples; and rather endeavour to contribute something to the Exaltation of Humane Manners by their Vertue, then hope to excuse their own Imperfections by citing such mean Precedents. It is but a slight Justification of our Actions which is only taken from Vulgar Practice; [...], For no M Tyr. Dissert. 20. place can create Vertue by common suffrages: but it is the glory of men to conform their Lives to the Eternal Reasons of Goodness, whose Indispensable Principles are Connate with our Souls.

It will be strange to no wise man that I interpret the Divine Precepts as requiring Duties far above any thing which we see practis'd in most Nations of the World. An Excellent Person hath told us [Page] long since, Equidem si omittenda sunt omnia tanquam Mori Vtop. insolentia atque absurda, quaecunque perversi hominum mores fecerunt ut videri possint aliena, dissimulemus oportet apud Christianos pleraque omnia quae Christus docuit; If we must omit all those things as impertinent and absurd which the perverse manners of men have made to seem strange, we shall be forc'd to conceal among Christians most of those things which Christ taught.

I hope none will take an occasion to find fault with me by making this uncharitable Supposition, that I have taken the boldness to give Precepts of Vertue, desiring by that means to be esteem'd better then others. No, no; [...]. [...]. I have no contention with any in that point, but with my self alwayes; for I endeavour by the Assistance which I administer to others to grow better then my self. I desire also that none would be offended at those Objections which for the insolent boldness with which they contradict Truth might be suppos'd worthy to be conceal'd; I judg'd it in some part necessary, lest the Adversaries of Truth should say, if I had quoted only some more ordinary Exceptions, [...], Lucian. in Hermot. That we set up Puppets of Twigs, and having shot them down boast that we have conquer'd arm'd Men: I thought also that being answer'd they would become harmless.

I suppose I need make no Excuse for inserting amongst my Discourses some Arguments known only by Divine Revelation; for I design'd this Book principally for the service of Christians; and all men do esteem it a most absurd thing not to be willing to hear Truth or receive good Newes because it is not brought by an ordinary Carrier.

Now, Courteous Reader, I commit my Papers to your perusal. 1 dismiss them more chearfully, because of that Good Fortune which, as I make bold to hope, doth await them; being assur'd that if any thing be written as it ought to be, it will please Good men; and that whatsoever is defective, will equally please those who take most delight in that which is worst, having indeed no other way to keep themselves in their own favour but by finding [...] in others. And as I must alwayes esteem it a high Reward of my Endeavours, if they be accepted by the Vertuous; so I do think my self worthy of much blame [Page] if I should envy that small content which any shall please to take in that which, because it corresponds not with their Humour, they vote Imperfect; especially since I have plac'd the Satisfaction of my Mind concerning this Book, not in Expectation of Praise, but in Assurance that what I have written is a service to Vertue and Truth.

[Page] THE FIFTH BOOK: OR, THE RIAGENE.

[Page]

THe beautiful Irene conducting the Noble Travellers along the Grove, where the chearful Birds welcom'd their Arrival with pleasant Notes, in a short time they entered into a Walk more spatious then the rest, where fair Lyme-trees and flourishing Sycamores stretching their long arms from one side to the other made a most hospitable shade, which with the help of thick branches covered with broad leaves kept out the offensive heat. This Walk brought them to a Garden which joyned to the House, which was beautified with many fair Plats incompass'd with little Myrtle-hedges, and being adorned with excellent Flowers and fragrant Herbs did recreate the Senses and Minds of such as came near them with sweet odours and lovely colours. It was grac'd with variety of broad Allies bordered with Cypress-trees. At the four corners of the Garden were Sommer-Pavilions of structure sufficiently handsom. Upon the other side of the House was a fair Orchard planted with the best sorts of Fruit-trees and many rare and useful Plants. The passage to it was through a little Wilderness, which by many windings representing a Labyrinth in a Wood of Laurel, Holly and Juniper, led to a delightsom Aviary peopl'd with the best-voic'd Birds. The middle of it was embellished with an artificial Rock, [Page] out of which crystal streams continually ascended through little Pipes, and falling down the sides of the stone fill'd a small Sea in which the Rock stood with water. Here the Birds took an infinite delight to drink and bathe themselves: Neither did they think themselves Prisoners; for the Cage being large, handsomly turfed, and having many Trees planted round about the sides of it, gave them so much room to build their Nests and fly up and down, that they seemed to enjoy a Wood in a Palace. When they came to the outermost Walks upon the North-side of the Orchard, they saw large Fish-ponds, some of which bred so plentifully that they stored all the rest; and those which were not Mothers prov'd good Nurses, and did so well feed the young Frie, that they supplied the house upon all occasions with delicate and well-grown Fishes. They had no sooner entered into the Garden but they were in full view of the House, which though it was not so curiously fram'd as to make signification that he which built it hoped to live in it for ever, yet neither was it so meanly contriv'd or furnish'd, but that it was fit to entertain most worthy persons. At this time the Owners look'd upon it more pleasingly then ever, judging it now the happy Receptacle of such Company as Angels would be glad to receive into their Celestial Mansions.

Here the Vertuous Theonoe receiv'd the Noble Travellers, and accosted them with such a Grace, that it struck them into no small Admiration of her presence. She did fully answer and somewhat exceed those fair Proportions by which they had drawn her Image in their minds, not so much in regard of those fading Lustres which are visible in the Body, and do usually produce a slight Love in amorous Hearts, (though she had Beauty enough to make her Body a lodging most agreeable to the Excellent Qualities of her Heavenly Soul, and it became her as properly as a handsome Cabinet doth a most rich Jewel) but she was chiefly wonder'd at for those better Vertues which raise and fix the greatest Estimations in the Breasts of the most knowing Persons. But that some which have heard of [Page] her incomparable Perfections, would think them prophan'd if any of no greater abilities then mine are should offer to picture them, I would venture at her Description: However I suppose I may lawfully doe it, or at least it is but a Sin that she her self would pardon, that upon so just an occasion I make bold to relate what I can remember of her singular Vertues. The shape of her Body was so full of Symmetry, that the most curious Limner could find no fault in it. Her Eyes were beautified with a sparkling Modesty. Her Countenance was a lively Pourtraiture of Grave sweetness. Her Dresse was such as shew'd that she neither wanted Art to put it on decently, nor was troubled with any phantastical delight in Apparel. Her Father neglected nothing which might signifie his affectionate care of her Happinesse, but being sensible that he had receiv'd from God a Daughter of an Excellent Nature, he was diligent to give her Education suitable [...] Capacity and Birth. In this point Theonoe had the best assistance in the World, that is, the daily Example of her most prudent Mother Sosandra. Her great Knowledge testified that she had improv'd all advantages to the utmost, and was a clear proof that the Capacity of the Female Sex is not so inferiour to ours as some Men do ignorantly believe. Her Fancy was quick, her Memory faithful, her Judgment solid. She understood many Languages, and could speak some very exactly. Her Discourse was compos'd of discreet Wit, and rais'd Admiration in all that convers'd with her: for she delivered well-fitted words and excellent sense with such tunable Accents, that those which heard her thought she spoke like Memnon's Statue when it was struck with the Sun-beams. Her Conversation was Ingenious, and alwayes express'd such a modest Confidence as accompanieth Innocence when it is lodg'd in a generous Soul. Her Temper was something reserv'd, but void of all Morosity. Her Deportment prudent, and wanted nothing which is requisite to make up a graceful Carriage. She us'd no Affectedness in her Speeches, Looks or Actions. Humility pleas'd it self to dwell in such a Noble [Page] Spirit, which set off its worth with all possible Advantage. She had so much Discretion and Fidelity, that the most Excellent Persons in the World desired her Friendship. She did so truly love Charity, and express'd her regard of those which needed it with such an universal care, that there were none of her poor Neighbours which pray'd more heartily for themselves then for her. She was known to be such a passionate Votary to Chastity, that none durst speak rudely in her presence. She was a true Lover of God, and devoted her best Affections to him and to his service, ever esteeming it as a great folly to pretend Love to amiable Persons or worthy Things, and to slight God, the greatest Good and First Fair, by whom all other things were made lovely. Her Religion was not made of Talk or fram'd of a few external addresses, by which many make their Devotionary part, like the rest of their Life, a Complement; [...] it consisted in a great Knowledge and much Love of the Divine Nature, and in a constant Resignation of her Will and Actions to all holy Commands as indisputable Laws. Having spent a good part of her Life according to this infallible Method, at last she grew accomplish'd with all those Vertuous Habits, and was bless'd with those serene Tranquillities which fix themselves in those Ingenuous Souls where true Knowledge is sincerely obey'd.

This is a rude draught of Theonoe's Perfections: and though I have not been able to paint her to the life, yet it doth so far resemble her, that by it you may know the Qualities of Irene; for they were not more Sisters in Nature, then they were alike in all vertuous Accomplishments. Indeed they were two lively Reflexions of one Divine Beauty parted between them, and shined with no more different. Rayes then the Sun would send down if it were cut into two pieces.

Some possibly which may chance to reade this Story will be apt to think that I have said too much in their Commendation: but there is none which ever saw them and was in their company, but will either be angry or [Page] sorry for the imbecillity of my Wit, finding the Encomiums which I have bestow'd upon them to fall so exceedingly short of their transcendent Worth. I have the rather committed this short Delineation to writing, because I suppose that other sorts of Painting are onely able to express but one half of Beauty, and that the far worse part; and because I think the two Sisters in this representation are so far beyond ordinary Exemplars, that many Ladies would think themselves very handsom if they were like them; and of this I am sure, that in all places it is not easie to meet with such as are equally made up. I know it is no hard matter to find many which are grac'd with an elegant form of Body, pleasing features of the Face, an amiable sweetness of quick Eyes, Heads cover'd with fair Hair, smooth Hands parted into delicate Fingers ending in a round littleness; and in short, adorn'd with proportions of Bodily parts so exactly measur'd, and lively colours so well plac'd, that they might sit to Painters as Original Copies of rare Pieces of Humane Form: and yet many of these Beauties are so deform'd with evil Dispositions and dishonourable Actions, that the excellency of their bodily Composition is spoil'd by an ill-agreeing connexion with a vicious Soul: for which they have been not unfitly compar'd to the Ancient Temples of AEgypt, which are fair outwardly, being large Structures built with choice Stones; but if you look'd inward, instead of a God you should only see an Ape, a Crocodile, or a Serpent. And yet how fondly do some dote upon these empty showes, esteeming a well-colour'd Skin or handsome Gestures above Excellency of Manners, Modesty and Chastity, and those other Vertues which constitute a great Soul? I call it Dotage, for the folly is no less ridiculous then if they should be enamour'd with their fine clothes, or prefer the fashion of their new Apparel before the comely shape of their Bodies. But I must return to my Story.

Amongst those many Diversions which the Travellers enjoy'd in the conversation of these Noble Sisters, I must not forget one which they esteem'd above all the rest: It [Page] was a Summer-house which Theander had built near the Head of a pleasant Spring, which running under it made the lower Rooms cool Grotta's, and was adorn'd by a neighbouring Grove which grew hard by it. As soon as they were told that Theander made this the Receptacle of his retired Life; they were affected with a singular pleasure: for we are apt to be mov'd, I know not how, with the very places where we find particular remembrances of those brave Souls whose Vertues we have admired, and seem to see those great men, when the Houses where they dwelt, the Rooms in which they discours'd, and the Tables where they sate are before our eyes. Here Theander was constantly to be found, not sleeping away his Time, or wasting it idlely with vain pleasures, as the soft Gallants of Rome trifled away their Lives in the Gardens of Tarquin: no, Theander, and many Virtuoso's which daily frequented his House, convers'd in these Privacies, as the Great Tully did with Atticus, Cotta and Balbus, and the rest of his learn'd Companions, when they walk'd under the Marian Oak at Arpinum, or sate in cool shades upon the Banks of Fibrenus. Having here sequestred themselves from the Tumults of the lower World and the avocations of vulgar Conversation, they enjoy'd a freedom from the troubles of impertinent Company, rejoyc'd in a calm fruition of noble Studies, and recreated themselves with a most profitable Diversion from such laborious employments as some men by reason of their condition of Life are necessitated to undergoe. Hither they retir'd to modest Pleasures, and sweetned Labour with Ingenuous Recreation. Here Theander, when he was alone, improv'd his Mind in the Knowledge of things by deep Meditation; not only reading such Books as were worthy to have been written, but sometimes writing such as were not unworthy to be read; designing his endeavours not only to his own entertainment, but to accomplish his Soul with such abilities as might make him more serviceable to the common good of Mankind. When his Friends came to him, he made them contribute their Assistances, whilst they employ'd themselves joyntly, [Page] sometimes in the Contemplation of the Heavens, to observe the several motions of the Planets, and by the help of Telescopes to take notice of their various Appearances; and sometimes in the examination of Minerals, for which purpose they had a Room well appointed with Furnaces and Distillatories; otherwhiles they enquir'd into the Mysteries of sensitive Nature, the Reasons of Growth, and the Engines of Automatous motion, which may be understood by Anatomy. Some select places of the Garden were furnish'd with large Bee-hives made of Glass; and through those Windows they peep'd into the exquisite methods of those busie Artists, which contain such great Skill in a little Compass.

In the Grove Theander had built a Chappel, which in my mind was a Design full of prudence; He, without doubt, having found in himself upon his Arrival in this solemn place a great alteration of Temper, that is, a more raised disposition for devout thoughts, took the advantage of his Experience, and dedicated the place to holy Services, hoping charitably that those good people which came to it through those shady Walks would be encountered with those heavenly affections which he had felt in himself. Who hath not observed that the soft murmurs of a Fountain, the sight of that green Moss which naturally adorns the Banks, the gentle blasts of cool Air which are whispered through the Trees, and the native horrour of a thick Grove, do compose the Mind to more then ordinary thoughts, and raise great passions in the Soul? Upon our first entrance into an ancient Temple, arched with a lofty Roof, whose awful solemnity is heightened with an holy Silence; or when we descend into a spatious Cave, whose hollowness not wrought by Art seems to be a natural Vault overspread with the Canopy of an hanging Mountain; do we not feel our selves struck with a sacred dread, and made apt to entertain more soft affections; as if the Walls we see, or the Ground on which we tread, were animated with some particular Genius which bestowed upon us this change of Disposition, either as an assurance of Welcom, [Page] or else as a notice of its own great Presence? For this reason we must needs suppose that the knowing Poets frequented the heads of Fountains, and meditated in silent Woods, not onely as Recesses from noise, but as those delightful Mansions where they were sure to find the Muses alwayes at home, and never fail to receive their wonted Inspirations. The Heathenish Idolaters had so much prudence in the course which they took for the supporting of Erroneous Worship, as to joyn a Grove to every Temple; for whilest the People, apt to admire whatsoever is strange, thought some invisible Power must needs inhabit such Solemn Places, their Devotion received a natural nourishment from their Eyes: Of these effects their Idolatrous Guides could easily make application to what Object they pleased, the Worshippers being extremely ignorant. But Theander, who knew how to make use of every thing, had vertuously improv'd these natural advantages both for himself and his Neighbours, who were willing to be relieved from the oppressive load of Secular life; and knowing that they must needs lose God where they cannot find themselves, would earnestly long to retire frequently to this pious Solitude, where they were restored to the use of their own better Powers; and tasting there the fresh delights of the Divine Presence, would be unwilling to descend from this holy Mount into those lower Grounds where earthly Vapours alwayes rise, and usually stifle and choke the delicate sense of the Soul. When I think of Theander, (and I often think of him) I cannot but wish to be in some such place.

The Noble Travellers visited this Chappel every day, and spent a great part of their time here, in the Grove and the Garden-house; which, beside the other Conveniences forementioned, was accommodated with a flat Roof, which being covered with Lead and incompass'd with Ballisters gave 'em leave to walk where they enjoy'd the Pleasure of two fair Prospects. Upon one side they had a view of the Higher Theoprepia, shewing at a good distance like a pleasant Landskip. In the way to it they beheld the [Page] whole valley of Elpicale, and at the further end of the Dale the fair Haven Kallolimen, and the famous River Lampromela, which parts the two Theoprepia's. At Kallolimen an old Ferriman call'd Euthanatus, by order of the Prince of Theoprepia, gives constant attendance to transport all Passengers which come through Biocalon over the River Lampromela. I have not yet receiv'd a perfect notice of the particulars which make up this Excellent Landskip, and therefore I must crave your Pardon, good Reader, that I pass it by with such a short Narrative.

From the other side of this Roof they look'd into that part of Theriagene where stood the great City Plutocopia. This was removed from Theander's seat to such a distance, that it was not discernible without the help of a Prospective-glass. Bentivolio perceiving it to be very large, desired Theonoe to give them a Description of it, and to inform them concerning the Customs of the People. I shall the more willingly obey your Command, answer'd Theonoe, having received Intelligence concerning it from a kinsman of mine who came to visit us not long since, being just then return'd from Plutocopia, whither he had travell'd to acquaint himself with their manner of Life. It was call'd Plutocopia by Taraxion, the Son of Mataeogenes, who built it. It is not far distant from the Proud City Hyperenor, whose insolent Example the Plutocopians do but too much imitate. It is [...] upon an Isthmus or narrow Bridge of Earth lying between two vast Seas, which do continually beat upon it, and every day wash away some part of the Land with their impetuous waves. There is nothing very remarkable in this City but an unspeakable Industry which they bestow only to get Riches. Their Coin hath no Image upon it, but is only inscrib'd with two words, Chrysus being stamp'd upon one side of it, and Tapanta upon the other. The Device is not improper, because it doth significantly express the vast apprehensions which they have of Wealth. They understand no other Happiness but that which they can measure, as Hannibal did the Romans Rings, by the Bushel. They bestow upon themselves for Recreation [Page] some of the most feculent sort of Pleasures, for they vouchsafe to be drunk sometimes at a gluttonous Feast. A vertuous Person is reckon'd among them by the number of Servants which he keeps, the Acres of Land which he possesseth, or the Ships which belong to him. Charity is esteem'd a capital Foolery, Humility and Modesty are confined to the houses of the Poor. The Inhabitants are all either unjust themselves, or Oppressors Heirs. Ingenuous Arts have no place amongst them. They think themselves incomparably learned, if they understand the Tongues of Trade, and have some little skill in Courtship. They never tasted any Liberty of Soul, and are at last so extremely in love with their habitual Slavery, that they will neither open their eyes to look upon Truth, nor hearken to those which offer to shew them their Errours. They take it as the greatest incivility in the world for any to attempt the change of their Opinions. The truth is, having bottom'd the Designes of their Life and their expectations of Felicity upon Erroneous thoughts, wise Counsel would but disturb their Peace. Some which have calculated their Latitude, report that they are situate in a Climate which lies many degrees without the Tropick of Vertue. The Youth being never acquainted with any other methods of Education, but to learn how to get and keep Money, do usually so improve themselves in that Art, that they are able to cheat their Fathers: and in a short time they do so exceed the bounds of Covetous desires which were set to them, that they will frequently complain that their over-grown Parents do not die soon enough. In point of Marriage they are contrary to the Genius of other Lovers, for in Plutocopia no young Virgin hath so many Suitors as a rich old Woman with three Teeth. Those which are beautified with a good Fortune, especially if they be not likely to live long, though they be really very ill-favour'd, are there esteem'd more handsome then an Exquisite piece done by Titian or Van-Dyke. They are very uncivil to Strangers, hoping by this means that they shall be freed from the chargeable trouble of entertaining such as come [Page] from other places. They are infinitely suspicious of their Neighbours, and upon small occasions, magnified by Jealousie and false Reports, will fall upon one another, after such a cruel manner, that one would think a Civil War had happen'd amongst a swarm of Wasps. They are perpetually Litigious, and drag those to the Law whom they have injur'd. It is no wonder, for it is their Principle to believe that they ought to hate another for ever, after they have once done him a Discourtesie. They are so exceedingly ingrateful, that those few (and they are but few) which doe good to others, are so far from hoping for a thankful requital, that they fear a mischief from none more then those whom they have reliev'd. They are alwayes gnaw'd with Envy, repining at that which they call the Happiness of others; which is Great Houses, Beneficial Offices, Much Plate, Brave Furniture, Rich Coaches, High Diet, Gallant Clothes and Large Gardens. They commonly make so much haste to be Rich, that by a tooeager Prosecution of their cross Designs they hinder not only others, but themselves; like people in a Throng, who thrusting each other forward with an indiscreet haste to get out at some Door, do wedge up the passage. They count it a great Ability to cheat one another; and this Art is practis'd among them so generally, that some have resembled Plutocopia to a field in the time of a great Plague, where you can see nothing but Crows and Carkases. They have so corrupted the Offices of Friendship, that the Stagyrite would be forc'd to burn out two or three of Diogenes his Candles before he should find any there which would fit his Definition. They love their Friends as they do their Lands, and despise all Friendship but that which they can put to use. They are so far from practising any generous notions of Love, that they account them ridiculous persons which speak of 'em. Yet they are so vex'd with the effects of Unworthiness and Falshood when they feel them, that in a great discontent they will wish there were some infallible Mark set upon Hypocrites, or that a Window were made into mens Bosoms; not minding what sport [Page] they themselves would make if their wishes were accomplish'd.

If it were not too tedious to relate the Story, I would acquaint you with a Trick which was lately put upon them by one Alopex. He and two of his Companions arriving in an Inne, stay'd there two or three dayes, where they made an agreement that they should salute Alopex as their Lord in all companies, and having put him into Mourning Apparel, pretend that the cause of his coming to Plutocopia was the Death of a most hopeful Son, his only Child, whom he had lately buried in Polistherion, which was the chief City of Theriagene, which was far distant, being parted by a great Sea from Plutocopia; and that therefore the most disconsolate Gentleman had left his City, left the company of his Son's Friends or the sight of his Grave should keep his sorrows alive; and that as an addition to his Grief he had suffered shipwreck, by which he lost Ten thousand pounds, which he brought with him to buy some convenient seat, and to discharge the Expences of his abode, till he could dispose of his Estate, which was very great both in Lands and Goods, in his own Country; and that he had resolv'd to spend the rest of his Life in Plutocopia, where his Losse did not so much trouble him, as that being destitute of his Attendants he should not be acknowledged according to his Dignity. He Cough'd frequently as being in a Consumption, and drank often of a little Glasse, which he call'd for with such a low voice as if he were ready to faint for want of Spirits; he talk'd alwayes of his Lands, Houses and Money; made his Will every day, in which he employ'd the most noted Scrivener in the City, upon whom he bestow'd great Legacies. His name was Klerotheron, a man famous for great skill in his Profession. He us'd to lend money to young Heirs, and having got a Mortgage for the Principal, did not long after purchase the Fee with the Interest. It was his manner when he was entertain'd in a Suit, to promise his Client lustily; but being compell'd sometimes to take a Bribe from the adverse party, he frequently found himself so equally pois'd, that [Page] he stood like Buridan's Asse, hungry between two sorts of meat which pleas'd him alike, and knew not which cause to prosecute first. This man Alopex thought a very fit instrument to promote his design. The first use which he made of him was to hire him a brave House near the River, which he did; and in a short time by his means he inveigled many covetous Citizens into his Acquaintance, who, in hopes to be made his Heirs, feasted him magnificently, furnish'd him with Monies, sent him rich Presents, and so carefully perform'd whatsoever they thought acceptable to him, that Alopex began to think his lies true, and was willing to forget the reality of his Condition; till one of his mock-servants having bethought himself of the insecurity of Falshood, and knowing what they should be forc'd to suffer if they were discover'd, ask'd Alopex after he had return'd half drunk from a Feast, What would become of us, if Klerotheron, who pretends so much kindness to us, should send a spie to Polistherion to know the certainty of our Reports? Then, replied Alopex, like a man awaken'd out of a pleasant Dream with a loud Thunder-clap, we should be forc'd to pay for our good chear. I think it is high time, said his other Companion, to free our selves from the danger of Dissimulation by a real Escape; for having sinn'd so egregiously, we shall alwayes expect the Punishment which we have deserv'd. But what course shall we take? I think I can resolve you, replied his Fellowservant. I understood yesterday that there is a Bark in the Port, which though it bears other colours, belongs to Amphibius, which is an Island not belonging to the Jurisdiction of Theriagene: The Master's name is Pirates. I will engage him with a good summe of Money to take us in. The Wind being fair, they will be ready to set sail, for they have dispos'd of their Praight. Tomorrow, said he, turning to his Master, you shall feign your self to be very sick, and send for Klerotheron, and let him know that you desire to remove your self to his Country-House, which lies near the Sea about three Leagues from the City, being willing to die there privately, that you may not be troubled with [Page] Sollicitors: withall give Klerotheron your last Will, which you may make to night, and appoint him the sole Heir of your Estate; entreat him to go along with you without giving any notice of your Design, and when we have him aboard, leave the rest to me. They approv'd this Plot, and put it in Execution the next Morning whilst it was dark. When they were gone off a little from Land, Alopex would needs be very sick, and desired Klerotheron to keep him company in his Cabbin, pretending that he doubted very much that he should never live to see his House. Klerotheron comforted him, and endeavour'd to make him believe otherwise. Alopex entertaining Klerotheron sometimes with pretences of inclination to Vomit, sometimes inveighing against the unmercifulness of the Sea, sometimes feigning a sleep, and when he awaked giving order concerning the manner of his Burial, amus'd him with various diversions till they were above four Leagues at Sea. Klerotheron, supposing that they might very well have come to his house in less time, call'd to the Pilot, for Alopex would not let him stir out of his Cabbin, and told him he was afraid that they steer'd a wrong course. The Pilot pretending to be very angry, replied, that he was too old to be directed by him. Klerotheron being so snib'd, was compell'd to a little more Patience: but at last suspecting some misfortune, rush'd out and went upon the Decks; and perceiving that they were almost arriv'd at the Island Moronesus, cryed out very discontentedly, Sirs, what do you mean? To land you at your house there, answer'd Alopex his servants. That is not my house, said Klerotheron; you have over-slipt it a League. They replied, Whether this be your house or no, we know not, but we are sure that you must land here. Whilst they were talking, Alopex appear'd, not making any great show of sickness now: at which Klerotheron wonder'd; but much more when Alopex began to advise him with a grave voice not to disobey the young men, [...] they should throw him over-board. Klerotheron not knowing whether that was any great mischief, considering his present condition, stood musing what to say, [Page] till Alopex having assured him that all his Lands and Estate (except what he had borrow'd in Plutocopia) were in Moronesus, his men, to prevent all further Disputation, let down Klerotheron by a rope into a boat which they had call'd from the Shore, making what sail they could, as Alopex thought, for Amphibius: but Pirates being the more cunning Fox of the two, and loath to lose his Prey after he had got it into possession, having devested Alopex and his servants of all the spoils which they had gotten in Plutocopia, and following the example which he had but just then seen, bestow'd upon them a little old Bisket and moldy Cheese, and left them upon a Desert Island call'd Lestocharis.

Here Theonoe made a pause, and begging pardon for the length of her jocular story, they granted it, with laughing at the just Fate of Klerotheron, and the retaliation of his sufferings upon Alopex. After they had pleas'd themselves awhile and were now silent, Irene told them that, if their patience would bear it, she would acquaint them with another Accident which happen'd after the former, in the same place, as she understood from the same Gentleman, who for a diversion related it to them one night after supper, and at her Request gave it to her in writing. It began thus:

The Plutocopians worship a God call'd Holochrysus, whom they have honoured with the solemn Celebration of a publick Feast twice every year, and with a Golden Statue set in a most conspicuous place in the midst of their City. It was made by Eudaemon, esteem'd by them as the best Artist in the World. At the desire of the Plutocopians he had shown his utmost Skill in the contriving of a Noble Design to doe honour to their God. It was fram'd, as far as I can remember, after this manner. Eudaemon erected a Magnificent Arch; in the middle of the South-Front towards the top he put the Image of Holochrysus sitting in a Throne made of Silver, which stood upon a high Rock, and seem'd to be divided from the lower ground by Precipices, naturally abrupt, but made of more difficult Ascent with stupendious extuberancies of Ice and Snow, insomuch that it was almost inaccessible, especially toward the top. [Page] Notwithstanding that one Ponus did encourage such as climb'd, and help'd them with his hand over some difficult places; yet the Passages were so dangerously slippery, that those which ascended with the most bold Confidence, did usually fall down and break their Necks. Those which escaped the danger of this rough way, came to a small Plot of plainer ground, where they seem'd to stand astonish'd, their eyes being dazled with the Glory of the Illustrious Image. A beautiful Virgin in a glistring Habit call'd Pseudelpis was plac'd on the right side of Holochrysus, and becken'd to them to come nearer the God, where several Worshippers upon their knees before the Throne received from the Hands of Holochrysus chains of Gold and Jewels. They say that Eudaemon upon the North-part of the Arch had drawn the Figure of Apateon, who taking the Advantage of a Precipice as they return'd upon the back-side of the Rock, (for they were not permitted to goe down the same way which they came, because of the Multitudes which were still climbing up,) robb'd most of the Votaries of those rich Gifts which they had received, and afterwards threw them head-long from the Rock: and if any chanc'd to escape this Death, they were met and jeer'd by a scornful Virgin call'd Hybris. Most of them were so vext at their disappointment, that when they came at the bottom of the Hill, they were represented as entreating an old Woman call'd Angerona to strangle them. But these Figures are not now to be seen, because Chrematophilus, a Citizen of great Note in Plutocopia, had procur'd them to be obliterated, as being a dishonourable Appendage to that Divine Image. Before this Arch upon a rising ground stood an Altar at which Pleonectes the High Priest gave attendance; and, according to their Custom, after some Sacrifices, he recited a Panegyrick made in the praise of Holochrysus, whom he extoll'd as the Patron of their City, the Protectour of their Happiness, the Founder of their Dignities, the Fountain of their Joyes, and in short, acknowledg'd him to be the Beginning and End of all their Designs. The Plutocopians applauded his Oration with an Universal Hum, some having heard what [Page] he said, and others imitating their Neighbours. After this they entertain'd themselves with Musick, Dances, and other sports correspondent to their Festival solemnity.

Whilst they were in the midst of their Jollity, Skeletion, a grave Philosopher, his Habit resembling those which of old were called Cynicks, of a slow pace and looks somewhat cast down, being newly arrived in the City, went to see the manner of this great Assembly. He took the first convenient place which he could find, sate down, and fell aweeping. The more inconsiderate of those which were next him took his impertinent Teares as an affront to their common Joyes. Others, which pretended to a little skill in History, thought that Heraclitus having taken upon him the Form of Diogenes was risen from the Dead. Whilst he continued weeping they began to leave off their Mirth, the Multitude flocking about him, as boyes use to do about a Stranger. Their Curiosity was the greater, because they saw a great Glasse in his hand which had such a strange Power, that it made most of those which look'd upon it to shed teares. He call'd his Glasse Iconecron. It was made in a round Figure by one Cranion, his Brother, who had form'd a Deaths-head so artificially upon it, that those which saw it, discerning nothing but a rotten Skull without Hair or Skin, a few Teeth all uncover'd, instead of Eyes empty holes, and no Nose, were amaz'd, being ready to think that since their Image was thus transform'd, they had been dead a great while; or if they were at present alive, yet they fell a crying to perceive what within a little space of time they must of necessity be. Skeletion said nothing, only wept with them; and being unwilling to be too troublesome at this time, he retired to his Inne. This Accident was [...] a showr of Rain to Country-people at a Fair, and forc'd so many of the Company to withdraw, that it both put an unacceptable Period to the pleasure of their Feast, and made 'em forget what they had enjoy'd; for when they were gone home, they talk'd of nothing now but Skeletion and his Glasse.

A few dayes after this the Plutocopians had a Great Mart, [Page] which they kept every Moneth upon a large Key adjoyning to a muddy River call'd Glycypicron, which ran through their City; where whilst they were infinitely busie in selling and buying of Trifles, Euphranor the Son of Morogelon, a Jolly Fellow, never out of Humour, moderately fat and of a lively complexion, famous for his merry Temper, for he us'd to laugh at all the World, having heard of the incomparable Vanity of the Plutocopians, came to the Town in hope to make himself some sport. He was not deceiv'd of his Expectation, for he had no sooner got upon a high place whence he observ'd the People and their Actions, but he had like to have kill'd himself with laughing. The Plutocopians staring upon him, not without some Indignation, ask'd him what he laugh'd at. At you, replied Euphranor, who make such a silly Question: when every thing which I see is ridiculous, do you demand what I laugh at? He continued his Mirth so long, and laugh'd so heartily and loud, that they began to be afraid of him, and suspected that he was Mad. For several dayes he made it his Recreation to walk up and down the streets, and to deride the Follies of the Plutocopians, which he saw express'd in a thousand ridiculous Varieties; whilst the pensive Skeletion, whose eyes were Fountains of pity, deplor'd, as he thought it his charitable duty, their Unhappiness. The Plutocopians sufficiently disturb'd before by Skeletion, were yet more vext upon the Arrival of Euphranor, upon whom they could look no more pleasingly, then as upon a second Messenger which comes to confirm bad News. They thought Plutocopia stood before these men of such contrary Tempers, like those Pictures which being look'd upon divers wayes represent different Figures; shewing a Baboon to one Spectatour, and at the same time a Beggar to another. After a little time the Plutocopians began to be extreme angry, seeing themselves both pitied by one as miserable Wretches, and laugh'd at by another as Fools; and complain'd of the injuries which they suffered to their chief Magistrate, by name Bathypogon. He having consulted with some of the graver Senatours, determin'd that they were [Page] both out of their Wits, and made an Order that Archibius and Thurepanoecta, the two principal Physicians of the City, should visit 'em and endeavour their Cure. Not that Bathypogon was much moved with any charitable resentment of their condition, but to free the Citizens from trouble. The two Strangers lay both in one Inne, where when the Physicians were come, they desired the Master of the House to acquaint Skeletion and Euphranor who they were, and to let them know, they having heard those two Gentlemen to be strangers in Plutocopia, had presum'd so far as to give them the trouble of a Visit. By good chance they were both together, for Euphranor had gone that morning to Skeletion's chamber on purpose to laugh at the Weeper; for among other things which made him sport, he thought Skeletion very worthy to be laugh'd at, who seeing the world miserable by reason of their affected Folly, would needs cry for that which could not be altered, and afflict himself because many were in misery, whenas by that means he added one unhappy Fool to their wretched number. Euphranor went forth, and seeing the Physicians in the next Room, accosted them chearfully, thank'd them for their Civility, desired them to come into Skeletion's Chamber and sit down. Skeletion took no notice of them, but signified much grief of Mind by Silence and a dejected Countenance. Archibius and his companion having saluted their Patients; after a little discourse Archibius desired to know the reason of Skeletion's sorrow. I weep, said Skeletion, to think how many Men and Women you have kill'd. At this Euphranor was taken with a new fit of Laughter. Thurepanoecta asking him the Reason of his Mirth, Euphranor told him, he could not chuse but laugh to consider how willingly people paid great Fees for that Death which was bestow'd upon them, and to think how little you car'd for what Skeletion said, it being all one to you whether you kill or cure, so you be pai'd for it. Thurepanoecta being of a proud temper, was very much troubled to be so abus'd where he went without expectation of a Reward. Archibius was not moved, knowing it is an Indecorum for a Physician to be angry [Page] at his Patients, especially when their disease is in their Brains; and continuing his Discourse with Skeletion, attempted by divers Questions to find out the cause of Skeletion's Malady. But Skeletion took him off, saying, that though the World were not in other respects barren of occasions of Sorrow, yet he should not cease Weeping whilst he saw it abus'd by so many bold Medicuccio's, who being strangers to the Principles of true Philosophy, utterly ignorant of the Mysterious constitution of Humane Bodies, unskilful in Anatomy except what they had seen practis'd at some great Dinner, careless of Study and unfurnish'd with Experience, yet pretend to be Restorers of Health and Saviours to Mankind, though they are more afflictive to the sick then their Diseases themselves if they would let them alone. He accus'd them of Disingenuity, because they did not acquaint their Patients with the shortest way to Health, and both neglected to exhort them to Temperance, and to reach them to measure it according to the Nature of their various Constitutions. He esteem'd it cruelty, that such as by the Mis-government of themselves had fallen into sickness, must also be tormented with the tedious courses of Physick, and be forc'd to continue sick till their Physician was content to gain no more by their want of Health, and the possibility of their Recovery made very doubtful, being expos'd to the uncertain Operation of divers Medicines jumbled together in a long Composition, the pompous number of costly Ingredients only serving to make a greater shew of a learn'd Prescription, to keep sick men poor too, and to inrich covetous Apothecaries. In short, he told them that he was sorry so many of them had not read their great Master's Oath, and that fewer observ'd it; advising them never to pretend to the honourable Name of Hippocrates his Disciples, or attempt to cure others, whilst they found themselves sick of the Diseases which he had forementioned. These words put Thurepanoecta into such a sharp Paroxysm of his angry Distemper, that he was not able to bear the Abuse any longer, but flung out of the Room. This sight did so tickle Euphranor's Spleen, that [Page] [...] fell a laughing. Archibius himself could not chuse but smile. Skeletion reproving Euphranor; How can I forbear laughing at you, replied he, when I hear you talk so sillily to one that is resolv'd never to mind what you say; and at him for being angry at that which he knows to be true?

Archibius perceived that these men were not mad, and judg'd that Thurepanoecta had not just cause to be so highly offended, knowing that many counterfeit Physicians deserve those Reproofs which Skeletion had given them, and that what he had said was so far from bringing any prejudice upon those Gallant Persons that are really accomplish'd with that useful Skill which they professe, that the detection of false pretenders would only remove a few blocks out of their way, restore due Honour to that Divine faculty, and advance the Health and Happiness of Mankind. He would willingly have stay'd longer to enjoy converse with Euphranor, for Skeletion was not pleasant Company; but considering what effects the wrath of Thurepanoecta, which was inccns'd, might possibly produce, he took his leave, and went to Bathypogon's House, where he found Thurepanoecta engag'd in deep invectives against Skeletion and Euphranor, saying that they were not only mad men but Villains, and that Bathypogon ought to take the same or more severe notice of them, then if they had brought the Plague to the Town; they being sick of two sorts of Madness, and both so infective, that they would endanger the putting of many people out of their Wits. Archibius was sorry that Thurepanoecta had proceeded so far in his Defamation; but when he had made an end, Bathypogon asking his opinion also, he spoke in their Defence, and told him and his Assistants that the two Strangers were troubled with some Distempers, but those easily curable; that he did not apprehend them to be mad, much lesse that they were guilty of any unworthy Intentions, or design'd any mischief against the City. As a more plausible way to perswade them to believe what he said, (for he knew it was a hard Task to speak to any purpose in the behalf of persons against whom those which heard him were already prejudic'd;) [Page] he was going to have told them the story of Democritus and the Citizens of Abdera: But Thurepanoecta interrupted him, saying, Bathypogon, and you Gentlemen which sit by him, may well suspect that to be true which I have reported concerning the contagious nature of these mens Madness, for you see it hath infected a Physician. Archibius being so much in his wits as not to trouble himself with making a vain shew of Wisdom among Fools, went away: when he was gone, Bathypogon and his Companions ask'd Thurepanoecta what they should doe with Skeletion and Euphranor. He advis'd them to call a Court, and having there accus'd them of Sedition, to condemn them to be sold for slaves, and transported to gather Hellebore in the Island Anticyra; adding, that they needed not to make any doubt of finding Merchants to buy them: but if it should happen so, he told them as a Reserve, that they might banish them, and command them upon pain of Death never to come within the Gates of the City again. They took his advice, and resolved the day following to put it in Execution. They perform'd it accordingly; for about ten of the clock the next Morning their Serjeants seiz'd upon Skeletion and Euphranor, and brought them to the Town-house. The forementioned Bathypogon, famous for Wealth and a great Beard, was appointed to be their Judge: they desired Chrysalides and Pluterastus to plead against them, having agreed upon the Sentence which Thurepanoecta had dictated.

The Court sitting, and a multitude of Spectatours being assembled to see the event of this Great Action, Bathypogon nodded to Pluterastus to accuse Skeletion, who with no small zele began thus: We have great Reason, most Grave Bathypogon, to bring this man before the Judgment-seat, he being a Blasphemer of our God, and a despiser of that Felicity which we have receiv'd from him. That he is guilty of these Crimes is too manifest in this, that some dayes since he openly prophan'd our Religious Rites, and put a publick affront upon our Festival Joyes. I accuse him as a hater of Mankind, whom he doth perpetually torment with his direful Lamentations. I lay to his charge also, [Page] that he being a Factour for Achthedon, and a Correspondent of our utter enemy Anelpistus, is come into the City to spie out our weakness, that he may the more easily betray us to our Adversaries. He hath seditiously sown the seeds of Discontent in the peoples Minds, and hath endeavour'd to undermine the bottom of our Hopes, that so he may ruine the Pleasures which are built upon them. In short, I demand Justice against him in the name of all the Plutocopians, because he maintains Intelligence with the forlorn people of Hades, which are our mortal enemies; and hath receiv'd from them a Magical Glasse, which doth so bewitch the Eyes of all that look into it, that afterward they can doe nothing but weep.

When Pluterastus had done, Chrysalides was commanded to charge Euphranor; which he did after this manner: I accuse thee, O Euphranor, as a Reviler of our Ancient Customs, and a Reprocher of our most Excellent Constitutions, and as one that hath traitorously endeavoured to expose our Government to scorn, by perswading the people to believe that our most serious Affairs are but ridiculous Trifles. Thou art worthy to be punish'd, because thou dost continually upbraid men with the Imperfections of their Nature, and insult over the Necessities of their Condition with a disdainful Laughter. Is it not most meet that he should feel the severity of our Laws, who hath disparaged the values of our richest Commodities before those Foreiners which converse with us; and by this means hath put a great stop to our Trade, which is the life of Plutocopia? The truth of these accusations being manifest, I make no doubt, most just Judge, but you will appoint him such a Punishment as shall both free us from his dangerous practices at present, and put such an Awe upon others of his Ludicrous Temper for the future, that they will not venture to imploy their abusive wits to the disturbance of the Plutocopians.

Now Skeletion left weeping, lest the foolish Plutocopians should think that he bemoan'd his own estate; and Euphranor laugh'd twice as loud as he us'd to do, to let them see [Page] how much he slighted their Menaces. Hereupon Bathypogon stood up, and having strok'd his long Beard once or twice, would have pronounc'd the sentence against them, but that a great noise which he heard among the People gave him an Interruption. It was occasioned by their thrusting one another to make way for Orthocrinon, a Gentleman that lived in a Village call'd Euesto, not far distant from the City, and who was of a Venerable esteem among the Plutocopians for his extraordinary Wisdom, and especially for many singular Courtesies which they had received from him. Orthocrinon, as I am inform'd, is an Excellent Philosopher, though he arrogates no such Title, nor makes any pompous ostentation of his Knowledge in great words, but approves his real worth by prudent Actions, which do so completely adorn all the parts of his exact Life, that the best Philosophers may take him for an Example. He is descended from a good Family, and owner of fair Possessions; but he despiseth worldly Dignity in comparison of Vertue, and makes no reckoning of Wealth in regard of Philosophy. He hath given away a great part of his Estate to promote such in the course of Study as having great aptitudes for noble Undertakings, are hindered only by the want of such things as are necessary to support our common Life; and hath now only left a reasonable Competency for himself and his Family. He seem'd not to be so much incited to Philosophy by former Examples, or perswaded to it by the Exhortations of his Parents and Tutors; but was rather inflam'd by an innate Love of Wisdom, which with a mighty force deriv'd from the inclinations of his own soul thrust him forward, when he was young, to all excellent endeavours. He doth not professe himself a sworn Disciple to any one Sect of Philosophers, but embraceth Truth wheresoever he finds it. His manner of Conversation doth something resemble that of Socrates. If Anacharsis had found him at Chaenae, he would have taken him for Myson, and been no less pleas'd with him. He did so imitate both in the prudence of a frugal Temperance, that no disease durst meddle with him, left it should be [Page] starv'd with Hunger and Cold. His Life was an impartial Correction of all Vicious Manners; yet though he was a most rigid observer of Vertuous Rules, he did not allow himself to imitate the severity of the Cynicks, because he thought that they did many times rather bite then reprove. He was not apt to take notice of those Faults which he saw in others; only he did constantly despise those whom he observ'd to be very curious of words, and as negligent of their Actions. These he usually call'd Chelidones, because their Custom is to make a great noise with select words, to boast of round Periods, soft Compositions, rare Inventions, and brave Sentences, to seek the glory of voluble Speech, and desirous to be cried up as great Oratours; or else jingling with Syllogisms, producing large Inventories of Questions, and clattering wheresoever they come with loud Disputations, and affrighting their Auditors with endless contradictions, claim it as their due to be admired for deep Philosophers: whenas God knows, under these fine shows made more plausible with a contracted Brow, a severe Countenance, an affected Gate, and a distinct Habit, they do often hide Unspeakable Ignorance, Foolish Opinions, Contentious Pride, Vain-glory, and an innumerable company of Trifles. He did not despise these great Pretenders because he himself was ignorant of the Art of Speaking; for by reading the best Authors, and exercising himself to speak and write, he had attain'd to the top of that excellency: or that he did undervalue Philosophy; but he was griev'd to see it expos'd to scorn in the world; that small matter which these great Boasters profess being no more like true Philosophy, then an old Woman in a Tragedy looking sadly is Hecuba. He thinks no method of teaching comparable to Example; and though he says nothing of himself, yet it is manifest to all that understand Vertue, that he is a most lively Representation of it. In summe, he is that bright Mirrour in which all may see incomparable Wisdom, sincere love of Truth, perfect Humility, exact Justice, the true measures of Temperance, Tranquillity of Spirit, Freedom of Soul, and such a Sweetness of Deportment; [Page] that all who have had the happiness to converse with him, become Lovers of his divine Perfections, and think that they have found that happy Guide, who not only understands Truth himself, but restores Liberty and Joy to all such as know him. Though it is impossible but such Perfections must needs gain him Estimation, yet he hath one particular Excellency which commands an Universal Love: For he hath such a rare dexterity in performing all Offices of Friendship, that he hath no Acquaintance which hath not found the benefit of it in such respects as are suitable to his condition. He had much obliged the Plutocopians, not only by composing private quarrels which usually happen amongst Neighbours, whom he restor'd to Amity; but [...] in appeasing of more publick Commotions, in which he shew'd no lesse Prudence then Charity; for he perswaded the Seditious to lay down their destructive Idiopathies, and yield quiet obedience to the common Laws. The effects of his powerful presence were so generally Beneficial, that there was no ordinary person which did not obey him as a Father, and those which were in Power honour'd him as a Friend. It happen'd that not long since Orthocrinon having observ'd some which managed the publick Affaires of the City, to abuse their Trust to their own undue Advantages, he reprov'd them so smartly, that his freedom of Speech and impartial Honesty procur'd him so much hatred, that for a good while he had not been in Plutocopia. But hearing that two Philosophers lately come to the City were apprehended and brought to a publick Trial for Misdemeanours by them committed, well knowing what Sentence would be pass'd upon them where they were to be judg'd, he went hastily to understand the matter, and meant if they were innocent to intercede for them; but perceiving in part by those which stood near the Door, that things were managed unhandsomly, for he heard some say, Aha! these are new Sins; I never knew any body that was hang'd for weeping: we must cry no more. I care not for that, said another, but it vexeth me to think that we shall not be allow'd to laugh. Our Court is very severe to day, but will it be so [Page] alwayes? and shall we be condemn'd too before we have spoke for our selves? By this talk Orthocrinon understanding both the faults for which they were accus'd, and that the Judge intended to condemn them without giving them leave to make their Defence; hereupon he made haste towards the Tribunal. Whilst Bathypogon and his Assessours wondred at his Appearance in such a time, Orthocrinon resolv'd their doubt by speaking to them after this manner: It is now a good while, Bathypogon, and you the rest of my Friends of Plutocopia, since I gave you a Visit; and I am sorry that I come now so unhappily, for I see you are ready to doe that which, if I be not misinformed by the By-standers, is extremely to your dishonour. You are going to condemn two Strangers before you have heard them speak for themselves. Your Presence would be acceptable, said Bathypogon, if you did not hinder our proceedings; but we cannot bid you welcome if you endeavour to represent us as unjust. We did not intend to condemn them till two Lawyers had accus'd them of great Crimes; and we can not want Evidence for the truth of their Charge, for they are such notorious Offenders, and have so generally disturb'd the peace of our City, that there is scarce any present who hath not been molested by them. However, worthy Judge, replied Orthocrinon, you must observe your Laws, and then especially when you are about to pronounce Sentence upon others for the Breach of them: and since your Law doth not permit any man to be condemn'd unheard, I pray you let these Strangers have leave to make their Apology, and then you may doe as you see cause. Bathypogon grumblod a little at the Interruption, but being perswaded by Chrysalides and Pluterastus, who whispering in his Ear, told him that he might permit them to speak, but withall bade him be sure to condemn them as soon as they had done, gave his consent; and desiring Orthocrinon to sit upon the Bench by him, he [...] to Skeletion to speak, if he had any thing to say for himself.

Skeletion forbearing his sighs for a while, that they might not hinder his Speech, began thus: I should wonder at it, [Page] O most unhappy Plutocopians, but that I have often seen the same unreasonableness in other places, that you should think a man accusable for expressing a Sympathy with the general estate of Mankind, that you esteem it a fault in me to cry with so many that weep, that is, toweep when I see many miserable. I might in some happy place, if I could have found it, have dried up my Tears, and I should have embrac'd this as no small good Fortune, since it is no great pleasure to weep; and I came hither to seek it. But I am not only disappointed, as I have been in other places, but am so far fallen from my hope, that I seem to be overwhelm'd in the Infernal Lake of Sorrow, where I rather deserve your pity then anger. If poor Prometheus fasten'd to a cold Rock was an Object of Compassion whilst the merciless Eagle fed upon his Heart; I have reason to expect that you should condole with me who, at least in my own apprehension, am sunk down to that Centre, where all the Calamities which do afflict the whole Circumference of Humane Life do meet: yet here am I accused for weeping.

It were a sufficient Plea for my Lamentation, to say that I do but bear a part in that sad Dirge which is sung by all the World: It is begun by Infants, who when they first live, that is, begin to be sick of an incurable Disease, come crying into the World; indeed presaging those Tragical Misfortunes which they are to suffer, they prelude to them with Tears. This is a common Destiny, and so to be met with in all places. But here I have seen the new-born wretches, wet with Tears and Bloud, expos'd so unmercifully, that it would soften a Rock, if it were able to see their Calamity, and make it dissolve it self into Tears: But I must not weep. You throw the Poor to Hunger and Cold, nay their Parents doe it, because they have no money to buy them food and cloths: and if by some strange chance they out-live this Death, yet they are forc'd to learn to speak with crying, and to beg as soon as they can speak. I cannot but weep for company, especially perceiving the [...] destitute of Humanity, that they see it, and yet refuse to relieve them. I do not wonder so much at it, but [Page] I am griev'd nevertheless to see them use their Own not much better. It's true, they give them Meat and Drink, and use means enough to keep them from dying; but when they are grown to the use of Understanding and Choice, they prostitute their Youth to Ignorance and Vice: For neglecting to bestow upon them that benefit of which they are now capable, to assure their Infelicity they carelesly abandon them to two foolish Guides, Apeirus and Cacotypus. Apeirus is an Obstinate man, you are all well acquainted with him, and by reason of his extreme Ignorance and high conceit of his Knowledge, is scarce capable of being taught himself. Cacotypus is utterly devoid of Vertue. So that one of them being unexperienc'd in the true Method of Education, makes them Fools; and the other corrupting them also with bad Example, renders them Vicious. You might as well put them to suck a He Goat, or make a Wolf their Nurse. The consideration of this doth often make me say within my self, Lord! what small hope is there that Goodness should ever grow to any Perfection in this world, where it is thus nipt in the Bud! And my grief is continued, whilst I foresee those sad consequences which must needs proceed from such miserable Beginnings. For they no sooner arrive at those years which are esteem'd the confines of Childishness and Manhood, but they are captivated with the follies of both States. It's true, I have observ'd in your City a low narrow Gate call'd Metanoea, which opens towards Orthodus, which is the rode that leads to Sophiarete, the Region where Wisdom and Vertue are said to dwell; and I have taken notice of some Young men, which being awaken'd by some courteous Genius, who (as I suppose) had fore-warn'd them of that which would happen to them in their older Life, if they continued that course which they had begun, have hereupon rush'd out at that difficult passage, and made towards Orthodus: but the Ascent being steep, and the way rugged in that part which lies nearest to your City, they made no great haste, and being clogg'd with a Cachexy or Habit of sin contracted by long Custom which they are unwilling to shake off, and [Page] being enfeebled with tempting Remembrances of their former Voluptuousness, advanc'd no considerable way till their Companions in sin, which hasten'd after them, overtook them, and having seduc'd them back do so confirm them in their Errours, that they are good for nothing but to propagate new Instances of wicked Life, and to hinder Vice from decreasing for want of bold examples. I confess it grieves me not so much for what these suffer in their single capacities, but because the concatenation of like Successions doth perpetuate Folly, and seems to make the end of sinning almost unexpectable. You their unwise Parents are the chief cause of this mischief; for you never minding that the Excellency and Service of our after-life depends upon our early preparations, leave your Children an undisciplin'd prey to Uselesnesse and Contempt. By which means you not only bestow, but entail a Curse upon Mankind; whilst you neither cease to be bad your selves, nor permit your Children to begin to be good. Hence it comes to passe that when they are grown Men, and make no doubt but that now it is fit that they should be their own Governours, they not knowing of themselves what is best, and much more unwilling to be told by others, by reason of an irregulated heat, they venture upon such rash Actions, and do so grosly mistake in the management of their Life, that when by the change of their Complexions they understand that they are arrived upon the borders of old Age, they desire to go back again, and fall into this passionate wish, Alas! why is it not lawful for us to grow young twice, that what hath been done amisse in our first Life might be corrected by our after-thoughts? that is, having lived foolishly, they are vext that they must die when they begin to be wise.

But before it comes to this I cannot but pity you, seeing how you are tormented with the effects of your precedent Errours: for that feeble Body, made of a little Bloud and Earth kneaded together, in which the Soul is cag'd, is not only of it self frail Flesh and weak Bones, apt to be cut with every sharp thing, and crush'd with every weight, but so [Page] fill'd with accidental distempers by your Imprudences, that, like the shell of a Granado, it is in continuall danger of flying in pieces, being ready to be torn asunder by what it contains within it, distemper'd Humours, Crudities, Wind, Obstructions, Inflammations. These and many such like things do so distresse your Health, that you doubt whether you live or no; and when you endeavour to believe that you do, your hopes are frighted with those Deaths which hang over your Heads by small threads, threatning every moment a sad Period to an uncertain Life by a hot Fever, a watrish Dropsie, a pining Hectick, the painful Stone, intolerable Gout, or a stupifying Apoplexie; some of you being toss'd for a long time together between the Grave and Hopes of Recovery, by that known scorner of Physicians, a sly malicious Quartan. But this would not afflict me so much, nor you neither, if that Better part of you were not a more lamentable Spectacle. I cannot suppresse my tears when I see those Misfortunes which are fallen upon the Heaven-born Soul. How is it clouded with Mists of Ignorance, deluded with false Opinions and wild Fancies, befool'd with Self-love, swell'd with vain Arrogance, apt to be set on fire with mad Anger, and burnt up with hellish Wrath, to be exalted with bold Presumptions, and sometimes as low depress'd with deep Despairs, abus'd with inordinate Appetites, sick with disquietnesse of Mind, tormented with anguish of Conscience, and overwhelm'd with weariness of Life? A Truce being made with one Passion, a War is begun by another, and the poor Spirit rack'd upon the Vicissitudes of its own restlesse Affections, as upon so many afflictive wheels. Can I chuse but weep when I behold such Miseries, especially since I look at them as incurable?

This were enough to be quoted as a Defence of those Tears for which you accuse me, and I need not strengthen it by making a Catalogue of those innumerable Aggravations which swell your Misery up to an unspeakable Masse, and torment all conditions of Humane Life, in the City, in the Country, at Land, and at Sea. The Husbandman is [Page] condemn'd to pull up Weeds which will never cease to grow in his barren ground. He mingleth his Bread with Sweat, and his Sweat with Tears; and when he hath taken the greatest pains, hath only drawn water in a sieve, and labour'd to make himself more work. Your Mariners are distress'd at Sea, and after a thousand Dangers with much difficulty make their Port; that is, they are toss'd home that they may rebound to some new Storm. Your Craftsmen are chain'd to endlesse toil, like Galley-slaves to their Oars. Your Citizens of all ranks pretend great discontent for want of loving Neighbours: and Friends of all sorts complain that they have no Touch-stone to try such as say that they love them, but that which commonly shews they do not, Adversity. Parents are vex'd with the Disobedience of their Children, and they think themselves undone by the Unkindnesse or death of their Parents. Masters and Servants frequently accuse each other. It is ordinary to hear some bemoan themselves because they are not married, and others judge themselves more unhappy because they are. Some Husbands cry because their Wives are dead, and some because they are alive.

These are some of those Tragical parts which you act upon this miserable Stage, and the last Scenes are worse then those, which remain to be represented by Ancient people, who when they are already wearied with a miserable Life, are still disturb'd by one Geron, a Grim-look'd Fellow, who being a rigid Factour for Death, comes to make you pay dear for those small Contents which you enjoy'd before, and that but for a little while, and which were then not so greatly desirable, every good thing having two Evils joyn'd with it. When you are scarce able to pay any thing, it will go hard but he will have something, and he usually takes the best of what is left, an Ear from one, a Hand from a second, a Leg from a third, or what he can lay hold on. How did it tear my Heart some few dayes since, to see how Chronus, the Father of this Geron, seiz'd with a remorsless Violence upon a wretched Company of ancient Men and Women, drag'd some by the Arms, some by the [Page] Feet, some by the Neck, struck out their Teeth, pull'd out their Eyes, lam'd them, kill'd them, and threw them into Ditches? I think it was a courtesie to some of them, for their Bodies were ill us'd by his Son, and grown such troublesome Lodgings to their Souls, that they could scarce endure to dwell in them. And yet the miserable wretches were forc'd to stay in these streight Cottages, unthatch'd above, full of Smoak and Rain within, and there to swallow the Dregs of Life till some welcome Mischief choak'd them.

Here Skeletion made a pause, for his sighs forc'd him to leave Speaking; and when he began again, Euphranor laugh'd so loud that the Plutocopians could not hear him, and having taken no great pleasure in what he had spoken already, they were unwilling he should say any more: So Euphranor was commanded to succeed him, which he did in such words as these. I have travelled over the greatest part of Histrionia, most gentle Bathypogon; but I never came into any place where such as kept a Theatre were unwilling to admit Spectatours, much lesse where the Players were angry at such as were present for laughing at their Mimical sport. The whole world is a kind of Tragick-Comedy, in which I never saw any act their parts more ridiculously then the Plutocopians; and yet they accuse such as laugh at them: which I cannot but esteem one cast beyond all which I have seen already. I suppose you have no such conceit of your own Actions, and are ready to demand at what I laugh in particular. I will save you that labour; I smile at every thing which I see or hear, I laugh at all which you doe or say, and chiefly at you your selves, because in this Play you like no part but the Fool's. I perceive by the silly Government of your Actions, that you have cashier'd Wisdom out of your Thoughts; and, which is the height of your Folly, you think your selves Wise. I can except no order of Men from the reason of my Mirth. I have not maintain'd correspondence with any that wish your disgrace, and have therefore reveal'd your Infirmities; for they are every where manifest. I suppose you cannot [Page] look upon it as a Contumely that I take notice of what you discover, nor take it as an affront that I am so pleasant in your presence, since you compell me to be merry. How can I chuse but laugh to see so many Bladders empty of all true worth, swell'd with false Opinion, and then toss'd up and down the streets with vulgar breath, not much unlike those Bubbles made of Soap and Water which idle Boyes blow off from Nut-shells? When I meet so many hundreds of conceited people, who think they are Wise because they are Rich, Vertuous because Politick, Learned because they have a few Books, Happy because they have many Titles, and suppose themselves full of Worth because they are big with Arrogance, and Good because they are so esteem'd by the Ignorant, and ador'd as Gods by such as know not what belongs to Men; I cannot but stand still and laugh to think what a brave Mart this would be for Prometheus his Oxen, and I easily fancy with what wonder you Plutocopians would gaze upon a Drove of large Skins well stuff'd with empty Bones. I was almost kill'd the other day, my Spleen was so stretch'd with laughing at a young Gallant who stood in a low Balcony, having nothing else to doe but to observe whether such as pass'd by did make their Obeisance proportionably submissive to the Greatness of his Peruke, and did sufficiently admire the new fashion of his French Breeches; especially when turning back, I saw how dejected he look'd because I went by him without stirring my Hat, which I did on purpose, thinking I might as well neglect to worship a man made up of cloths, as refuse to bow down to a gilded Post.

I confess also I can never think of your Old men but I laugh at their foolish Covetousness, whilst they tell their Money all day, and rise in the night to hide their Gold in some safer place then that in which they put it when they went to bed, and grow lean with cares to make their Heap bigger, which is so bulky already that it is troublesome to keep, and doth exceed their Necessities with such vast disproportions, that they know not well what to doe with it. I cannot but please my self to think how eagerly the Poor whom they [Page] have defrauded will fall upon them when they appear in the other World, and what a sad scuffle there will be when they clap their bare Skulls with their bony hands. Yet such is the Madness of this sort of Men, that they bequeath the Monies which they should restore, to erect stately Monuments to dwell in when they are dead; imagining that they shall be happier if they lie under great Marbles, and hoping that some may possibly spend their time in viewing those brave Structures which cover their dust, and reade with no small content those Epitaphs which before they died they made themselves. But it is so ridiculous, that methinks the Poor should laugh at it, when they see how much these Rich Fools think themselves worthier and better then their Neighbours, because they have greater Houses and more Money, and will not remember that in Hell they will not be known from them by any other Mark but greater Torments. But since the Poor do so peevishly slight what should make them patient, I must laugh at them whilst they whine so sillily at their poverty, and will not know that in a short time they shall be equal to the richest men in the World, and who are at present in many respects more miserable then themselves. It is a cast beyond Laughter to see these foolish Poor how proud they grow upon a little taste of Good Fortune: they are as much ashamed of their very Parents as Fathers usually are of their Bastard-Children; it may be they allow them, as Mercury did Pan, to come to them sometimes, but never to call them Father before Company. Now they no more know those friends which reliev'd them in their Adversity, then a Great man's Porter can remember that he saw one that was at his Master's house but the day before, till he have hired him to recall his name, and help'd the weakness of his Memory with a piece of Silver.

It is some sport to me to see those curious Women, who have nothing to doe but to be fine, and to think before-hand how wan their painted faces will look when Death, which doth not much value Beauty, comes rudely to undress them. Methinks I hear how they will cry when he breaks [Page] their Glass, throws their Hair one way, their Powder another, and leaves them no Ornament but a white Sheet; and how they will vex when he tells them that in the other World there are no Marks set upon Skulls by which a Lady may be known from her meanest Servant. I am not a little beholden for my Mirth to those proud People which have accustom'd themselves to talk of their Pedigrees at such a high Rate, as if they would have us think that Mankind had sprung from divers Originals, or at least that they have nothing in them of the first clay; and are so elevated above this lower World with the wild belief which they have entertain'd, that they will scarce bestow a humble word upon such as come near them. They make me think how dejectedly they will look and shrink out of sight, when I and my Companions shall meet them and laugh at them in the Deserts of Negrogaea. I envy not those fat Epicureans which float at present in muddy pleasures; I shall find them ashore ere long, for I know at what Port they must all Land. I cannot but laugh to think how they will cry when I and one or two of my Friends shall sit down by them and upbraid them with their former Voluptuousness, and how they will fret to hear poor Cynicks sing.

You think perhaps, Bathypogon, that it is a strange kind of Mirth to laugh at the unhappy: and so it were, if those which are in misery acted their part with any Decorum; but they complain ridiculously, and are very angry at those mischiefs which they inflict upon themselves. They are vext because they are sick, and when they were well did what they could to destroy their Health. They eat and drink beyond all Natural Appetites, and then inveigh bitterly against surfeits. They despise the Happiness of Tranquillity, undervalue the Riches which wise men never miss'd in a Competency; they reject the Pleasures of a Retir'd life; they will climb up into the Region of Winds, and when they are there rage at every Storm, complain of the burthensome Cares which attend Honourable Employments, are gall'd with the envious looks which are cast upon [Page] great Preferments, are infested with the Counter workings of Corrivals; and when they fall, as they often do, being now sensible that their Hurt is equal to the Height of their Exaltation, they curse and express a seeble impatience, although they are only orush'd with their own weight. Then they will needs revile Greatness, and foolishly praise the Poverty which before they only hated, and confess that Golden fetters are as uneasie as those of Iron; and yet are so discompos'd with the impertinent remembrance of what they have been, that they cannot contentedly be what they are: and shall not I laugh at them? If they were not mad, they would consider that they have only lost what none can keep, and suffer that which commonly happens to very many. Why do they not make account that those Servants will run away from them whom they knew to be perfidious, or at least very fickle, having chang'd many Masters before they came to them? These uneasie Souls pretend to be much troubled with the greatness of their misfortunes in comparison of that which others suffer, and yet will not put theirs into a common Lump with their Neighbours, that the whole may be divided into equal Shares; but fearing that their present Lot will be encreas'd, carry it away as it is, and yet go home grumbling. And must I pity them? I am sorry that no Play is yet invented where both sides might win alwayes. These Delicate people should doe well to transport themselves into some new-found Land, where there is no use of Patience; for none are permitted to dwell in this world which will not be content to endure some Hardship. If I should make conjectures of their Affections by other pieces of their Carriage, I should think that they love unhappiness; for not being satisfied with what they feel at present, they torment themselves with the fear of that which is to come, and so antedate their miseries, and sometimes crucifie themselves with the troublesome Expectation of that which will never happen. Nay, they dote so upon Affliction, though it displeaseth them, that not being content with their own Misfortunes, they will needs take part in those of others; that is, visit their [Page] suffering Neighbours, talk whiningly and look scurvily, but not relieve them. And this they call Pity.

But since Grief is not heavy enough with all these allowances, they encrease it with Envy; that is, they unworthily despise the Joy of those many Good things of their own, which God hath given them to fill up the Defects and alleviate the Sorrows of Humane Life, by repining at other mens better Conditions, which yet, for any thing which they know, (for they judge by very slight rules) is much worse then their own. Sometimes they are displeas'd with the Excellent parts of others by which they are benefitted; like those ill-natur'd beggars which murmure at his wealth from whom they receive daily Alms. Being troubled that others out-shine them, they endeavour to eclipse their Light by Defamation, hoping vainly that themselves shall be thought good, if they can make others seem to be bad. But this colour is so base that it appears by any Light; for as they are truly empty of that Love which would hide the failings of others, they discover plainly that they are full of Impotent Malice. But I must not offend these Virtuoso's with laughing at them. Yes I will, and I can never laugh enough to hear them talk sometimes of Felicity and pretend desires to be Happy, and yet scorn the way which leads to it: for though they have been told a hundred times that no great Happiness is to be hoped for in this world, and that the chiefest parts of that which is attainable are, rightly to know our Selves, to dis-esteem Mortal Life, to be content with our Portion, not to expect what cannot be had, and such like things; they will needs seek Happiness where none ever found it, being incurably miserable by reason of a wilful Ignorance of the Nature of Things, a false love of Fleshly Life, ungovern'd Longings after those Things which if they could enjoy would no more asswage their Thirst then water will cure a Dropsie. They are just like to those discontented persons which endeavour to lose themselves by wandring in divers places, but they meet themselves every where, and will alwayes be sure to find vexation whilst they are in their own Company; yet they [Page] accuse all things but themselves. So the Impotent Sick complain of their Bed because they lie uneasily, and beat their Pillow because their Head akes.

It may be I should not laugh so much at the follies of you Plutocopians, but that you do so ridiculously date your Resolutions to grow Wise; for thus you say, After we have got so many thousand pounds more, after we have built so many Houses, or purchas'd so many Lordships, we will be content. And why not now? Are you not Rich enough already? What need you so greedily to gnaw that Crust of the Poor, Hope? So the Clown sits down by the River's side till all the water pass away: But he may sit long enough. Go over, Fool, the Stream is fordable now. But it is better sport to see how subtil Time is reveng'd upon those which slight his present offers. One not altogether unsensible that he hath over-charg'd his Vocation with burthensome Cares, sayes he will shake off his Load at the return of his next Ship: Another expects but one good Harvest more, or two dear years at the most, to make his Riches answerable to his Desires: A third resolves to be charitable (as Hypocrites sometimes talk of leaving their Sins) at the next great Feast. And whilst they are vainly contriving how to delay that which is necessary to be done at present, Time beckens to Death, and he comes and makes it impossible for the future.

And now I talk of Death, which is the End of this Ludicrous Play, I cannot but laugh at the Epilogue, which is usually acted by an Old man, who having nothing to prove that he hath lived long but that he hath bought many Almanacks, doth pride himself in his Age; and being blind, deaf and lame, will yet venture upon the Stage; and when he is there, forgetting what he is to doe, cries out unseasonably, I would live still, and repeats his mistake so often with a feeble voice, that the Poet is forc'd to send one to pull him into the Tiring-Room. And there it is a new sport to see how all the Actours quarrel with the Master of the Revels for telling them that the Play is done: they would act still, and cry because they are commanded to put off [Page] their Habits, and think themselves robb'd when they restore their Vizards, which were only lent them for a while to fit their persons to their Part.

Though Bathypogon understood not much, yet he perceiv'd that Euphranor jeer'd the Plutocopians; and fearing that he would never end of himself, commanded him silence; and taking Orthocrinon for a very wise man, as the rest of the Plutocopians did, (for men sometimes approve Vertue which they will not imitate,) he desired him to give his opinion of the two Philosophers, and to advise him what to determine concerning them. Orthocrinon, perceiving that what the Philosophers had said was capable of some Correction, and considering with himself that it was a fit opportunity to bestow some charitable advice upon the Plutocopians, began thus: I have alwayes thought, Bathypogon, that the Calamities which attend the condition of Mankind are not inconsiderable, but I never saw them resented so compassionately as by Skeletion, neither did I ever know any so pleasantly unconcern'd in them as Euphranor seems to be. I know that Glycypicron with unaccustomed Tides flow'd lately twice in twelve Hours: but who would have thought that it did portend that in a short time you should become the Objects of the deepest Sorrow and highest Mirth? Poor Plutocopians! your Misery is so great, that one of them thinks he needs an ever-running Spring of Tears to bewail it; and the other esteems your Folly so ridiculous, that he cannot contain himself from perpetual Laughter. However, Skeletion, I do something wonder at you; for if there be so many unhappy people in the world as you seem to believe, what need you make your self of the number by your calamitous Sorrow? If those mischiefs which inevitably await us are too great already, why do you make an addition of this voluntary Torment? If you think men over-match'd with Adversity, or at least very hard put to it, why do you so uncharitably endeavour to lessen their Power by Despair, or soolishly deplore what you judge incurable? Do you mean to open Pandora's Box again? It was almost quite emptied before, nothing but a little quantity [Page] of Hope being left in the Bottom; and will you let that out too? How should they look upon Humane Life otherwise then as a desperate Case, seeing it plung'd in a gulf of endless Sorrow? It is an impertinent Humanity to make others more disconsolate by weeping for them. If the floud be not passable, why do you swell it higher with your Tears? If it be, why do you discourage them from attempting to go over, whilst you sit weeping upon the Bank? But let me tell you, Skeletion, the state of our Life is not so deplorable as you would make it. A Man is neither a Contemptible thing in his Constitution, for he is adorn'd with Reason, by which he is capable of the knowledge of all things, and is priviledg'd with Speech, by which he is fitted for Conversation with such as are of the same Nature with himself; neither are the Pleasures which are allotted for our portion so inconsiderable, that it is undesirable to be a Man. For since he hath many Faculties, and those furnish'd with proportionable Objects, he is a rare instrument of Pleasure to himself. He hath no Sense but it is abundantly provided for; he need not to glut himself with any one Recreation, divers present themselves. And though the world be full of people, God hath provided Room enough for them all without streightning any, if they could be content with just Shares. And though some things occur which are Inconveniences, yet every one hath its Remedy annex'd; as there is no Poison which hath not an Antidote. The Winter is warm'd with Fire, the Summer is cool'd with Shadows. There is no Affliction so heavy but it is accompanied with an Alleviation, and wise men can easily find it. Courteous Time doth alwayes apply one Consolation, whether we seek it or no; for by the familiarity of long converse it makes any condition tolerable. It's true, some things are trouble some for a while, and Fools complain more then they need; but wise men bear them handsomly, and put the best side outward. What need we take things by the wrong handle, or quarrel with God or his Providence? We ought to think that there may be good Reason, though we understand it not, that things should be [Page] as they are, when we wish them otherwise; and that Mortal condition must be appointed after this manner; and that we ought by no means to wonder at our own grievances, when we see that all our Neighbours have either the same or others. Nay, though Death awaits us, and so we seem to be in danger of losing All, yet we have no reason to complain, because it is mere Courtesie that we have lived so long, and indeed that we came into Being at all: and if we knew our Happiness, or would learn to call things by their right Names, we should not be so shie of Death, for it is the only passage to Immortal Life.

As for you, Euphranor, though I think a Man shews some Gnerousness of Mind that laughs at all adverse Accidents, and that he doth deserve better of Men then one that weeps at all things which he sees; since by being in the Company of one that is so merry, they begin to think that the face of Humanity is not so terrible as they were apt to imagine when they were alone: yet if I may freely speak my mind, I must tell you that as it is an insupportable torment to lodge the Miseries of others in our own Hearts, so it is but an inhumane sport to be delighted with them. Or if you intend your Mirth more charitably, hoping by this means to make Fools ashamed of themselves, yet I am afraid you will never reduce them to Wisdom by laughing at their Follies. Humane Nature is sometimes willing to be instructed, is never content that any should insult over its Imperfections; alwayes esteeming such Tutors Enemies, not Reprovers of Sinners. Sick men would not be jeer'd, but cured: and really, Skeletion, your Method is as unreasonable, for Physicians do neither laugh nor cry at their Patients. If you attempt a Cure this way, one of you doth but milk a Bull, whilst the other holds under a Sieve: or if you both think, as you seem to do, that they are past Recovery, go away and let them die quietly. If you judge them out of their Wits, doth either of you think to appear Wise among so many Mad-men? or will you be mad for Company? Have you consider'd the Nature of things, and do not remember that no Age brings forth many Wise [Page] men? Take heed lest you both fall out with Nature, and it may be mistake it too. What? would you have no fools in the world? you would have a Picture drawn without any Shadows. Should nothing be greater, nothing less in the Creation? Is it to be esteem'd an Indecorum that Beasts are not Men, nor Trees Beasts? Is it any greater Indecency that some Men are more Wise then others, then to see excellent Fruits grow upon some Trees, upon others such as are not so desirable, and upon some none? Will any Wise man cry because it is not alwayes day, or laugh to see people Feverish? Is not Folly one of those diseases which Humane Nature is sick of? As he which made Men is not to be blam'd for their want of Health, because they are voluntarily sick; so neither is he to be thought wanting as to their Recovery, since he hath given them sufficient means to obtain it, and they perish irrecoverably because they will not use them. But what is that to you, Euphranor? Let them alone. Your Discourse, though never so wise, is but lost upon such as are past sense. Exhortation is odious to such as are otherwise resolv'd. You praise Liberty to abject Souls that can bear any yoke so it be lin'd with Gold; which love to be slaves, and are worthy of Fetters. You talk to those of a dangerous Hook who have determin'd to swallow the Bait, and will never believe that there is any Hook till it stick in their Throats. You advise such to forsake a foolish course of Life, which are so utterly unacquainted with Wisdom and Vertue, that if they should take your Counsel, would not know what to doe. Therefore let me desire you, Euphranor, not to provoke men to be worse then they are already; that is, of Fools to make them mad by laughing at them: and you, Skeletion, not to make them think their condition more unhappy then it is, because you continually cry for them.

I entreat you also, my Neighbours of Plutocopia, not to be too angry at the Deportment of these Strangers, considering that it is a Courtesie to be awaken'd out of a hurtful Dream, though by a loud Noise. Be not displeas'd that you are put in mind of your Mortality. An Emperour [Page] could bear such words from one that stood behind him in his Triumphant Chariot. Your Possessions are like your selves, of Uncertain Continuance. Mine and Thine are Words that signifie only a just present Use. The most Rightful owners are but Usufructuaries. You can never make a Prescription by possessing that which is only borrow'd for a time, and held merely at the Will of him that lent it. If you accustom your selves to think you are Mortal, you will live more prudently, you will spend the little time you have more frugally, use well what you cannot carry with you; and knowing that you do but sojourn in this World, you will be less troubled when you are call'd Home. If you make that use which you may of Euphranor's Laughter, you will forgive him his Mirth; if you weigh the reasons of his pleasant Humour, you will wish to be of his Mind. If you made some Glasses in imitation of that of Skeletion, they would shew you such a true Image of this mutable World, that you would learn to proportion your affections to the frail Nature of Things. You would not then fret at those necessary Vicissitudes which are the Roots of your disappointments; knowing that the brightest Prosperity shines but like a Winter's Sun, faintly at best, and is often clouded; that Men stand in Worldly Rank like Arithmeticians Counters upon a Table, sometimes for Shillings, sometimes for Pounds, and sometimes for Pence; or like Chesse-men, are sometimes Knights, sometimes Pawns, and at the end of the Play are shuffled into a Bag altogether. You would then see no more reason to be angry, because others flourish, then to envy the Gayeties of a short-liv'd Butter-flie, or to repine at the Feasts and Musick of a Grashopper, which for a moneth or two hops from Herb to Herb, quaffs up the Dew and sings. You would not be puff'd with Pride, though your own sails be swell'd with prosperous blasts of good Fortune, remembring that it is not long before proud people, that which makes them Arrogant, and their Pride sink altogether; Humane Glory being but like the vain Glistering of a Rain-bow, which is made of a few Sun-beams scatter'd upon a waterish cloud. If it were not [Page] unseasonable, I should also advise you that you would venture your uncertain Riches not only at Sea, but upon Charity; for I fear many of you will be undone ere long for want of those gainful Returns which Merciful men are sure to meet in the Eternal World. If you bestow upon your selves such a moderate Portion as will maintain a Temperate chearfulness, and impart what you can spare to the relief of such as are in Necessity, you will improve what you have to the utmost advantage; for you prudently use things as changeable as the Wind and Tide to bring you to a Happy Port, and make those which sail with you glad by the way. Those which enjoy a flourishing estate and understand not this Art, lose, to their unspeakable damage, a rare opportunity to be merciful to such as possibly in future time may be able to repay what they may then need. But Prosperity is alwayes ill-bestowed upon Fools, for they presently grow insolent, falsly supposing that they can never be unhappy.

I have nothing more to say, Bathypogon, but only to entreat your favourable Sentence for the two Strangers. It were a most unmerciful thing to condemn Skeletion, who hath only griev'd you with too much pity; and as unjust to punish Euphranor for doing that which he is forc'd to, for he only laughs at things which are ridiculous. I think the Plutocopians might doe well to reform their Errours, and then they will be so happy that their State will no longer be a proper Object for Skeletion's Compassion; or, if you think it not yet time to grow Wise, make a Law that for the future none shall presume to laugh at your follies, and then it is likely that Euphranor will obediently depart out of your City.

Thus the gentle Orthochrinon ended his Advice. But Bathypogon and his Fellow-Citizens Ears were so hard stopt with the Hopes of a Feast which they intended to make with the Money which they should receive for the Philosophers, that Mercurie's Augre would not have been able to boar a hole in them. Bathypogon, taking no notice of what Orthocrinon had said, pronounc'd the Sentence, and commanded the Crier to proclaim, That if any man would [Page] buy the Philosophers, he should have them both for twenty pounds. No body offering to buy them, Bathypogon bade the Crier give a years time for the payment of the Money. The Merchants were so afraid of their troublesome Qualities, that they were not Vendible so: Whereupon Bathypogon, by the Advice of his Assistants, order'd that they should be gone out of the City, and commanded them at their utmost Peril not to remain within the Gates that Night.

Orthocrinon having seen the fruitless event of his Intercession, went away, but express'd so much Courtesie towards the Philosophers as to desire them to go with him to Euesto. They accepted of his Invitation; and when they came to his House, (which being a pleasant Solitude, was no improper seat for a Philosopher) they could not but like it. But they were much more taken with the prudent Chearfulness of his Wife Euthymia, the sober Deportment and excellent Knowledge of his Ingenuous Children: in short, they beheld such a discreet Order in the appointment of his whole Affairs, that they were forc'd to think that Orthocrinon was so wise and happy, that Euphranor could not laugh at him, except he esteem'd it Ridiculous that he was a Man; nor Skeletion weep, unless it offended him that he was not a God.

Here Irene ended her story, for which she receiv'd many thanks from Urania and her Companions. The time of the day requiring it, Theonoe desired them to walk in to Dinner. They were no sooner come into the Parlour which open'd into the Garden, but they were surpriz'd with an unexpected Joy, occasion'd by the fortunate Arrival of two Gentlemen near a-kin to Theonoe and Irene, call'd Amyntor and Sympathus, who came to perform a Visit. This made a great accession to the Contentments of the whole Company; and they which brought it, quickly perceived that they themselves had encountred a greater Happiness then they expected: The pleasures which are enjoy'd in Company being of that nature, that whosoever contribute to their production ever carry away their Principal with an extraordinary Interest. The Fathers of these two [Page] Gentlemen and the Ladies maintain'd mutually such an intimate Friendship, that they were commonly call'd Pylades and Orestes; and their Love was transmitted by a kind of Hereditary Traduction to their Children, and they preserv'd it so inviolably, that their Families after their Death retain'd the Glory of their Ancestours Affection. Amyntor and Sympathus were persons of great Wits, advanc'd by Study and Travel, of good Discourse and agreeable Humour. Theonoe perceiving whilst they were at Dinner, that her Cosens were not altogether so chearful as they us'd to be, ask'd them, when the Cloth was taken away, what was the Reason of their unusual sadness. Amyntor confess'd that they had in their hearts some Compassion, though at this time they would willingly have conceal'd it, for the Death of the good King Anaxagathus, and the poor Prince Alethion, whose Misfortunes were the ruine of that once-flourishing Family. This news was very unwelcome to Theonoe and Irene: however, since it is some satisfaction to know the state of our friends, they desired leave of Bentivolio, Urania, and the rest of the good Company, that Amyntor might be entreated to acquaint them with that which he had heard concerning the disastrous Fate of the best of Kings, and his Son a most Illustrious Prince. Bentivolio and his friends readily accepted the Motion, for they intended to have made the same request, not doubting but such a story must needs be full of great Accidents. Amyntor was willing to obey their Command, and the rather, because it breaths an inward grief to relate it to such as sympathize with our passions. Theonoe led the Company into a fair Gallery, where when they had dispos'd themselves in convenient Seats, he began after this manner:

The Kingdom of Theriagene (now well worthy of its Name) was formerly governed by Anaxagathus, who derived his Empire by Hereditary Right from many Royal Ancestors, that is, received Soveraign Power with all imaginary Advantages. The Ancient Root of a Princely Family is a great support to that Veneration which is due from Subjects to their Kings; for they cannot [Page] but have a Natural Reverence for one whom God, Nature and Time have set and confirm'd in Royal Height. This most excellent way of Succession freed him from those disaffections which are many times fastned upon Elective Princes by the Envy of Ambitious Competitours, and the Hatred of such as factiously oppose their Choice. Anaxagathus was neither engag'd to gratifie any Party of the People for their Votes, nor ow'd any Reward to his Souldiers for the help of their Swords; but being born a Prince, was equally acknowledg'd by all in his undoubted Right, and was free to oblige such as he should think fit with unprejudic'd Favours. Upon this Foundation of his Soveraignty the Welfare of his Subjects also was strongly secured, both as the Interests of the People are most safe under Monarchy (which is evident; For since the greatest part of the Laws of a Nation do alwayes respect such matters as are the continual Occasions of Controversie between Men; every part of the People being biass'd with divided Interests, none can be so fitly qualified for Legislatours as is the Prince, who having no particular concernment aims equally at the Common Good,) and as the Right of Succession was intail'd upon his Posterity, he had no Interest of his Family divided from the publick: a mischief which can hardly be avoided in Elective Principalities, which being forc'd to take a great care of their Relatives, since they are not sure of Succession, do often exceed the bounds of just Moderation in what they design for themselves; and as they frequently stoop to the use of ignoble contrivances to obtain what they desire, so they make no scruple to repeat their Methods for the maintaining and encreasing of what they have gotten. As Anaxagathus was plac'd far above the Nenessity of such unworthy Arts by an indubitable Title, so by a Princely Temper of Soul receiv'd from his Progenitours he was naturally inclin'd to an affectionate Regard to his Subjects, being born their Father.

As he was thus plac'd in his Throne by a Divine Power, so he was accomplish'd with all those Princely Vertues which made him most worthy to sit there. For he acknowledging [Page] his Authority derived from Heaven, principally endeavoured to deport himself as God's Vicegerent, and was not so careful of any thing as his Honour from whose Hand he received his Crown; being not only Religious in shew, to gain Estimation with the People, but really affecting Piety, in hope of the Blessing of true Obedience which Princes need both for themselves and their Subjects. The Truth of this Disposition he made manifest both in that he shew'd no Countenance to those which were openly impious, and ever declar'd an utter abhorrence of Atheists, and preferr'd to the most Honourable places of his service such as he thought to be the truest Lovers of God.

As the peaceable entry into the possession of his Kingdom freed him from those troubles which have often amus'd the Prudence of Great Emperours; so his deep Insight into the Principles of Government inabled him to avoid two dangerous Rocks, upon which many Kingdoms have been [...], viz. the Ambition of the Potent Gentry, and the Insolent Disposition of the Vulgar. He had great Natural parts, and so improv'd them by Reading, Consideration and Experience, that he was able to frame a quick and solid Judgment of any Matter belonging to his Government. He knew that the business of a Prince is to advance the Prosperity of his Subjects, and to secure their Peace against the Invasion of Foreiners; and therefore acquainted himself with all things which are necessary to be known as Means conducing to those Ends, particularly with the Nature of his Prerogative, the Rights of his People, the Laws of Nations, the Strength of other Kingdoms, the Commodities of his Own, the Inclinations of his Subjects, and the Designs which his Neighbours may probably have against him.

He gave a great Demonstration of the Perspicacity of his Judgment, both in the Election of his Councellours, (for knowing that Kings must see with other mens Eyes, and trust a considerable part of their Affairs to the Fidelity of their Ministers, he made choice of such as were not only persons of Honour, but men of singular Prudence and unquestionable Integrity,) and in the Examination of their [Page] Advice: for since all men are fallible, and may some time or other give Counsel with too great a reflexion upon particular Ends of their own, he would never receive any but that which he did clearly perceive to aim directly at his and the Common Interest. If after publick Debates he did yet doubt concerning that Opinion to which he inclin'd, he would privately conjure some of those who differ'd from him, to tell him freely the Reasons of their Advice; which they would most willingly doe, knowing that Anaxagathus never esteem'd those his Friends, who out of fear of contradicting his Inclination would conceal what they knew concerning his Good. By this means he secured himself against Flatterers, and made the utmost Improvement of his Friends Abilities. To his Wariness in Deliberation he added Stedfastness in his Resolves, and Diligence in the Execution of his Purposes.

In his Carriage he express'd a Majestick Gravity, never condescending to such Actions as import lowness of Soul, diminish the Veneration of Royalty, or expose his Person to any Contempt: yet he alwayes manifested so much Serenity and Sweetness, that he incurr'd no Hatred by the most severe Exercise of his Regal Power. Knowing that it is easier to prevent Hatred then to regain Love, and that Malice cannot be slighted without some Hazard, he declin'd avoidable Offences. He ever match'd Clemency with Greatness of mind, knowing that Mercy shewn by one that hath great Power doth unspeakably oblige; and that it was never any Advantage to a Prince to be hated, which is alwayes the Effect of Cruelty. When any Favour was bestow'd, he ever let the People see that it proceeded freely from his own Goodness; and when Rigour was exercis'd, which was but seldom, they saw it was a necessary Punishment of Sins which ought not to be pardon'd.

There is no Reason of just Infamy, for which Princes do sometimes receive a dishonourable Character in the Book of Fame, which he did not well observe and carefully avoid. He was very curious of his Conversation, lest it wanted the just Ornaments of every Moral Vertue; because [Page] he knew that Princes cannot hide their Actions, and that it was no assurance that he had done well, because none durst reprove him. He was unwilling also to make an Example against the Law, and let his Subjects see that it was possible for sin to be unpunishable. He would make no use of an Arbitrary Power, though his People knew it was their duty not to resist him; neither did he think he lost any thing of his Power by not doing every thing which he might. Whilst the King strictly observ'd the establish'd Laws, the People learn'd Obedience from his Government. His great Care of his Subjects safety made them perform their Duties with an unspeakable willingness: they esteem'd the King's Riches their Publick Treasury, and when they pay'd their Taxes, acknowledg'd that they gave but a Little to secure All.

Anaxagathus lived alwayes according to the Degree of a Prince: yet manag'd his Expences so frugally, that they did never exhaust his Revenue. For this there was great Reason: for though Money was not the Sinews of his Wars, but rather the Love and Courage of his native Souldiers; yet he knew they must be pay'd when they are imploy'd, and that with Silver a King may hire men as well as buy Iron with Gold. The truth is, he had little cause to think of entertaining any forein Auxiliaries, for he was so entirely beloved at home, that he could not but be much fear'd abroad. His Subjects endear'd his Happiness to themselves, and made their Loyal Affections so manifest upon all Occasions, that Conspiratours had as much reason to expect Punishment, though they should accomplish mischief against his Person, as they are alwayes fearful when they design it against other Princes. It was a singular testimony of the Prudence of Anaxagathus, that he had obtain'd whatever could belong to a Prince's Security, when to the Majesty of his Person, the Defence of the Laws, the Assistance of his Friends, and the Strength of his Guards, he had added the Universal Good-will of his People. Being assured of this, he slighted the vain Strength of chargeable Forts, maintaining only One in a weak place of his [Page] Frontiers, and that rather for Pomp then any Defence that he expected from it.

Thus did the Good King Anaxagathus live in Glory, contemning that poor Honour which some weakly endeavour to perpetuate by Statues of frail Stone; for the Everlasting Image of his Vertues was fram'd in the Souls of those which could not think upon him without Admiration. His whole Kingdom was his Theatre, and all his People Spectatours, applauding his wise and just Actions. There was no City in his Dominions which did not preserve his Trophies made of Conquer'd Hearts. This was Anaxagathus his Happiness; and indeed what greater Felicity is there then to be able to impart Prosperity to many others? His discreet Subjects thought themselves happy too, for they saw that they enjoy'd what Freedom Mortal men are capable of, and they desired not that extravagant Liberty which the Ignorant Multitude often talk of, sometimes rebel for, but never enjoy; exchanging Obedience and Peace for Sin, War, and then just Slavery under such as for their own ambitious Ends made them in love with Treason.

Thus the Kingdom flourish'd under Anaxagathus, and they had no small grounds of Hope that it would never wither; for as they could not enjoy a better King, so neither did the King or the People desire a more Hopeful Successour then the most Excellent Prince Alethion, who was the only Son of Anaxagathus. I pray you, Cosin, said Theonoe, with the leave of this good Company, since you are so good at Descriptions, will you give us a short Character of his Perfections? by this means we shall not only enjoy the pleasure of your Wit, but you will also detain us by a beneficial Delay from the hearing of that at which we are assured before-hand that we shall be griev'd. Though I have reason to blush, replied, Amyntor, at one half of the reason which you give for your Command, yet I will be obedient in the best manner that my poor ability will allow. Alethion was a Prince of a lively Complexion, sprightly Eyes, black Hair, curling naturally in handsome Rings, of a serene Aspect, of a tall Stature, goodly Shape, and Princely [Page] Carriage, of an obliging Conversation mix'd with Majesty. He had a quick Wit equall'd with a solid Judgment. He spake with facility, and delivered extraordinary Conceptions in most clear Expressions. Those Connate Notions of Truth, which God hath bestow'd as a Natural Glory upon Rational Souls, did shine in his bright Intellect like fixt Stars, unclouded with those ill-sented fumes of Lust which darken wicked Minds. To this Light he added whatsoever may be gain'd from Experience enlarg'd with much Conference and great Reading. He had a constant Propension of strong Desires to all Excellent Attainments, a most piercing Wit for the finding out of such means as would help to accomplish his End, and was unweariedly diligent in the use of them. That he omitted nothing which might make him Master of his Noble Designes, was manifest in this, that neither the Avocations of the Court, nor those multitudes of Tentations which allure Princes to Pleasure, but do usually betray them to Ignorance, were able to hinder him from an exact knowledge of the best Arts and Sciences, which made him able to give a true Judgment upon any piece of Learning.

It was one of his principal Recreations to discourse with Philosophers, that is, such as he perceiv'd really to have advanc'd the knowledge of God and his Works, and were also perfected with that Wisdom which consists in a sincere Belief of what God hath made known by Revelation: for he accounted it a strange kind of Vanity to pretend an eager desire to find out Truth our Selves, and yet to slight that which God of his Grace hath reveal'd to us for our Direction and Encouragement; that is, to pretend an Esteem for Books, and undervalue the Sacred Bible. The great pleasure which he found by understanding the Mysteries of Natural Philosophy, made him very Curious in the Contrivance and Use of those Instruments which do further us in that Inquiry, as Telescopes, Tubes, and all other Mechanical Engines. He was very Liberal in allowances which are requisite to make those Experiments upon which true Principles are founded, and by which they are proved; but [Page] which Princes only are able to bestow. Generous Nature in requital of these Services discover'd to him all her Secrets, except some few which she yet resolves to conceal from Mortal eyes, and intended that in a short time he should be acknowledg'd by all the world as the Prince of Philosophers.

He made a firm League with all the Vertues, and was true to his engagement, never betraying any of them to scorn in the whole Course of his Actions. He would often express a pity for the Superstitious, and alwayes declar'd a zealous abhorrence of Hypocrisie. He was the more to be admired in his Religion, because as he was a devout worshipper of the Supreme King of Heaven and Earth, so the Sincerity of his Vertuous Disposition did not grow upon any Erroneous Principle; for his Regard of God did not spring from Ignorance or panick Fear, those contemptible Foundations upon which Ingrateful Atheists bottom Religion, but from a clear Knowledge and true Love of that which is best. He was the Paragon of Temperance, and Chaste to an Example. He had such a Generous Soul, that he could not only forgive an injury, but forget that he was wrong'd; esteeming them very ordinary Chirurgions which cannot heal a wound without a Scar. By his practice he made others learn this true and noble sort of Revenge. He had an unfeigned Love of Truth, and would rather endure any Inconvenience then break his Word, and lose any Design which he could not gain but with the blemish of his Honour. He had an incomparable Fortitude, whereof he gave infinite proofs, and did usually forget himself to be a Prince when his Friends stood in need of his Courage. He had a Prudence which taught him to make use of every thing that was an Advantage to any important Business, and this he attain'd by much Exercise. At Home in times of Peace, when the most excellent Souldiers have little to doe, he would walk into the Field with them, and discourse concerning Military Affairs, make them train their men, represent serious War in jocular Skirmishes; and having view'd divers sorts of Ground, ask Questions [Page] proportionable to their diversity of Situation; such as these: If an enemy (would he say) had not minded the Advantage of that Hill, how might we gain it? Or if he possess'd it, and we were plac'd in this lower Ground, how should we assault him? If he worsted us, by what means might we be able to retreat in order? If we had the better of him, how might we make the best improvement of the Victory in a pursuit? From such Instances going on to other Chances which happen in War, he made Demands, receiv'd their Answers, and replied. By this means he attain'd such a clear fore-sight into Martial Affairs, that no case could easily fall out for which he had not a Remedy provided. I have heard some, which have had the happiness to know him familiarly, say, that of his own Country he had drawn such an exact Map in his Mind, that he could talk distinctly of all In-land places of Strength, and knew his several Ports, convenient Rodes, dangerous Shelves, and useful Fastnesses upon the Sea-Coasts, as well as if he had dwelt in every place.

He had one happiness which Persons of his Quality do not frequently enjoy; For Travelling Incognito, he saw the Courts and Camps of many Princes, where he had the opportunity to observe the best Actions, and also to perform some which made his Worth shine through his Disguise. This made him admir'd in most places where he sojourn'd, and he return'd home inrich'd with variety of Experiments from them all.

Before the Necessity of any actual Adventure, he form'd his Resolutions according to such Rules as wise Persons had compos'd for all cases in Speculation; and coming to encounter disasters at Sea and Land, he gave such Proofs of his Constancy, that it was visible to all which knew him, that Chance had no power over his Vertue; and that the fixt Temper of his great Soul did not rise and fall according to the weather-glass of external Accidents. He had such an undaunted Presentness of a prepared Mind, that when he was affronted with any sudden alteration of Fortune, without any Consultation how he might make an escape, he [Page] would immediately stand upon his Defence. When he engaged in any Enterprise which concerned the King's service against his Enemies, they made but a small account of the Advantage, if in any thing they had the better of him, for they knew he would soon repair it at their Cost; and when they were put to a Loss, though they knew he alwayes pursued his Victory, yet they were not much dejected, for they were sure that no success did ever make him Insolent.

The King his Father having perceived by a short Experience that his Son was made up of all those Accomplishments that he had put into his Prayers for him, taking notice that it was a hard task to determine whether his Body or Soul had the Advantage in those Gifts which were distinctly proper to them; and having observ'd that he was able to give as good Advice and manage what was determin'd with as much Prudence as any of his Senatours, he made him one of his intimate Councel; and seeing that his Souldiers received not only Discipline but Example from his Matchless Valour, he made him General of his Armies.

The People were inamour'd with his Perfections, and never look'd upon him but as the Glorious Mirrour of all Princely Graces. Their Happiness being full to the top in Anaxagathus, they thought it must needs run over in Alethion. They could not look at the Father as a setting Sun, whilst they seem'd to see him rise and shine more gloriously in such an Heir. Their honest Hopes were not ill-grounded, though the Princes Excellencies had not the same effects in the King's Mind which they had in the People's. Yet those were not their Natural Products, but oblique Resentments caus'd by sinister Representations made by a Cosin of Alethion, whose name was Antitheus. He envying the Prince because he was so justly Great, brought the King into suspicion that he aim'd by indirect Means to be unjustly Greater. The Excess of Vertue in Alethion upbraided him with his own Defects, and the Imbecillity of his Malicious Wit could devise no other way to be reveng'd, but by endeavouring to make the King believe that his Son valued those Excellencies which were taken notice of in him only as [Page] things which made his Father Lesse. Antitheus had a Nature unspeakably Ambitious, and that made him discontented with his condition in the Court, though it was much too good for so unworthy a Person. He fancied that there was no Happiness in the World but to see swarms of officious People press about him, and await his pleasure with uncovered heads. He despis'd the best Estate of Subjects as a gilded Slavery, and esteem'd it Poverty of Spirit to be willing to be govern'd; and had entertain'd such false Principles to accommodate his proud Humour, that he made no question but it was his Right not to obey any longer then till he could get power to Command, and concluded that no Method was unlawful by which he could make himself Supreme. This Temper carried along with it a Malicious Envy against his Equals, and possess'd him with an habitual Malignity against his Superiours. He made account that he had but two considerable Impediments in his way; (for other matters he thought he should easily dissipate with a puff of his Breath) and those were the King, because he was in the present Possession of Royalty, and the Prince: and this latter troubled him most, both because he had a strong Antipathy against his Heroical Soul; and because he knew that though the King were dead, yet he would survive in the Prince: so that he could never look at the flourishing state of Alethion, but as that dismal Coffin in which he himself was buried alive.

In those Intervalls of Reflexion which force themselves into the thoughts of great Sinners, he would sometimes say to his friends, But what is this which I attempt? How can I forget my Uncle? why should I injure my Cosin? I must trample upon Fealty, abandon Gratitude, despise nearness of Bloud, banish all respects of Piety out of my Mind, and suppress the pains which my Conscience makes me feel. These troublesome Considerations, and the various Difficulties which he was to incounter, gave mighty checks to his Hopes: yet he had such unsatiable desires to go forward, that he resolved to try all Possibilities, and either to accomplish his Design, or perish more contentedly [Page] in the attempt: Hoping withall that if he could not rise to the Height at which he aim'd, yet he should make the Prince fall with him; and imagin'd foolishly that if Success did answer his Expectations, he should be able to hide his Sins under the Prosperity which he should then enjoy, and obtain pardon for his bold Wickedness by a Title which whilst he possess'd none durst deny to be good. He had divers Friends which not only knew his Temper, but having peculiar Discontents of their own were disaffected towards the present State of Affairs, which they wish'd altered, in hopes to rise proportionably to the Advancement of their Patron; and they promis'd themselves a more probable Success, because Antitheus was the next Heir but one to the Crown.

Antitheus found no means so fit for his purpose as to implant a deep suspicion in the King's thoughts against the Prince. Anaxagathus having a fearful Nature, his Mind was a soil too fit for Jealousie, and Antitheus doubted not but he should be able to make it grow, whilst he and his Accomplices nourish'd it with much Artifice, and that in time it would bring forth the fruit which he desired. The more he considered, the more difficult he found his task: for the Prince managed his Command with such prudent Innocence, that Antitheus had nothing but misconstrued Vertue to form into an Accusation; and the King having great Affections for the Prince, it was not easie to make a Father cease to love such a Son, who by his Excellencies attracted the Love of all men. This forc'd Antitheus to use his Wits to prepare matter for the Prince's Ruine, and his patience to await some lucky season when he might throw a spark into it to blow it up, and yet so undiscernedly, that none should be able to say from what hand it came: Knowing that bold Falshood cannot only impose upon shallow Judgments or weaker Courage, but upon Wise men too, if the opportunity be watch'd wherein they also will be weak. That his Intentions might not be known, he hid them under a deportment full of civilities towards the Prince, and took all occasions to give him humble respect, especially in [Page] the King's presence; but by his Agents he secretly undermin'd the King's Affections to his Son, and mis-reporting his Designs with many false surmises, he endeavoured with these, like sharp Darts wing'd with Fame, mortally to wound his Reputation. He set a false Gloss upon all Alethion's Actions, some of which could not but be capable of different Constructions: It being a hard matter for a Person of his Quality and Employment so to deport himself in the concurrence of various Circumstances, that one which observes him with a malicious Eye shall not be able to make a sinister Interpretation of a most sincere Intention.

Theosebes the King of Theoprepia, being invaded by the Theromachians, had sent to Anaxagathus to desire his Assistance; Anaxagathus resented his Condition, and sent the young Prince Alethion to his relief, who perform'd many admirable Actions, and in particular rescu'd the Person of Theosebes when he was inclos'd in a Troop of Theromachians, and so incourag'd his Souldiers by his Example, that the Theromachians were all kill'd or taken. He stay'd a while in Theoprepia; and though he return'd Victorious, it was mutter'd against him, that whilst he was absent with the Army, he caress'd the Souldiers with extraordinary Favours, express'd more then usual civility in his words and carriage; and that they not only obliged with his Bounty, but infinitely taken with the prudent Courage of which he had given most signal proofs in the Conduct of the Fight, cried him up with such words as are only fit to be given to Emperours. This was suggested to make the King believe that his Son was infinitely Ambitious, to make him suspect his Loyalty, and look upon him as one that thirsted after the Government. The Disturbance which Anaxagathus receiv'd from these Reports was much encreas'd by the Peoples Acclamations, which he fancied as Echoes to the voice of the Army: For they Extolling the Person and Actions of Alethion, bestow'd upon him the greatest Praises and significations of highest Admiration as he pass'd along the Streets; and as they came near to the Palace, the King took notice of all that was done from a Balcony.

[Page] Then was Anaxagathus indispos'd with too much Prosperity; He thought himself miserable when he was only too Happy, like those who are blinded with over-much Light; whilst Alethion was in danger of an Eclipse, because he shin'd too bright: So the Athenians bestow'd Ostracisms upon those which were too Vertuous. The King had but a few Holidayes after this sight, for the entertained a tormenting passion which continually gnaw'd his Heart, and turn'd every the most innocent Accident into a most corrosive nourishment for it self. In a short time the Venemous Affection shew'd its power in very malignant Effects: for the King, without any Cause known to the Prince, would express himself in such rough Language, and accompany it with such unpleasing Looks, that Alethion could not but perceive that his Father was abus'd with untrue surmises. This did afflict the Prince; yet he having a great Soul, and that fortified with a spotless Vertue, dissembled his Grief, and entertain'd Patience, till God and Time should cure his Father's mistakes. Anaxagathus to discharge the trouble of his Doubts, unhappily reveal'd his mind to Antitheus, who being too well vers'd in the Art of Dissimulation, pretended a great belief of the Prince's Loyalty; and though he confess'd that he had heard things which were most extremely dishonourable, if they were true, yet he advis'd the King to repute them, as he himself did, false; adding that a short time would probably give a clear Resolution of that which was at present doubtful. The King left it so at that time, and Antitheus went no further in his Discourse, because though he saw a strong Jealousie kindled in the King's Breast, yet he was unwilling to blow it up into an open Flame, fearing that for want of sufficient Fewel it would be extinguish'd without doing that mischief which he intended to the Prince. Whereupon having enter'd into consultation with Dogmapornes his Friend, and one that loved not the Prince, they resolved upon a new Device; and that was, to write a Letter in Alethion's Name, and direct it to Theosebes the Prince of Theoprepia, whose matter should be form'd to advance the suspicion of Anaxagathus, and put [Page] him upon some such Action which they might use for a fair Introduction to their main Design.

Alethion had not only made a common Amity with Theosebes, but contracted such an intimate Friendship with him, that they were no lesse dear to each other then to themselves; and both to testifie and preserve their Affection, kept a constant Correspondence. It happen'd also that Alethion, during his stay at Phronesium, had entertain'd a great Affection for the Princesse Agape, the Sister of Theosebes. The knowledge of these Accidents was but too subservient to Dogmapornes, for he had a faculty of forming any Characters which he had seen before. In confidence of this Art he undertook to imitate the Prince's hand so exactly, that he should not be able to know it from his own. He had an Acquaintance with one call'd Panurgus, who was well known to Siopelus, Alethion's Secretary. Him they order'd to visit Siopelus, and to watch an opportunity, when he found the Secretary engag'd in earnest business, to fix the Prince's Seal to the Letter, and then pretend that he found the Letter by chance, and give it to Dogmapornes when he should see him with the King, unto whom Dogmapornes was to present it. The words carried this sense.

Most Illustrious Prince Theosebes;

The Love which unites our hearts, hath made it impossible that I should not be alwayes Yours. The Truth upon which our Friendship is founded will not permit any Condition to make a diminution of our Affections. If it were not a Reservedness unbecoming our Relation, I would not give you the trouble of knowing my present State. I am afflicted by my Father to gratifie his Enemies, who have wickedly brought him into an unjust suspicion of my Loyalty. It doth something astonish me to find my self a Grief to him whose Joyes I would redeem with the loss of whatsoever is dear unto me. Although I am more apprehensive for his disturbance, then for any mischief which it may possibly work to me; yet I am not so out of Charity with my Innocence, as to abandon it carelesly to undeserved Ruine. I hope I have discovered the Ground upon which my danger is built; and when [Page] I shall have sprung a Mine which I have lay'd under it, I doubt not but that which now threatens me will be torn up by the Roots. At present I need nothing but your Prayers, as occasion serves you shall hear further from

Your most affectionate and faithful Lover, ALETHION.

The next day the King took Antitheus into the Garden to talk with him concerning the former business, which was never out of his thoughts, and ask'd him if he had yet receiv'd any further notice of Alethion's Designs. No, replied Antitheus, only they say the Prince was much out of Humour yesternight, refus'd to eat, and entertain'd some of his Associates in private discourse; and as he dismiss'd them, which was very late, one over-heard him say, I will, I will, for it is intolerable for a Prince to be so us'd; I will rather die then be despis'd. The King turning hastily about, advanc'd but a few steps in the walk which led towards the House, before he saw Dogmapornes with two more of his Confederates coming towards him. Dogmapornes perceiving by the King's Countenance that he was exceedingly incens'd, craved his Majestie's pardon, alleging that he should not have presumed to have invaded his Privacy, but that his servant having found a Letter in the Street directed to Theosebes the Prince of Theoprepia, he thought it was his duty to bring it to the King. Anaxagathus observing it was seal'd with the Prince's Arms, was much troubled, especially when having open'd it he found it written with his hand, as he thought, and saw his Name subscribed to it. When he had read it, supposing he understood what it meant by the Comments which he had receiv'd before-hand, he seem'd to be rapt into an astonishment, and after a while broke through his silence with Expressions which signified an infinite Anguish. His words were such as these: O Lord! how feeble a thing is Humane Felicity? That flattering Glasse in which we pleasingly view the beautiful Image of Happiness may be made bright, but there is no Power which can secure it from breaking. [Page] Our Heights are but Precipices, we cannot stand upon their Tops without Fear, and the higher they are rais'd, the more irrecoverable is our Fall. How vain is the Trust which is repos'd in Mortal men, when the best Assurances of Humane Faith are only fairer Masks of Perfidiousness? O the foolish Boasts of proud Artists! How mean and useless are those Inventions for which they pretend to have merited Immortal thanks and Glory from Mankind, unto which they have, notwithstanding their Brags, done so little good, that they have left us unprovided of Supplies for our greatest Necessities? They can try Gold and Silver, and discover Counterfeit Jewels, and make a Judgment upon such like Trifles, but they are ignorant in that which should resolve our more concerning Doubts. Which of them hath found out a Touchstone for Fidelity? It is a poor Art which can neither make men good, nor teach us to know those which are bad. For want of this Skill (and he spoke true, though with a wrong Application) we are apt to give Credit to those which endeavour to betray us, and many times doubt when we have the greatest reason, did we but know it, to be assured.

I do not now begin to be acquainted with that Mutability which domineers in this lower World; but it astonisheth my soul to experiment new mischief from such an unexpected Instrument. Sure my Son doth think that God to be dead who made the Laws which injoyn Obedience to Children and Loyalty to Subjects, and imagines vainly that some Devil Reigns in his stead, who regards not such things. But how can I believe Alethion to be so impious? He hath acknowledg'd a Divine Authority by his long Obedience. It may be, for all that, some violent Storm of evil Imaginations hath overcome his Vertue. Who could have dream'd that any thoughts so wickedly potent could find Harbour in the Minds of the now-Apostate Angels, as to make them fall at once from their Allegiance and Heaven? As I am griev'd for thy [...], so I pity thy folly, Alethion. Dost thou impotently long for a Crown? Ah! thou dost not know how oft my Head hath been wearied with it. Dost thou think it such a glorious Pleasure to govern others? Alas! Thou art Ignorant that the greatest Prince is but a Royal Slave, and doth perpetually serve those whom be commands, and is constantly rewarded with Fears and Jealousies so great, that no private person is capable of them. O poor Princes! Happy indeed if they estimate their estate by the opinion of others; but [Page] when they judge by what they feel, they cannot find it so. Crowns and Sceptres, Purple Robes and all the other pompous Circumstances of Majesty are ever so much greater then the Substance, that Kings find themselves Men still, and that notwithstanding all those bright Glories which make their Outside shine to the dazeling of the Beholders Eyes, it doth often lour and rain within. Ignorant people would soon see that they have little cause to grudge their Obedience, if they did but know what it is to endure the troublesome Care of Princes.

Here Anaxagathus changing his Tone, delivered words with a more passionate Air, and added, But all this I could bear, being but a common Lot incident to all Princely Fortunes: but that my Son, but that Alethion should endeavour to ascend the Throne by my Fall, it is intolerable! If wickedness grow according to this proportion, it will be impossible that the world should subsist. God must provide some other Earth, and transport good men thither; for this will be so overspread with Violence, that they will not be able to find any quiet Habitation in it.

When Antitheus perceiv'd that the King had made a Pause, knowing that it was his time to strike whilst the Iron was so hot, he prayed the King to retire to his own Prudence, and rather wisely to think what he ought to doe himself for the defence of his Interest, then to complain so passionately of what was design'd against it by others, and seasonably to stop that which was ill begun from taking any further Effect. What then should I doe? said Anaxagathus. You may (replied Antitheus) immediately secure Alethion in one of your Castles remote from the City, by which means you will discourage his Accomplices, and gain time without danger to search to the bottom of his Design. The King appoved his Advice, and gave charge to Dogmapornes to carry Alethion to the Castle which was under his Command. Dogmapornes not a little glad that their Plot had taken so far, made haste, and with a select Guard of his friends march'd presently to the Prince's Palace, and having secured the Avenues of the House, went in to deliver his Message, with a countenance which did more become some friend who resented the Prince's Condition, then him that was the principal cause of his Affliction. When he [Page] had told the Prince that it was the King's pleasure that he should prepare himself to go to that Castle whereof he call'd himself at that time the unhappy Governour; the Prince being of a Magnanimous Temper, and taught by Prudence to receive without Amazement the most unexpected Events, ask'd Dogmapornes what time was allow'd for preparation. You must be gone presently, answer'd Dogmapornes. But may I not see my Father first? said the Prince. No, replied Dogmapornes, the King is much [...], and charg'd me upon my Life to see his Command answer'd with present Obedience. I will perform it by God's help, said the Prince; for how much soever he is mistaken in the Cause of his Anger, I will embrace the Effects of it with Patience; adding, But, Dogmapornes, do you not guesse the occasion of this sudden Order? No, said Dogmapornes; for being hastily sent upon this unacceptable Errand, I only heard some of those which stood by talk of a Letter, which being intercepted reveal'd something of a Design against the King, in which I suppose that they imagined that you are interess'd. Though the Prince could not divine what they meant by the Letter, yet he saw plainly that some had abus'd the King, and did endeavour to ruine himself; whereupon his thoughts concerning this Affair gave themselves breath in these words: Proud Errour! Will no other lodging serve thee but the Breasts of Kings? Is it not Victory enough to abuse all the Inferiour World with mistakes, unless thou dost also shew the malicious power of Triumphant Lies in the Ruine of Innocent Princes? How hard is it for Kings not to be deceived, who are forc'd to see with other mens Eyes, or to use such colour'd Spectacles as they are pleas'd to provide for them, who never meant that they should have a true sight of things? Modest Truth, which is alwayes Generous, and had rather be banish'd then intrude where she is sure not to be welcome, doth so rarely appear in Courts, that Princes are fain to disguise themselves sometimes to get into her Company. Flatterers are so unhappily cunning, that they can make Falshood pass currently for Truth, and represent Truth so disadvantageously that it is disbeliev'd, and make honest men disfavoured as the Prince's Enemies. It were happy for my Father, if those which attend his Person lov'd his Interest: [Page] but I am afraid be is inviron'd with Sycophants, and that those which wish him well dare not save him from the prejudice of Misinformation, lest they lose themselves in the plausibility of Falshood.

I have great reason to be sorry for my Father's Misfortunes: Though my own Affliction be great, I should easily slight it, if I did not foresee that my Ruine is made a Prelude to his Destruction. O subtile Malice! Dost thou take away the Son as a Traitor, who is the only Bulwark which my Father hath left against treasonable Attempts? Is it possible my Father should think me so foolishly wicked as to endeavour to steal that which would be my own after a short time; and which I had rather want for ever, then blast the Glory of a lawful Possession by using the least indirect means to attain it? Is Anaxagathus grown so strangely credulous, that a Counterfeit Letter is a better Testimony then so many years Experience? Did not Phaedra write an Epistle against Hippolytus, and then hang her self? but did that make him guilty of any sin against his Father Theseus?

But it is to no purpose to make Apologies, when the Judge will give no Audience. I could heartily wish that my Father may in some reasonable time be so far disabus'd, as not to love Vertue less for my sake, nor me for false Reports. But I am afraid lest this black cloud, which appears now over my Head, will ere long discharge a storm upon our Family. It is too plain a symptom that a Kingdom is not far from Destruction, when the Methods of its safety are confounded with perverse Counsels. This fatal Imprudence doth too commonly attend those who are destin'd to Ruine; when adverse Fortune hath begun to afflict them, they use contrary Medicines, or delay to apply fit Remedies to their Distempers till they be grown incurable.

The Prince having finish'd this short Reflexion, told Dogmapornes that he was ready to go along with him. Dogmapornes conducted him a private way through the Grove which adjoyn'd to the Prince's Palace, for fear of tumults. However he could not carry the matter so privately, but that the City and Army had notice of it. Most of them retaining their former Goodwill to the Prince, were ready to make an Insurrection for his Deliverance, saying as they went up and down that the Prince was betray'd. Those which were of Antitheus his party oppos'd them, and ask'd [Page] them if they would rebel: adding, that nothing was done to Alethion but by the King's order. Hereupon Misopseudes, a prudent Senatour; and one of the Prince's friends, fearing that the Mutiny of the Army would turn to Alethion's prejudice, told them, that as there was no doubt of the Prince's Innocence, so he made no question but that he would be speedily freed from his Imprisonment; and, to quiet this Humour, he added, that nothing could more confirm the suspicion which was already entertain'd concerning the Prince's guilt, then in a Rebellious way to attempt his Vindication. Having thus appeased the violence of the storm, he returned to the King to intercede for the Prince. When he was come to the Court, he found them all surpriz'd with an uncouth Accident: for an old Servant of the King's, who had ever a most passionate affection for the Prince, having for a long time kept his bed by reason of a dead Palsey, being told by the boy that attended him that Alethion was sent to Prison, the old man amaz'd into a kind of recovery started up, and by the help of his boy having got out of his bed, and put on a Night-gown, and supporting his feeble Body with a pair of Crutches, went out of his Chamber, crying, Oh my dear Master! my dear Master! When he came to the King's Presence, he cried out, O my Lord, do not believe any Reports against the Prince. If there were never so many Letters and Hands and Seals, Alethion is Innocent: and the Tears running down his cheeks, he added, Sir, you are abus'd, you are abus'd. The King, vex'd with this unexpected Accident, commanded his servants to take away the Impertinent Fellow. There is no need of that, said the Paralytick, I will be gone of my own accord: grant me your pardon for this offence, for I will never trouble you more: but let me tell you that you will repent of the Prince's Imprisonment. When he had said this, he returned to his bed, and died immediately. The King said nothing: but those which stood by perceived that he was extremely troubled, and, as they guess'd, look'd upon this Interposition as an ill Omen; for it was known that the old man for many moneths was not able to stir in his bed but as he was moved by others.

[Page] Misopseudes, Philalethes, and some other of the Prince's Friends, took an occasion from this Accident to speak in Alethion's behalf, and desired him not to make any peremptory conclusion in his mind concerning the Prince's Disloyalty: adding, that though Letters were found, yet possibly the Prince might not write them; mentioning also the great Grief which the King's Subjects had conceived for the Prince's Restraint; and ended with intreaties which they made to the King to give his Son leave to come to him, that so he might have an opportunity to clear himself from his Accusations. What? replied the King, do not I know my Son's Hand and Seal? Shall I not believe my own Eyes? Shall I not trust my own Judgment, when I see so much cause to doubt the fidelity of such as have the least reason in the world to be unfaithful? Do you tell me of the peoples Affections? then it seems my Son hath engaged them against me; but I will take care that he shall not head their Rebellion. Anaxagathus was so far from accepting their Mediation, that suspecting they were [...] of some Design, he commanded them to be arrested and committed prisoners to their lodgings in the City; but by the advice of Antitheus, who feared they might cause some disturbance, he sent them into the Country, and confin'd them to their Houses, charging them not to return to Court without leave upon pain of Death.

Within four dayes Dogmapornes came back, having secured the Prince under the Custody of Apronoeus his Lieutenant. The next morning after his Return one of his Souldiers brought news that the Prince, impatient of his Prison, had dismiss'd himself from that and his Life both at once, by throwing himself from the top of a high Tower into the River which ran by the Castle. This Report was brought according to an agreement made between Antitheus and Dogmapornes, for they durst not immediately murder the Prince, fearing the King's mind might change. Though the news was false, they looked upon it as serviceable to their Purpose, which was, as soon as they could to destroy the King; and having done that, to use this report as a fair colour for [Page] that which they meant to doe next. For they resolved then privately to doe that themselves which they now affirmed the Prince to have done, and so make one Sin a Disguise for another.

When this news came to the King's Ears it is easie to imagine what grief it convey'd to his already-distressed Heart; but the [...] was infinitely encreas'd by an Accident which happened an hour or two before the Messenger came: For Sagax the Captain of the Prince's Guard, deeply resenting his Master's Condition, neglected no diligence in endeavouring of his Deliverance; and knowing that the Letter alleg'd as his Crime was a Forgery, he thought he could not take a better course then to employ his pains in the discovery of him that contriv'd this Engine. Whilst he was advising with his thoughts how he might accomplish this, one that was an under-Clerk to the Prince's Secretary came to him, and expressing the same affection which Sagax had for their common Master, he told him that he believed one Panurgus had a hand in the framing of this Letter, and that he saw him one day, when the Secretary was in earnest discourse with some Gentlemen which came to him from the King, put the Prince's Seal to a Letter; and when he ask'd Panurgus what he did, he replied, that he only seal'd a Commission, which the Secretary had desired him to doe, because it requir'd haste. The Captain of the Guard having heard this story, ask'd him if he would depose what he had said before the King. Yes, said he, with all my heart. When the King heard this, he sent for Panurgus, and caused him to be examin'd before him; and being ask'd what the Commission was which he sealed at the Secretarie's desire, he denied that ever he sealed any: The Secretarie's Clerk attested that he did, and offer'd his Oath to confirm the truth of what he said. The King's Anger beginning to relent towards Alethion, he commanded Panurgus to be rack'd. When he had felt some sharp Torments, he confess'd the Truth. Being ask'd who employed him in that wicked enterprize, he answered, he undertook it for such Reasons as pleased him: adding, that [Page] since he had acknowledged his own fault, they might give him what punishment they thought good; but that he was resolved to suffer without endangering others. The King having notice of his words, promised him Pardon if he would discover those which had encouraged him to this wickedness. He answered desperately, that he desired not to be pardoned for that which he had done, and was so far from repenting of it, that if it were needful he would endeavour to doe it again. Whilst they encreased the pains of the Rack, it happened that an Impostume broke in his stomach and choak'd him.

The King understanding by this means that the Prince was abus'd, though he knew not particularly his chief enemies, was so confounded with the miserable effect which his Credulity had produc'd, that he took all the blame to himself, accused himself of Folly and Injustice, abandon'd himself to disconsolateness, and not being able to contain the intolerable anguish of his Mind, gave breath to his Passions in these words: It is now time for me to die, since I have slain my Son, that I may hide the shame of my unjust Wrath in the dark Grave. I have destroyed my Son, my Self, my Family. I have killed Alethion, because he was accused. O accursed Jealousie! O unreasonable Suspicion! He was Charged with sin, but did that make him Guilty? The Letter seemed to be his hand, but I was not sure it was the same. Did I think (O weakness of my thoughts!) that this was the first Seal which was Counterfeited? Alas! alas! Could I not have seen him? ought I not to have heard him? If I had convinced him of wickedness, would not his Repentance have given me Satisfaction? If he had assured me of his Innocence, would it not have saved us both? Had I not read the History of Hippolytus? Did I not pity the misfortune of Hermenegildus, and deplore the unhappy death of Mustapha? Did I not observe how their overcredulous Fathers cruelly destroyed their innocent Children, and with them cut off the Succession of their Families? I had reason to have suspected the Advice by which I am now undone; it was too viclent for the Matter, the Person which gave it was young, and might possibly lay the Foundation of his own wicked Hopes in my Son's Ruine. Had I not heard how Falshood among her other Tricks had [Page] stollen the Mantle of Truth, and ever since performed all her mischievous Stratagems disguis'd in that Habit? Doth not Cunning crook it self to insinuate pleasing harms? The Counsell which our Enemies know we will like is only fram'd to promote their Ends which made it acceptable. But we can remember nothing to direct us when we are in Passion! O my dear Alethion! My folly is the Precipice from whence thou art thrown; My Jealousie is the River in which thou art drown'd. Then the Tears trickled down his cheeks, and his Sighs stopt his speech: after a while he proceeded thus; Forgive me, spotless soul. But why do I ask forgiveness who have made my sin unpardonable by destroying him that should have forgiven me? It is all one, for I should never cease to torment my self till my Death, if he which would forgive me were yet alive.

With many more such Expressions did the miserable Anaxagathus lament his Loss, and having retired from all Company, took his bed, and with it a Fever, which being encreased with his extreme Grief and neglect of all Remedies, brought him to that Death, which he now passionately desired, the next day; whereupon the wicked Antitheus sent Dogmapornes to his Castle, to verifie their false news in the death which before was but fictitiously suffered by Alethion.

Thus, said Amyntor, have I given you a short Relation of the sad state of Theriagene. I cannot inform you further, having not receiv'd any Intelligence from my friend concerning that which hath happen'd since. The Company thanked Amyntor for the diversion which they received by his story, all pitying the unfortunate condition of Anaxagathus and Alethion. But [...] found a generous desire to arise in his Soul, and longed passionately to see Theriagene, not only out of Curiosity to know what strange Event attended such dreadful Beginnings, but, if it were possible, to relieve the Prince's friends, Misopseudes and Philalethes, whom he understood to be Prisoners, and rationally guessed that some worse Sentence did await them, whose execution he hoped to prevent. He acquainted the Company with his desire, promising to return in a short time. Amyntor declared that he had entertain'd the same Resolution, especially because he thought himself obliged to visit his friend Misopseudes, [Page] from whom he had received many kindnesses, and whose vertues had fixt such a deep Estimation of him in his heart, that neither any length of time nor the most adverse Accidents of life were able to wear it out; and therefore asked Bentivolio's leave to attend him. The Ladies were unwilling to deprive themselves of such Friends by giving them leave to depart out of their Company; yet considering the nobleness of the Design and the shortness of the Journey, they gave a mixt kind of Assent; only Urania would not dismiss Panaretus, and the two Sisters prevail'd with Sympathus to stay with them. They were both the more contented, because Bentivolio assured them that if occasion offer'd it self, they should hear from him, and if any thing happen'd which was worthy of their presence or needed their Assistance, he would send for them. He took Nicomachus also with him, to the end that if he could not return so soon as he expected, he might make use of him, to let Panaretus and Urania understand the state of his Affairs. The night after they took their leave, they came into the Borders of Theriagene. The next morning, having travelled so long that the Sun had almost finish'd half his dayes work, they withdrew from the Road into a Wood, intending to repose themselves a while in the cool shade; and following a path which led into the Thicket, whilst they sought a place fit for their Retirement, a broad open Field discovered it self, and presented a sight which they expected not in that place. They saw two men lying dead upon the ground, and a Gentleman endeavouring to catch his Horse. What this meant they could not divine, but perceived the Gentleman something startled at their approach. Not knowing their faces, and doubting that they came not to his Relief in a place where he had found mischief design'd against him, he stood upon his Guard, supposing that they attended to perfect what was unsuccessfully begun. Bentivolio and his Companions knowing that it was Prudence not to determine concerning any thing till they well understood it, much less to think of inflicting Punishment when they were not sure any Wrong was done, and remembring [Page] that it is a duty never unseasonable to be [...], they catch'd the Horse, and delivered him to the [...]; who though he perceiv'd a Doubtfulness in their Countenances, yet finding their Actions civil, and judging by their Garb that they were Strangers, he began to hope that some other business brought them to that place, and that they had not any purpose to assist his [...]; and thereupon with more confidence he began to speak to them, allowing them the Liberty of Silence, which at that time was a Courtesie, for they knew not very well what to say. Gentlemen, said he, I know nothing of you but that I am beholden to you: and though possibly I may have given you some occasion to think dishonourably of me, since you find me incompass'd with such dubious Circumstances; yet if you have heard of the Tragical state of Theriagene, you will the less wonder at this encounter: and if you will have the goodness to understand this little Scene which was just now acted, you will be so far from loading my Misfortunes, which are already heavy enough, with your severe Censure, that you will rather support me, who am forc'd to bear them, with your charitable [...]. Bentivolio replied, It becomes us to think well of all men, till we know we have cause not to doe so: we are Strangers in this Country, but we have heard so much of your perplex'd estate, that it hath rais'd a great Compassion in our souls. That which hath been told us is so extraordinary, that we have taken a Journey both to assure our selves concerning the verity of the Report, and to understand what hath happen'd since our first Intelligence. Particularly we have with a sincere Good will design'd the Rescue of two Noble persons, Philalethes and Misopseudes; of which we make no great doubt, if God be propitious to our endeavours.

The unknown Gentleman observing eminent Marks of Vertue in Bentivolio's Countenance, and being greatly taken with the Nobleness which he had express'd, pull'd off his Helmet, and said, Generous Strangers, I am Philalethes the Brother of Misopseudes whom you have so civilly mention'd; I am confin'd to my House, which is not far off, by the Usurper [Page] Antitheus: I hope you will honour me so much as to go home with me, though when you come there, I shall be forc'd to crave your pardon if my present Condition will not allow you that Welcome in this Country which persons of your Worth do deserve every where. Whilst he said, these words, he took notice of such Airs in Amyntor's face as he had formerly well known, and added, If my eyes and Memory do not fail of their duty, you are Amyntor. Which he acknowledging, Philalethes embrac'd him with a passionate kindness, and mingling his salutation with tears, said Amyntor, we did not use to meet after this manner at my Brother's house, but since you have heard of our Afflictions, you cannot wonder at what you see. No, no, Philalethes, replied Amyntor, I am not ignorant of your Affairs, and though I did not expect this strange encounter, yet I esteem my self happy to have met so soon my friend's Brother, whom I shall never cease to love in despight of the greatest Misfortunes which often befall, but never lessen, the Best men. But that you may know, dear Philalethes, how happy we are in our Misery, (I say ours, for my friend's is my own) know that we have in our Company Bentivolio, whom I can commend unto you by no better words then by saying it is He.

Philalethes struck with a glad horrour, express'd the sense of his Mind with all symptoms of a pleasant Extasie, in these words: Good God! How short are those measures by which we limit thy Power and Goodness? we represent nothing so lively to our selves as Afflictions; and when we have some small occasion to doubt, make it a reason of Despair, forgetting that extreme Misery is the only thing which makes thy help seasonable. O Lord, for whom shall I give thanks to thee first? for the poor Prince Alethion, or my self? I will doe it for both. For my self, because thou hast given me leave to see a Person whose Vertues all the world doth justly admire; but chiefly for the Prince, because now I make no doubt of his Restauration, since God hath sent such a worthy Person to undertake it. Bentivolio astonish'd to hear Philalethes talk of the Prince's Restauration, [Page] said, turning to Amyntor, Sure this Gentleman thinks that I am able to raise him from the dead. No, Bentivolio, replied Philalethes, there is no need of that; for, God be thanked, the Prince is yet alive: I meant what I said, only of his Kingdom. Sure then, said Amyntor, God hath sent us hither to amuse us: but since we are only intangled in the Labyrinths of Divine Providence, I doubt not but he which hath brought us in will lead us out by some happy clue. In the mean while, Philalethes, pray give us leave to rest our selves under this Oak, for we are weary with Travel, and you will doe us a great favour if you let us know what made you come hither, who those are whom we suppose you have kill'd, and what is become of the Prince Alethion. You shall quickly understand these things, answer'd Philalethes, who having saluted Nicomachus, sate down by Bentivolio. Those fellows were Brothers to a Villain nam'd Panurgus, who pretended to have taken up a forg'd Letter, for which the Prince was imprison'd; and either to revenge their Brother's death, for he died upon the Rack, to gratifie Antitheus, or out of hatred to my person as a Lover of Alethion, they came hither in hope to have murther'd me. They laid their design thus. One of my Brother's Servants (for what cause I cannot tell) remain'd in the City, and those Assasinates taking notice of it corrupted him, I suppose, with Money, to come to my house yesternight, to tell me that two of my Brother's friends would be in this place to day about the time when I first saw you, to impart some Secrets to me which did highly concern us both, and therefore did earnestly desire me to give them a meeting. I knowing that the Messenger was my Brother's servant, and that those whom he nam'd were his most true friends, supposing that he brought no Letters because it was not safe to write, believed him, and came, but not without Arms, of which I soon found the Necessity. As I alighted from my Horse, they made towards me with Swords, which they had hid under their Coats, and gave me a wound for a Salutation. Turning upon them for my defence, I had the good fortune to kill one of them and [Page] wound the other; which when I perceiv'd, I desir'd him to desist, and let me know for what Injury which they had receiv'd from me, they sought reparation by this highest sort of Revenge. But his Malice had made him so greedy of my Death, that by silence and continuing to fight, I saw that if he could not kill me, he would live no longer. Nay then, said I, you shall be pleas'd; and as you came, so you shall go together. With a very few blows I sent him after his fellow-Murtherer. But as these Villains have suffered more punishment for their wicked attempt then I desired to have inflicted upon them, if it had pleas'd God otherwise to have delivered me from their Malice; so I think my self well appay'd for the hazard I have run, and nothing disappointed of my Expectation, since the Message is verified in a sense which they never intended by this fortunate Encounter. Now let me entreat you to go along with me, and when we come to my House I will tell you the story of the Prince, and desire your advice concerning the course which we are to take; for it is a perplexed season. Bentivolio, whose Prudence was alwayes awake, stopping Philalethes, said, Sir, we are strangers, and do not know what Constructions may be made upon any Accident happening at our Arrival in such a Juncture of time: therefore if you please, our servants shall throw those wretched Carkases into that old Cole-pit, lest some Foresters finding the dead Bodies, give notice to the Country, which will make a general Alarm, and it may be trouble us all with an impertinent Hue-and-Cry. Philalethes approv'd the Counsel, and as soon as they had put it in Execution, they betook themselves to their Horses. When they came to his house, Bentivolio told Philalethes, that the first expression of his Regard to them should be to search his own wounds. Upon the first inspection he found them not dangerous, and having quickly dress'd them, his Lady entertain'd her unexpected Guests with a short Collation; yet they thought it long, because it was some hinderance to the accomplishment of Philalethes his promise to tell them what was become of the Prince: which when the cloth was taken away [Page] he fulfilled after this manner. I understand by the discourse which we had in the Wood, that you have heard of the death of Anaxagathus, who broke his heart with the Grief which seiz'd upon him when he heard the news of his Son's Death, of which he would never be convinc'd but that himself was the principal Author. The day after Anaxagathus was dead, Antitheus, the Venemous Root upon which our Calamity grows, sent Dogmapornes, one of his Confederates, to the Castle where the Prince was imprison'd, with order to kill him privately, and throw him over the Rock, that so his Body being afterward taken out of the River, might make good the Report which they had spread abroad before concerning the manner of his Death, which by that means they foretold much after the Custom of Evil Spirits, which give Intelligence before-hand to Witches and other their Correspondents of such mischiefs as they resolve to doe.

When Dogmapornes was gone, Antitheus and the rest of his Accomplices began to deliberate what was next to be done for the setling of the Kingdom. They determin'd presently to proclaim Antitheus King, as being apparently the next Heir to the Crown, and commanded upon pain of Death, that none but the Souldiers of his own Guard should appear in Arms, nor that the Citizens should meet in any Assembly upon pain of Treason, and secured such as they knew to be Alethion's friends. This I learn'd from one of my servants, who escap'd out of the City by night. Dogmapornes made all possible haste to his Castle, to Execute the wicked Commandment of Antitheus, and kill'd some horses by the way; but when he came there he found himself utterly disappointed, for the Prince was gone the day before. How it came to pass I will acquaint you, for my Brother not being able to conceal from me such happy news longer then the time which the Messenger requir'd for his Journey to bring it, sent one of his friends to me who was able to inform me perfectly, for he waited upon the Prince during all the time of his Imprisonment, heard his Discourses, and knew the manner of his Escape. You must understand [Page] that the Prince was chiefly intrusted to the Custody of two Persons, Apronaeus, who was Lieutenant of the Castle, and Diaporon, who commanded a Troop of Horse under Dogmapornes. Diaporon attended continually upon the Prince, Apronaeus came only sometimes to see that he was in safety. Diaporon was of a nature very averse to Malice, and though he had not the greatest parts, nor could make a perfect judgment of things by his own Ability; yet his temper was not impregnably fortified against good Reason. As he had at the first no disaffected resentments of the Prince's Person, for he had never disobliged him; so in a short time he fell into a great Admiration of his Vertues: and perceiving him not to be afflicted with what he suffered, he concluded in himself that the Prince had no Demerits upon which Punishment could take hold. He saw a smooth Serenity in his Looks, a great Contentedness in his Speeches, an undisturb'd Equality in all his Conversation. He heard him often assert his own Innocence, but without any other Expressions except of pity for his abus'd Father. The affection which this Deportment produc'd in Diaporon's breast, possibly augmented with some surmises of unworthy Contrivances against the Prince, in a short time grew so strong, that it made him heartily with that he might be so happy as to work his Deliverance.

As he was musing one day how he might accomplish such a hard Attempt, he thought it was best to communicate his Mind to Apronaeus, for that he thought it necessary to the Prince's Escape that Apronaeus should assist him, or at least connive at the Design. Though he was something imbolden'd to reveal this secret to Apronaeus, by that intimate Friendship which a long Acquaintance had contracted between them, yet he found the matter of that Importance, that he could not resolve presently what to doe; both being doubtful how Apronaeus would resent such a high proposal, and also being well assured that if he did disgust it, he should not only ruine himself, but utterly undo all further hopes of the Prince's Deliverance: and thereupon resolv'd to doe what was possible in his single endeavour, [Page] and chose rather to take any course for the Prince's rescue, then to leave him to that danger which was unavoidable in the place where he was. Whilst he was floating upon these Deliberations, Apronaeus came to visit him, and perceiving in his Countenance symptoms of discomposed Thoughts, (for he came upon him so suddenly, that he could not wipe out the picture of his Mind which his Passion had drawn upon his Face,) he demanded the cause of his Melancholy. Nothing troubles me, replied Diaporon, only I represented to my self the various Accidents of humane Life: and as I was attentive upon my Imagination, the unhappy state of our young Prince appear'd before me with strange mixtures; and I could not but wish that either a Person of such a brave Spirit had not stain'd his Innocence with any unhandsome Designs, or that so great a Vertue were not unworthily clouded: And I began to wonder how Vice of late was grown so strong that it could endure to be punish'd, or why Vertue should be so weak that it is not able to shine through the plausibility of false Accusation. Away, Diaporon, said Apronaeus, with these Philosophical follies. Thou art alwayes troubling thy head with Religious Dreams. To what purpose dost thou believe that vain Distinction of Vertue and Vice, and meditate upon those useless notions of Reward and Punishment? Dost thou not see how these Doctrines are confuted by the Practice of all the world? Men seek Happiness by other Methods, and neglect these Rules both as uncertain and unpracticable. We have often heard our Governour say that there is no God, or, if there be, that he doth not trouble himself with the Affairs of this lower World: whether he doth or no, I do not much care; but I think it is true enough, because I see into what a miserable estate this Prince is brought, who was a known pretender to the Love of God, and a great Patron of his devout Worshippers. Here Diaporon interrupting his friend, replied, God forgive you this irreverent discourse, Apronaeus; will you never leave this Impious humour? I know you suppose that you have sufficient Reason for your belief; I think you have not. You are now going to visit the Prince; [Page] when we are with him, I will by some means or other give you occasion to discourse these Opinions, for he doth not only abhor them as prejudicial to the state of Mankind in their fatal Consequences, but laughs at them as pieces of irrational wickedness in their monstrous Constitution. I am no great Lover of Disputation, said Apronaeus, neither do I esteem that which you call Truth worth much Inquiry; yet I will go with you to see our joynt Charge, and since we have not much to doe, this Discourse may possibly allow us some Recreation.

When they came to Alethion's Chamber, they found him reading a little Book, whose Title was, Good men are ever happy. Having given them his usual salutes, he spoke something in Commendation of the Author, who had shewn much prudence in chusing a subject that he was well able to demonstrate, and had express'd the sense of his mind so artificially, that his Readers were sure to find excellent thoughts cloth'd with sutable words. After that he applauded the fortunate state of Vertuous Souls, and admired the Goodness and Wisdom of Almighty Providence, which had so secured the Interest of all those who had faithfully consign'd themselves to his care, that nothing could make them miserable. At these words Apronaeus smil'd. The Prince perceiv'd it, and ask'd him the Reason of his Mirth. I laugh, said Apronaeus, that you, whom I have alwayes esteem'd very Religious, should notwithstanding you see your self abandon'd to Affliction, talk still of Providence. Sure, Apronaeus, answer'd the Prince, you have something else in your thoughts which made you smile at what I said, or you have some other Reasons which make you speak so disrespectfully of the Divine Providence. I have several things, replied Apronaeus, but I think that what I have said is most proper to you; for you reason against Sense, and dispute against Experience, saying, as others of your Opinion do, that a God created the World; it may be so: but if he did, it was to small purpose in my mind, since he doth not take care to keep it in better Order. Possibly he is weak and cannot help it; perhaps he is otherwise employ'd, or else so [Page] idle that he will not trouble himself about it; or it may be it is below him to mind such Trifles. I know not which of these excuses you like, but I am sure it is a piece of unjust carelesness, if he can hinder it, that he doth not relieve his friends, but suffer them to be trampled upon by those which bid defiance to his Authority, and quote their own Prosperity, whilst they doe so, for an Argument against his Providence. I verily believe that ere long men will take it for granted that there is no God; and that those which think there is, will blaspheme him because he takes no care of them. For my own part, I make no doubt but that Fortune governs the world, if it be govern'd at all: and I think that she is blind, in that she bestows great Gifts upon many that do not deserve them; and I dare swear she is poor too, because she hath not enough for those which do.

The Prince permitting him to go no further, with a calm serenity replied, Apronaeus, though your words carry a very bad signification, and must needs be offensive to all Rational Beings, which gratefully acknowledging the Fountain from whom they have receiv'd their Essence, cannot be contented to hear the common Father of the world dishonourably represented; yet I do not wonder to hear you speak at this Ignorant rate, since I know it is easie for Ingenious Atheists to abuse men of weaker parts, and venting their thoughts where they dare, (for, God be thanked, Wickedness hath not taken such an universal possession of Humane Nature, neither are all so degenerated from Knowledge or apostatiz'd from Truth, that they have the Confidence to doe it every where, but) in some Company which they presume inferiour to themselves in Wit, or it may be admirers of their Excellencies, they endeavour to support the Reputation of their more then ordinary Abilities, by making Proselytes, and impose upon unexperienced Wits with great Boasts of new Philosophy: though their [...] Discoveries are usually but two or three of the worst opinions of some old Philosophers, which they have taken out of their Graves, and endeavour'd to revive with such Arguments as have been often answer'd and hiss'd out of the world by the best of Men.

[Page] I am glad, replied Apronaeus, that your Princely Mind is so little sensible of those thorny Objections, though you feel how sharp they are by Experience, which do very much trouble others when they only think of them: But go on Generous Prince, and let us see if you can pull 'em out of my Understanding, at least so blunt their points, that they gall not this [...] Diaporon. That which you spoke just now, replied the Prince, as it respects me I take but for a Complement; but to the rest, which concerns the Interest of all Good men, I will give an Answer. It is a common thing for people, when they suffer great Afflictions, to talk Atheistically. They speak as if they did not think that there is any God, because they fancy themselves to be little beholden to him; and sometimes they wish there were none, and yet think that they are justified in their Impiety, because he useth them, as they say, very hardly. Therefore, Apronaeus, I would not have you put your Objection of Suffering, so carelesly as to hope to infer a denial of Providence from Good mens Afflictions: for let men be what they will, they think themselves too good to be punished; and let their Castigations be never so justly moderated, they judge them too great for them. If a young man die which possibly hath sinn'd away his Life, he cries out, O cruel Fate! why dost thou destroy me before my time? If a mother lose a Child, which perhaps her own indiscretion kill'd, then you shall hear, O unjust Stars! why do you rob me? For Stars or any thing else is God or the Devil, when they think themselves hurt. So that you may perceive, Apronaeus, that the common Original of these Complaints is a foolish Passion joyn'd with an Imperious Prides and that most Plaintiffs in this case labour not only under a defect of just Patience, but are troubled also with a shortness of Discourse. What? must God be bound to please men alwayes, lest they in a Fit of angry Grief deny his Government by way of Revenge; or, which is as bad, accuse it of injust Severity? Is he so inconsiderable, that he is obliged to attend us with an officious care; and are we so great, that he must be afraid lest he do not please us enough? When [Page] men are pleas'd, there is, yes, there is a God: why then, simple Mortals, and not when you are displeas'd too? You find so much fault in your Calamities, that you conclude they could not have happen'd to you but that there is no God, or else that he Governs not the world as he ought: whereas, if you examine the matter throughly, you will find so much more [...] your selves, that you will be forc'd to acknowledge your sufferings Arguments of his Justice whom you foolishly accuse, and bear them as deserv'd Punishments. But when you are in a Passion, you will neither confess that you have merited anything, nor be content that God is not of your mind; no, you will die, and rather then live any longer, you will kill your selves, and in a scorn be gone out of his Territories, because, as you say, he bestows so little regard upon you. But it is very unlikely that you should escape so; neither is it a thing to be imagin'd, much less believ'd, that God hath no Reserve for Rebels, and that he should fail to punish in another world those which have done their utmost to deserve it in this; and it is a [...] madness to think that they shall be pardon'd for breaking Prison.

I have said this, Apronaeus, to let you understand that such as have a mind to complain, do not punctually examine whether it be with just cause or no. But whereas you say it is many times, unjust because Vertuous persons are made miserable, and so urge your Plea against the Divine Providence; By this I see that you are ignorant of the Nature of Happiness and Misery, and therefore I wonder not that you determine so weakly in this Controversie. You do not only mistake the true notion of Happiness, but suppose it to consist in such things as a good man would think himself unhappy if he could not despise them. The Felicity which you fancy, is to be Lord of the Country where you dwell, to live in stately Palaces, to lie upon soft Beds, to drink excellent Wines, to eat nothing but what is Delicate, never to know Labour, to sleep with Musick, not to be controll'd in your Designs, and such like. But, good Apronaeus, will you consider how childish your Attempt is, whilst you [Page] go about to gather up so many things to put a fair Gloss upon Misery, and crust it over with a shew of Happiness? What? must Happiness be patch'd up with so many and such mean Shreds? I thought our Felicity had been compriz'd in one chief Good, and that the satisfaction of the Masterwish of our Souls was attainable in that single Fruition, and not to be begg'd from a confus'd Multitude of [...], which are so poor that they are not able to defend themselves from a Wise man's Contempt. The Heaven-born Soul advanceth it self by Rational passions towards God the first Good, whom it knows to be the Spring of Being, the Root of Life, the Father of Wisdom, the Fountain of true Pleasure, and the Haven of Desire. It hastens from all things to him, longing to be illuminated with his Divine Rayes, to partake of his most lovely Disposition, who is the Archetypal patern of all Goodness, infinitely pleas'd with the Contemplation of his Attributes, which are the Notifications of his Nature as far as it is knowable, and ravish'd with the Consideration of his excellent Works, which are Entertainments worthy of the best and most rais'd Minds. Happiness must be plac'd in the Soul, that there it may perfect our Faculties, satisfie all our greater Capacities, and secure us against the uncertainty of all external Dependences. Those Divine Illapses which put us into a Sensation of God by an Intellectual Contact, and give us a lively Sympathy with him in whom we live, make us feel our selves happy, and give us a serene knowledge of him to whom we owe our Being, and fill our Souls with Joy mix'd with Gratitude and Love, unite our Hearts with his Sacred Will by Resignation, make us lodge all our Concerns in his Providence, unto whose Conduct it is then easie to commit whatsoever is dear to us: Then we consecrate all our Actions to his Glory who gave us our Powers, and serve his Designs, both because they are his, and also the best in the World; so that our whole Life becomes one continued endeavour to perpetuate and accomplish this Happiness, we having now but one main Design, which is to begin and end all our Actions in God. The vigorous Motions which [Page] these strong passions raise must needs be terminated in a progress of endeavour as boundless as our necessity of being eternally Happy is cogent, and the Good which must make us happy is Infinite in sweetness. And though a good man in this world possesseth this Happiness but in part; yet it is an unspeakable Comfort to him to perceive that the power of the Divine Presence with which he converses hath taken off some of the ruder disconformities of his rough Nature, and superinduc'd some beautiful delineations of the Divine Image upon his Soul, which now adorn it with Greatness of Mind, Contempt of the World, true Liberty, pure Temperance, an amiable Meekness, great Humility, vast Charity, venerable Chastity, the dearest Love of God, and most rais'd Thoughts. Whilst it expatiates in the latitude of its own Compass, it despiseth all little things, taking an unspeakable pleasure, not only in viewing the fair Proportions of these Foundations, but in the hopes of equal Superstructures which in time will be built upon them.

It is the top of true Philosophy, Apronaeus, to shew us our chief Good; for that being rightly constituted, the Directions of our whole Life are [...], and our Affections setled. And though possibly we should mistake in some little matters by Ignorance; and omit some by Forgetfulness, and meet others which are not manageable by reason of the innate stubbornness of humane Affairs; yet the consequence is but slight; for we can receive no greater Dammage then the Nature of those things which we have not known, or neglected, or cannot rule, doth necessarily infer. Those which have attain'd to this Felicity are elevated above common Fears and usual Disappointments: the misapprehension which pinn'd their affections to such small matters being now chas'd away, they are inform'd by Experience that they do as little need those low supports to uphold their Felicity, as they knew long before by Discourse their inability to relieve them if they wanted their help. For what man is there that hath consider'd the Nature of things, who doth not know that all Earthly conditions are empty of that true satisfaction which Humane Nature [Page] alwayes wants, sometimes looks for, but never finds in the good things of the material World? Men feed themselves with a vain Hope, which hath its Root only in their own deluded Imaginations, and give glorious Names to Trifles that they may more plausibly deceive themselves; and when they find themselves disappointed, they accuse the World of falshood, though it only breaks the Promises which they themselves made; and then they confess, that though they could well paint the colours of the Flower, yet they could not give it the Vital sent. This hath been told us often by such as have gone before us, but we will not believe them, supposing that such as make the Report either envy us, or have not taken a right course; and thereupon resolve to make a Trial our selves, and then we are forc'd to confirm [...] Relation with our own Experience. Wisemen have other seasons to determine them to seek Happiness in God, or else to bid adieu to all Hope: for they see that as the Contentment which is sought otherwhere is but small, so that which they find is uncertain; the most assured course of Humane Life being carried about into various changes by perpetual [...]; the Earth upon which we dwell being the Stage of Mutation, the proper Region of Vicissitudes. The uncertain Method of these Alterations was formerly call'd Fortune, and represented by a Woman sitting upon a [...], not improperly. It's true, some of the fonder sort of Mortals promise themselves stability in their floating Stations, being content to be ignorant as long as they can: but they might as well hope that the Boughs of which their Pavilions are made will never wither, because they continue Green for a day or two.

But besides this, Apronaeus, I am the more convinc'd of the cheapness of these things which you do so magnifie as to make the want of them Misery, when I see them thrown away upon the worst of men. It is but a Scorn put upon the admired Vanities of this World, when God scatters them with a careless hand, and permits them to the enjoyment of the most despicable Persons. It satisfies me as to the unequal Division of Riches and Power, and I cannot [Page] but conclude they are of no great value, since God concerns himself no more in their Distribution. Shall he be so regardful of Trifles, as to weigh them out by scruples in Gold scales? Shall he partake in the Errours of vulgar Opinions, and trouble himself with the care of making every Good man Rich or Potent? What he slights, why should I esteem?

Here Apronaeus craving leave of the Prince, replied thus; Certainly, Sir, if we receive this Doctrine, we shall be forc'd to believe that this World was made to no purpose. If it be not our Portion, to what end was it created? The Prince answer'd, Be not apt to think that this World was made in vain, Apronaeus, although it is not our Happiness; though we may not make a God of it, yet it serves to excellent uses: It is a temporary Manifestation of Almighty Goodness and Wisdom in Material things. The Corporeal world is an Image of God, and shews what he could doe in Matter. According to the several Possibilities of Reception God hath made his Omnipotence to reach all Degrees of Being; so this Fabrick doth, as all excellent Machines do, discover the Worth and Ability of their Maker. I think God is so visibly reveal'd in the Creation, that I may safely pronounce that an Atheist is not only Ingrateful, but a Fool. However God did never intend that we should adore his work instead of Him; and what greater Adoration then to court it as our Happiness?

By this Discourse, said Apronaeus, you seem to have an indifferent sense of those conditions of Life which we think very contrary, and possibly you have arrived at the Stoicall Apathy. No, Apronaeus, replied the Prince; Vertue doth not stupifie Good men, and so make them insensible of the Differences of objects. Though many things are extremely Ridiculous, and the Accidents of Humane Life in very many Instances contemptible; yet considering our Constitution, I grant that some states of Life are so fram'd that they are a Trial of Resolved men, and it is all the praise which we can give to great Adversity, that it is the exercise of Vertue and the proof of strong Spirits. Man is an [Page] Amphibion, part Soul, and part Body; and as by this means he hath different Capacities, which have divers Objects fitted to them, he is put upon his Trial both by prosperous and adverse entertainments. We are plac'd between sensual Amours and the muddy Delights of the Flesh, on one hand; and the pure Spring of Increated Goodness, and those Crystal streams of Knowledge and Vertue which flow from him, on the other; and we are under the probation of our Wisdom and Ingenuity: and we come off with honour if we hold out in the Combat of Flesh and Spirit, overcome Body with Soul, and subdue Passion with Reason; which we then only doe, if we love the God which hath made all things above his best Creatures. Those who have devoted themselves to sensual Pleasures, have only glutted themselves with forbidden Fruit, and are so far from being happy, that they are manifestly overcome with the Spirit of the Sensible World, which in time will Triumph over them, and having reproch'd them for their Folly and Cowardly submissions, at last throw them headlong from the Banks of Time into the vast Horrours of Eternity, where it is not possible for them to hope for a good Reception with God, whom all their life they have slighted for every vain Toy.

Good men are not insensible of what is beneficial to Nature in those things which are miscall'd Happiness, but they know that their chief Advantage lies in a right use of them, which consists in Moderate, Charitable and Thankful Applications. They look upon all created Goodnesses as God's Messengers, and are led by them to God; whilst others mistake'em for God that sent them, with as grosse an Ignorance as if a rude Peasant newly come to the Court should take the first man which he meets there in brave Cloths for the King. By this you may perceive, Apronaeus, that whilst vertuous men are provided of this true Notion of Prosperity, they cannot be ignorant of the Nature of Adversity, or ever be so sensible of any thing which it can doe, as to think that they are made Unhappy by it, unless they should fall into such a want of Discourse, as to esteem [Page] themselves made miserable by the Absence of those things which did not make them happy being present with them. It's true, Adversity changeth the Scene and gives them other Parts to Act, that is, requires them to exercise some other sorts of Vertue then they did before; but the Actors are the same. A good man in Affliction is no more impair'd in point of Felicity, then a strong man is weakned upon a Theatre where he only shews his Strength. If his Sufferings grow extraordinary, he knows that great Trials are necessary to make great Examples; and as he reflects Honour upon the Cause of his suffering from Innocence, so he derives Consolation into the manner of it from Patience. I have read the Stories of such as have despised no small Afflictions with a Generous [...]. Archimedes was not so distracted with the extreme dangers of Syracuse, as to make him leave his Figures. Did not Aristides write his own name in one of the Shells of Proscription, and would have done it in another? Did not Cicero rejoyce that he was banish'd from Rome? Shall I admire these and many other Noble Examples, and not imitate them? I am what I was before, Apronaeus; neither can a Prison exclude my Comfort, more then false Accusation hath destroy'd my Integrity. I do not think my self depriv'd of Liberty, for I am not hindred from performing those Actions which I chiefly delighted in before, the Contemplation and Love of God: other Duties are not requir'd, because I have no opportunity to discharge them; but I have the power and will to doe them too when time shall serve. As to the trouble of Adversity, I think it is worthy of me, who have often endeavour'd to comfort others, which is an easie work, now to forbid my self to grieve.

It seems then, said Apronaeus, any Condition is alike to you in point of choice. No, replied the Prince, there is some Difference, though not much: I do so far prefer my former State, that I would not have chosen this; and yet I am not so out of Charity with this, but that I can bid it welcome. The knowledge which I had of the others Uncertainty made me provide for this long agoe. I should [Page] think my self very Imprudent if I were now to seek for Patience, since I had observ'd that every man in the World hath great use of it one time or other. So I had seen Mariners carry utensils which were proper only for Storms, though they went to Sea in Fair weather. The Peace of my Soul shines clear within, and is no more clouded with this Disaster, then a Light which is guarded with a thick Lantern upon the stern of a Ship is in danger of being put out with those blustring winds which make a noise about it. You doe well, Great Prince, said Apronaeus, to draw such a fair picture of Misfortune, but you wilfully take no notice of that deep Impression which Affliction makes upon all the rest of the World. I know, replied the Prince, that many look upon it with no other Passion then as if it were the head of some Gorgon. But what then? So I have heard Children cry for Trifles, and have seen a Fool held with a straw, and thought it as impossible to free his foot out of the snare, as if he had been tied with bands of Adamant. Those words signifie little which express nothing but the Imbecillity of vulgar Opinion, i.e. unprofitable Errour. We are not to pass a Judgment upon Truth according to the Suffrages of Fools, nor govern our Affections or Actions by the trivial Sentiments of those whose Ignorance we do commonly despise. I confess that if the Rules by which the Vulgar make Estimations were the Standards of Truth, I should allow it for a great Indecorum, that many times in the Ship in which we sail through this troublesome Sea, Good men are thrust down into the dark Hold, or put to toil at the Pump, whilst base Persons walk at their pleasure upon the Decks, and sometimes sit at the Stern; and I should be tempted to be angry, if I thought the Welcome which they find at the Port to which they are bound were proportion'd according to their usage on ship-board. If our worth were to be judg'd when we come ashore by an outward shew, it may be I should be no more pleas'd with my present condition, then Neptune was when Mercury, ranking the Images of the Gods, put his below that of Anubis, and told him he must not take it ill that the Egyptian [Page] Deity with a Dog's Mouth was preferr'd before him, because he had a large Golden Nose. Wise men must not be angry to see others advanc'd above them. Either they are better then our selves, or not. If they be, what cause is there of Anger? They deserve it. If they be not, we are equal to them. If they be worse, let us hold our peace and be thankful, we are preferr'd before them.

I might also tell you, Apronaeus, that as Good men are not made unhappy by Adversity, so many of those whom you see afflicted are not Good men, though they seem to be such. They may be bad enough which are so cunning as to conceal it. But no Mask can blind the Divine Eye. If it be unjust to punish Good men, which God doth not; it is unreasonable for bad men to complain, though he do. We ought of no case to make a Judgment against the Justice of God's proceedings; for though he makes Punishment sufficiently discernable in some Examples, yet he many times doth not acquaint us with the Cause why it is inflicted.

I am afraid, Good Prince, said Apronaeus, that I shall weary you with my trifling Objections: if you will pardon my importunity, I will only trouble you with demanding an answer to something which I propounded in the beginning of this Discourse. It may be Good men are happy, as you say; but methinks it were fit that wicked men, if there be any, should be punish'd. For whilst they are in Prosperity, as I told you before, it is hard to believe that there is any God that cares how things go here. Do you think then that they are not punish'd? replied the Prince. Do you think they are so highly privileg'd in their prosperity? Beside what I have said already to prove that the Material World is unable to satisfie the greater Appetites of the Soul, and to shew how uncertain that small pleasure is which men sometimes seem to take in their vain Dreams, there are other Reasons which demonstrate to me that wicked men cannot be happy. God hath interwoven Vexation with their most prosperous Conditions; Inseparable Imperfections do constantly molest them, and they are frequently [Page] assaulted with unexpected Accidents; by which means they are never secure, never at case. I think this but a small matter and common to all which partake of the same estates with them. But because they are Wicked, they are for that very Reason Unhappy: Wickedness is its own greatest Punishment, neither can Punishment be so properly demonstrated as by the Nature of Sin. Reason and Vertue are the Glory of Humane Nature; and as it hath a rare content in the Discourses of Wisdom, so in the performance of Actions suitable to Vertue it finds an Acquiescence like unto that which things have in their [...] place. But he which breaks these Laws, offers violence to the Noblest Principles of his Soul; and they are so interwoven with the Essence of it, that he which affronts them, endeavours to degrade himself. Those Repeated Actions which induce Habits of sin, deprave the Soul, and sink it into a base State of Being, sometimes making it to wallow in Mud with brute Beasts, and sometimes throwing it into that fiery Pit where Proud and Wrathful Spirits are tormented. The Shame that is fasten'd to all wicked Actions shews that they are naturally base. Let a man sin never so privately, as ravish a Virgin, or rob a Traveller in a Wilderness; though there be no witness to make him blush, yet when he thinks what he hath done, he is sensible of the Nature of Honesty which he hath wrong'd; and the Prevarication is odious, because the Law which he hath transgress'd is the transcript of eternal Righteousness written in the Heart of Man by God when he made Humane Nature; and he can have no pleasure to remember that he hath done an Action so disagreeable to Nature. That Sin is its own punishment, is so generally true, that a man can neglect the Rules of Vertue in nothing, but he is weaken'd and debas'd in Soul, or Body, or both.

But left bold Men should slight this Turpitude, and think to make a Compensation for some dislike of themselves by the pleasant diversions which Sin allows, God hath made it impossible to be undisturb'd in Wickedness, by reason of the sharp Remorses of an evil Conscience. [Page] If they will sin, this will bear witness, and, if none else do, accuse, and hath Authority to condemn too, and it alwayes sees its Sentence put in Execution. Those which are punish'd by it, are burnt-with a sullen flame, which torments the Soul as a feverish heat doth the Body. The Sparks of this fire may be hid in Embers, but it cannot be put out. It hath been formerly represented by Furies with burning Torches, and sometimes by the Thespesian Vipers; for a Sinner is ever gnaw'd by his Conscience upon the remembrance of an ill-govern'd Life. They are very Ignorant which think there are no pains but such as are Bodily, for the Mind is capable of greater Torments. That which afflicts the Flesh is only some present Pain; but the Soul is vex'd with that which is past, with what it feels at present, and with the Fears of that which is to come. It's true, Jolly Sinners doe what they can to make the World believe that they feel no such thing; but how is that possible? We know that Essential Principles are the same in all Men: Wise men of all Religions have acknowledg'd a Conscience to be rooted in the Nature of the Soul, that is, a Power which animadverts upon our Actions, and condemns us for what we doe amiss. This severe Reprover, by blows which Sinners only feel, destroyes that Joy which they promise to themselves in prosperous Wickedness. This makes Murtherers take but little content in those Possessions which they have purchas'd with the Innocent bloud of those whom they have kill'd with the Violation of all Sacred Rights. If Sinners be well, what makes them use so many Arts to palliate their sickness? what makes them so burthensome to themselves when they are alone? what makes them seek so many diversions, but the hope so to drive away this evil spirit which haunts them? Have not Tyrants kill'd or banish'd all Wise and Good men they could reach, left they should have witnesses of their Actions, because their Consciences told them that they were unjustifiable? Have not some Vicious Persons sought Refuge from thinking in perpetual Drunkenness? and others thrown away their lives, not being able to endure [Page] themselves? I thank God, I abhor desires of Revenge, and I think it is too Cruel to think of those who have wrong'd me without great Pity; but I am assured, though neither God nor Man punish them in this World, they will never be able to pardon themselves.

But I must adde to this which I have named, the Torment which awaits them in the other World; the fear of that must needs be a great Vexation, as it is an incomparable Pleasure to a good man that he hopes to be happy there. This expectation blasts the Delights of sinners, and makes them but like those Recreations which condemn'd men enjoy in Prisons, who though they play at Cards or Tables, yet the Ropes about their necks spoil their sport, whilst they continually put them in mind of being hang'd. I grant that Atheists endeavour to blunt the edge of this Argument by a flat denial of Immortality, and would willingly think that they are all dead in the other World, because none ever came to them to give them notice of the contrary: but those faith-worthy stories which report the Appearances of Spirits, and have told us of some that have risen from the Dead, put them many times into such agonies, that they would be glad to be assured of their Annihilation after this Life. When they venture to think seriously (which they dare but seldom doe) they have such an unacceptable remembrance of what they have been, and so much assurance, that if there be any happiness afterward, they shall have no share in it, that to comfort themselves they vote That there is nothing after this Life. These suffrages signifie indeed their strong desires, but are no Arguments of a true Opinion concerning the Future state; but that uneasie Temper of Soul which makes them wish so proves what I assert, That they are not happy at present.

It may be this is true, replied Apronaeus, and if it be, I confess that those whom you call Wicked are very unhappy; yet it seems still a kind of slur to that Government you speak of, that if they deserve that Punishment, they have it not sooner. It is something which you say of the former sorts of Tormeut which you have mention'd, but they are invisible, [Page] and so little notice is taken of them by others; but if they were hurried to Execution as soon as they sin, it would strike a Terrour upon By-standers: but since Vengeance is so long in coming, they are incourag'd to sin by delay. Good mens Hopes are weaken'd, and they are ready to say, If God neglect his servants, why should they worship him? Justice is blasphem'd, and the Force of Law enervated. If some happen to be struck sooner, it is but as Thunderbolts fall, by chance: And who can imagine but they do? for they often cleave a gallant Oak, and sometimes tear an useful Sail, or kill a harmless Traveller; when those which sin boldly arrive at gray Haires without any considerable Misfortune, and in appearance die peaceably. Poor Apronaeus, said the Prince smiling, what slight devices art thou constrain'd to use to support a false plea? Must there be no Providence unless those which sin be presently Condemn'd and immediately Executed? Those which sin are alwayes Condemn'd, and God is so merciful, that he thinks it punishment enough that for a while they carry their heavy crosses, to which you would have them presently nail'd. He is [...] Gracious, that he doth usually respite their irreversible Doom in expectation of Amendment, and so both saves sinners, and teacheth those which look on to imitate his merciful Example. Those which have deserved the blow, fear that he will strike too soon; and shall any be weary of the Divine Patience which comforts others, because they love to see sinners fall? I must also tell you, Apronaeus, that he is not so gentle as to neglect Justice. God doth make Examples enough in every Age to let all the World see their danger: and though some be spar'd that deserve present Punishment, it is both a Glory to his Forgiveness, that some of those which escape Repent; and if he let many go in [...] of their Emendation, may he not as well and much better doe it, then a General decimate his Regiments for a Mutiny of which they are all guilty? God is not endamag'd by delay, those which continue their Rebellion can never get out of his reach; he is not willing to dispeople the Earth by sudden Executions. But because men are apt by [Page] long Impunity to imagine that either they are not obnoxious, or that none regards what they doe; God many times is forc'd to confute their Imaginations by Great Plagues, Pining Famine, Cruel Wars, to unburthen the Earth of its wicked Load, and takes away such as had too long oppress'd Vertue and supported Wickedness with the most vile Examples: by which means he shews both how unreasonable Sinners are whom no forbearance will reclaim, and how just he is when he useth severity, because those which suffer it sinn'd so long against one that was loath to punish, and by his Punishments asserts his Providence. By some words which you have deliver'd, you seem to be willing to think, Apronaeus, that God doth not manage his Justice with Prudence, because he doth not inflict all Mulcts upon the persons of sinners. But must this piece of his Goodness also be made an Argument against his Providence? and shall we think he doth punish by chance, because he is mercifully Just? Was it not esteem'd a Favour to the Persians, when their Emperour commanded only their Turbans to be beaten? Did the World use to grumble at the Charge of their Sacrifices, when God requir'd only a Beast for a Man? But I spare to urge this any further, because those which are ready to sink must be permitted to catch at Reeds.

Here Apronaeus made such a pause as signified that he had no mind to proceed any further: but Diaporon, craving leave to continue the Discourse, added, I have so great satisfaction, most Excellent Prince, in your Answers to the Objections which Apronaeus hath made, that I have nothing to renew a Reply; yet other things which he hath not quoted disturb my belief in this Point. For if God be Almightily Good, and Rule this World by an unerring Prudence, how came this Unlucky thing Sin, which [...] so much trouble, into it? You say it is Evil, and assert that nothing but Good comes from God; whence is it then? What? did some envious Anti-God put this flaw upon his Work? There is no Question, replied the Prince, but Sin is Evil, for nothing else doth properly deserve that name; [Page] and it is as indubitable that the most good God is not the Author of it: and yet to defend his Honour we need not run to that old Fable of Oromasdes and Arimanius, whom the Ancients, not knowing how otherwise to answer the Question concerning the Original of Evil, set up as two Gods, and made one the Author of Good, and the other of Evil; for this matter is determinable by ascribing Evil to its proper Cause, which will clear the doubt, and reflect no disparagement upon the All-Good God: Men brought in Evil by the foolish abuse of that Free-will which God had given them. It is the Glory of the Creatour, that he could make such a Noble Automaton as Man, who moves spontaneously, and according to an innate Liberty of Election determines himself to his Actions. He put this Liberty into the hands of an Intelligent Creature, whom he both made able to know that which is Good, and fitted his Nature to the Love of it. He made it so much his Interest to be Obedient, that he promis'd him great Rewards for doing small Duties; unto the performance of which he gave him sufficient Assistance. He told him wherein Evil consisted, forewarn'd him of its mischievous Nature, forbad him to introduce it, and by a most rightful Authority threaten'd him severely if he transgress'd the Orders which he had receiv'd. But Man, by a perverse abuse of his Freedom, chuseth that which is worse, will not take pains to distinguish that which is truly Good from that which is so in Appearance only, and so sins.

I thought, replied Diaporon, that as all things receiv'd their Being from God, so they operate only as they are acted by his Power; and that therefore though some things which they doe are not Good, yet since nothing can work without his Assistance, it may be suppos'd that he let Sinners into the World; and though they affront his Authority, it is not a matter of any great consequence, since they are permitted only as a Dramatist sometimes brings a [...] upon the Stage, who abuses the Poet himself. If this be a true accompt of Sin, then it is not a Fault, but rather an Ornament of the Creation. God is a most excellent Dramatist, [Page] said the Prince, to keep your own Metaphor, and hath made the World a Noble Representation of his Divine Art; and when he brings Actors upon the Stage, he assignes every one according to his Ability a convenient Part, and commands them to observe the Order which he hath appointed: and if they pronounce the Words which he hath set, and act their Parts according to the Rules which he hath prescrib'd, they doe honour to God, and receive Praise from wise Spectatours, and Rewards from the Author. But when Man which hath a Poetical Fancy dislikes his Part, and changeth that which is given to him by the Variations of his own Wit, or acts that which belongs not to him, he disturbs the Design, and is like one that sings out of Tune in a Musical performance. The Dramatist sees what is done, and, though he stay till the Company are dismiss'd, will be sure to call him to account in the withdrawing-Room; nay, the Spectatours themselves which know the Poet are much displeas'd that the Fool should put in such disagreeable Parts, knowing they are not of the Author's Composing, and do often hiss him off the Stage, when he thought to have made good Sport, and sometimes in dislike of the Impertinency go away. Sin in the World is like an ill Lesson play'd upon an Instrument out of Tune. Humane Nature was well strung and exactly tun'd by him that made it: but when men break the strings or play scurvily, it is most absurd to complain of God, the Fountain of Intellectual and Sensible Harmony.

But, Excellent Prince, replied Diaporon, since God could have hindered this Errour, why did he not? If he had not permitted Man to himself, he had not fail'd. What, Disporon, said the Prince, shall not God have leave to make a man, except he be oblig'd also to tie him hand and foot as soon as he hath done? If man have a power to sin and not to sin, shall the unthankful Fool sin, and then rather accuse him who gave him power not to sin, then himself who had not sinn'd but that he abus'd it? Sin is a Voluntary Loss of an excellent Privilege, and is not Originally in the Nature, but in the Action: Nature signifies the same thing, [Page] that is Courtesie and Obligation, whether men use it well or ill. But since God could have prevented it, said Diaporon, and did not, it seems to be better that there should be Sinners then not; and if it be so, what need we take any care what we doe? Certainly, Diaporon, replied the Prince, you are little vers'd in the Nature of Vertue, which cannot consist with Compulsion: For what Vertue is it to doe that which we cannot resist? If Liberty had not been given, there could have been no Vertue; but it was a thing worthy of God to bring Vertue into the World, although at the same time Sin was not made impossible. It's true, God could have made man like a Sempiternal Clock, and hung the heavy weights of Necessity upon all his Faculties, and forc'd all his Motions and Actions; but as our Nature had suffer'd a great prejudice to have been so meanly constituted, so it had been a great Disparagement to the Creator that he was not able to make a free Agent, and he had left himself but a little room for his Providence: for what great matter of Government is it to keep things in order which are bound up in Chains of Invincible Necessity? The Glory which God would then have had in Ordering the affairs of the Intelligent World would have been but like to that of a Good Clock-keeper.

But by your Argument, Diaporon, if you mind it, we must believe that it were better God had bestow'd no excellent Gifts upon us, if they be capable of any misapplications: and therefore we ought to be sorry that ever we receiv'd the blessing of Reason; for it is well known that many abuse it to very unworthy Designs. And so you infer that it is better men had never been Created. See what foolish Consequences you make when you understand not or contradict an Infinite Wisdom. I hope that this makes it manifest that it is far more Rational that a power of being Vertuous should be bestow'd upon men, then that they should have been wholly depriv'd of that Excellency, though it be not immutably assur'd from possibility of sin, (and for this Reason we ought, contrary to what you said, to take care that we sin not) both in respect of our selves, it being unreasonable [Page] because ingrateful, when we have through our own neglect made our selves bad, to accuse God for making us Good; since if it had not been our own fault, we might both have continued so, and have grown better: and in respect of God, to whom it is no prejudice, since his Orders are never so neglected but he can make himself an Amends for the contempt; and it is no small testimony of Providence, to make a good use of things which fall out unhandsomely. As he himself is the Author only of Good, so he permits no Evil to be done by others of which he cannot make a profitable improvement. That self-conceited Player 9to use your former Comparison a little longer) which made a disturbance by his own impertinent and foolish Additions, is but a Foil to the excellent Wit of the Poet; for the Spectatours have a Copy of the Play by them, and know that the Author put no such things into his Design: and when he acts that which is prescrib'd, but not as he ought, it makes only to the Disparagement of the Imprudent Actor, for all discerning Auditors infinitely excuse the Dramatist from any fault, and blame the Player so much the more, because the part which he acted ill-favouredly was excellent. This is all the Applause which he gains, when by transgressing his Rules he thought to have made an unexpected Sport. Thus God out-wits arrogant Fools: for though he hath granted to Man a free principle by which he is Master of his own Actions; yet if he doe foolishly when he pleaseth himself, it is not to be imagin'd that he hath leave to wander out of the bounds of Providence. It is an honour to us that God hath taken us aboard his Great Vessel, and more, that being there he hath not confin'd us to our Cabbin, but given us leave to walk upon the Decks or below at pleasure: but it were a simple thing to imagine that he would not steer to his Port, or that our inconsiderable Motions should hinder the Course of his Ship, or that he would not punish us ashore or reward us according to our Deportment a-shipboard.

But since Vertue is Good, replied Diaporon, and God loves it, and Goodness is the Happiness of Men, and God, as you [Page] say, doth not envy us to be Happy; I think he ought to have found out some way to have made all men Good. You dispute boldly, said the Prince with a smart Accent; and if you made these Pleas in your own Name, I should think you very proud. Good Butter-flie, venture not too near the flame, lest you burn your Wings. Sober men have alwayes acknowledg'd that Modesty is no where more necessary then in divine Inquiries, and that these Speculations have such bounds set, that none can attempt to pass them with more discretion then venture over Precipices, because God's Understanding is as far beyond ours as his Power transcends all that we can doe. However this I say to your Objection, God hath appointed a way to make men Good, but you do not like it. You would have had a Man made something else then that which he now is. Humane Nature is Good, and therefore God cannot be blamed that made it. But it might have been better, you say. You may doe well to be angry that men are not Gods. But you will doe better to say, since men are Good by God's Gift, and may be better by their own Industry through his assistance, which he is alwayes willing to give; if they be bad, let them not blame God, but themselves. We must not demand what we please of him that ows us nothing; and it is extreme folly, when we have enough, to be discontented because we have not more. What though God could have granted such a privilege to Man that he should not have been capable of being deceiv'd? yet you cannot justly quarrel with him for not doing it, but are bound to return thanks to him for that sufficient knowledge of Truth which he hath bestow'd, since God was neither bound to make us or give us any thing. But you, Diaporon, would have some Method of Melioration which should make men Good whether they will or no, if I may speak so absurdly; and I suppose you have a mind to ask, if you would speak plain, why God doth not shew himself so visibly to men as to make it impossible for them to question his Being, and why he doth not work Miracles every year to convince Atheists. You care not for Converse with [Page] God, unless you may determine the Manner of it. But you should remember that it is a high favour that we have leave to approch to Almighty God in any way that he will appoint. The Divine Wisdom hath made choice of an Ingenuous Faith as the Foundation of all entercourse with Eternal Truth; and that Principle doth then declare its Nature and Power where sufficient Causes of Belief are given, though they are not such as do compell our Assent, or leave no room for Doubt, if men will pertinaciously endeavour to cavil against the Truth. Religion ought to have a Prudential Bottom, because it is a Rational Worship of God, and cannot consist except it be supported with Reason; but it hath no such Motives as to force obedience from the most Wicked. If God should appear in his Glory, it would amaze men into belief by sight; and if he should so extort submission from his Creatures, they would have nothing left whereof they could make a free-offering to him.

Let me desire you, Diaporon, to consider what an Indecorum it were to change the Method of Vertue which God hath put. God hath promis'd Happiness to mankind upon fair Terms, for he hath made Vertue the common Rode to it, which is smooth and agreeable to our Nature: Is it not then unreasonable, that they should come to the Journey's end which decline the way? Is it unjust that those who have indispos'd themselves for a happy state, should afterward meet with such things as suit their Disposition? How can they hope to receive a Crown, which never did any thing worthy of it? It is more patience then they deserve that God bears with them till they Trifle away [...] whole Life, especially having frequently perswaded them to the contrary. Since God pleaseth himself with the Ingenuous converse of some few which love him of choice, he is not to be blamed by such as do not devote their Souls to him; because as he doth an infinite Courtesie to Holy Souls whilst he takes pleasure in them, so he hath highly deserv'd of those which are undone, because they have misplac'd their Affections upon mean Objects.

[Page] Here Diaporon replied, But since, Dear Prince, it is our Interest to be Good, and God is most Gracious in his Nature, and knows that we are very weak; it seems congruous to those Considerations, that he should have made the Method of our Happiness easier, by taking out of our way those Tentations which sometimes make us sit down, and sometimes lead us aside. Sure, Diaporon, said the Prince, you have a great love to Idleness, or else your Temper is more Cowardly then I imagin'd. Would you have thought it better if God had made us without Faculties? or, since they are bestow'd upon us, do you think it fit they should be useless? You find fault with this World, because it is not a Stadium where men receive the Prize which never run for it. If you had not fond Passions, you would not desire that men should be rewarded for doing nothing. Is it a thing worthy of God to bestow Felicity upon such as will doe what they please, and slight the Observation of such Directions as he hath declar'd to be the only Means allow'd for the obtaining that excellent End? You would have God govern the World by such Rules as suppose Men to be scarce anything. How came you to be thus soft? Diaporon. Will you not keep your way when you travell, if another Rode cross it? Will you leave off your thoughts of going Home, because you see handsome Inns by the way? Hath God commanded us any thing but that which is Good? Hath he forbidden us any thing but that which doth us hurt? We may enjoy what pleaseth us so long as it is profitable: he hath made our Bound only where it is not to our benefit to go further; and shall we be so unthankful and stupid as to call it a Tentation that we have not leave to doe our selves a mischief? If in any thing you take pains, doth not the pleasure of a Vertuous Industry and the great Reward which is promis'd infinitely exceed your small Labour? What are you afraid of? Alas! the Rose-bush hath prickles upon it; you are sorry that God hath made any thing that doth bite. Coward, if some things have Teeth, you have Hands and Eyes, can you not look to your self? What would you never go alone, Child? You are troubled [Page] that you have not a perpetual Keeper assign'd to you. This is a foolish objection: God hath made Day in vain for such as are offended with the Light of the Sun, and laid Rewards to small purpose before such as hate Action; and we must needs think that all those do whom every trifling Accident tempts to be Idle.

When the Prince had said these words, he left his Chair, and walk'd up and down the Room: but perceiving a melancholy in Diaporon's Countenance, he ask'd him if he was troubled with any thing which was spoken. No, Excellent Prince, replied Diaporon, but I have some scruples yet, from which, if it were not uncivil, I should be glad to be delivered by your gentle hands. Propound them then, said the Prince, and we will discourse walking. Then Diaporon proceeded thus: I should acquiesce in the Reasons which you have alleged concerning the state of Vertue and Vice, but that I am told there is no such Liberty as you have mention'd; in that all things are moved by the Laws of an Invincible Necessity, and that all Causes are chain'd to their Effects by such a Fatal Connexion, that no Election, Wit or Power can break the least Link: which if it be true, your fair Discourse concerning Choice is but a pleasant Imposture. Particularly they say, That we are made in our Natures what we are, and determin'd in our Actions to what we doe by the Influences of the Stars, from which also by an inevitable Order we are to expect our Condition of Life for all the time that we are in Being. The Prince replied, To resolve the first part of your Objection, Diaporon, I would have you to consider whether it be likely that Men are no more Authors of their Actions then those Automata which are mov'd with springs of Steel; or whether we do no more deserve blame for Irregular Actions then a Watch ought to be beaten when it goes wrong. When men live Vertuously, are they no more to be prais'd then the Tools of an Artist which have been imploy'd in making an excellent Machine? Did the Hellespont deserve as much to be whipt for breaking the Ships of Xerxes, as a Parricide to suffer Death for Murthering his Father? Or was it as rationall [Page] in that proud Persian to write Letters to Mount Athos, as for Atossa to have reprov'd her Son for that Folly? What difference can there be between any of the foremention'd Instances, if all things be tied by the Laws of invincible Destiny, and are extrinsecally determin'd to all their Actions? Those who can swallow such Absurdities need make no scruple of throwing Vertue and Vice out of the World: and indeed by entertaining the foresaid Opinions they are oblig'd to doe it. But God forbid, Diaporon, that you should engage in such monstrous wickednesse.

Let me tell you also, added the Prince, that what you said concerning the Stars is most extravagant. If you can imagine such Fancies to be Credible, you are prepar'd to believe all those Ridiculous Fables which idle Dreamers have reported concerning the Stars. These pretenders to new Principles of knowledge, which scorn the old because they did not invent them, and it may be because their necessary Consequences are altogether unacceptable to their debauch'd Humour, would have us think that by the Motions of the Heavens and various Circumrotations of the Stars a Matter was generated at first, which being spred and sown in the Earth gave a Being to Men. A story of the same Credibility with Lucian's Dendritae, and may pass in the same Rank with the Fable of Deucalion and Pyrrha. If by these omnipotent Influences men became Rational Creatures, I suppose some piercing Effluxes which proceeded from the Bull's Horns boar'd their heads with two holes before and one of each side, that they might hear and peep through them; and that their Masculine irradiations make Boys, as the Feminine do Girles. To what other Cause should we ascribe the Difference of Sexes? I guess also that from some extraordinary Illapses their Rival Fortune-tellers, the Gypsies, took their Original.

But which will they say, Diaporon, that these potent Stars produce these admirable effects, Ignorantly or Knowingly? If they doe it Ignorantly, we must suppose that they run round like blind Horses tied to a Mill-wheel. But for Honour sake I suppose they will say that they doe it Knowingly, [Page] and so every Star is an understanding person: and it is no great boldness to affirm that, for some old doting Nations made them Gods, and bestow'd, as it was fit, divine Worship upon them, as they did also upon every Earthly Being which was beneficial to them, committing not only stupid Idolatry, but ingrateful Sacrilege; for they robb'd the Master of his Honour to give it to his Vassals. We may now easily imagine what other rare feats these knowing Stars do perform: Certainly the Sun and Moon, no mean persons, have excellent Discourses when they talk together in their Conjunctions. The Turks (those grand Masters of Learning) have inform'd us that they lie together in the Eclipses, and beget Stars. A fair solution of the Phaenomenon of new Stars which are sometimes observ'd by Astronomers. The Sun is Hot, and therefore every Night goes to bed in the cool waters of the Atlantick Ocean, and makes oblique Motions toward the Tropicks to refresh himself at the Fountains of Cold, the Poles; and by his nearer approches visits one of them in Summer, and the other in Winter, left they should take his too-long absence unkindly, for they are very sensible, especially of Civilities. It is very likely that the Moon is the Sun's Wife, and that with his leave she doth sometimes officiously supply his absence in the Night, left the darken'd Hemisphere should fall out with her Husband. It would trouble us to guesse what these living Creatures do feed upon, for they must needs be hungry and thirsty; but that we may remember that the Earth and Sea, not unthankful for the daily Courtefies which they receive from them, do continually exhale Tributary Vapours to keep their Benefactours alive.

These are the Great Princes which domineer over this lower World, who by the Sidereal Influences, which are sent down from their high and mighty Powers, do raise Humane Spirits and Affairs as easily as the full Moon swells a Cat's Eyes. These Potentates dwell in those magnificent Houses which Judicial Astrologers have built for them, founded not much unlike to Castles in the Air. Without question they have an excellent Polity among them, and [Page] the Greater Powers give order to those which are Inferiour, who dare not be disobedient to them whatsoever it costs them. It is manifest, in that poor Diana lost her Temple which was burnt at Ephesus that night when Alexander was born, because she was sent by order of some higher Intelligence to be Olympia's Midwife. These sensible Stars may well be those Wheels upon which the Fates of the World are spun, and accordingly the Circumvolutions of the Heavens must be the Turning of those wheels. I suppose that the Puny Stars may be the Parcae's Spindles, of which they make use when they draw the contemptible Threds of mean Fortunes of short Lives.

It may be, said the Prince, continuing his Discourse, you think me too pleasant in resolving this scruple; but how can I, Diaporon, give any other then Jocular answers to such a Frivolous Doubt? I wonder, if you will have me more serious, how Humane Nature came to be guilty of such a gross Paralogism, as to believe that because the Sun hath a known Influence of Heat, that therefore it hath as many more as men please to assign to it, (some of which are littles less then Contradictory to each other; for they say it both heats and moistens;) or because the Sun hath some constant operations which are Regular and deprehensible by Reason, therefore we may attribute other [...] Effects to it which have no foundation in Observation. Who knows not that the Sun, the eldest Son of Nature and Father of the Day, the Fountain of our Light, and that General Fire which warms all the World, doth accomplish rare things upon our Terrestrial Globe? that it makes the four different Seasons of the Year, in which earthly Bodies are observ'd to suffer very considerable Mutations? In Spring it makes the Herbs to grow, the Plants to Bud, the Trees to Flourish; in Summer it ripens Fruits, and adorns the Earth with Flowers; and in Autumn, having finish'd his Anniversary task with us, having the same work to doe in another place, begins to withdraw, that then also the exhausted Ground may repair its self all Winter with cold and moisture against the next Spring. These are known [Page] effects, and we perceive that they flow from the Access, Abode, and Recess of that assured Influence, Heat: but what is that to those strange Products which have no dependence upon any known Virtue in the Sun, but are as fictitious as those Consequences which Deluders do variously feign? They have no foundation in Reason, except this be sufficient, that because the Sun is an excellent Instrument, it is a Principal Agent; or rather because it can doe something, it can doe all things, which is to say, because it is a brave Creature, it is a God. I cannot imagine upon what other ground they should assert that the Sun doth create Prophets as well as make the Grass to grow, and bestow rare Abilities upon Law-givers, and adorn some great Ministers of Religion with the power of Miracles, as easily as it can melt a Ball of Snow.

It were not difficult to give you, Diaporon, a particular notice of the manifest falshood of those inconsistent Principles with which those pretenders to Astrological knowledge endeavour to support their Errours with which they would abuse you; but it would be too long at present, and since we shall meet often, I will doe it when you please. I believe by this time you are willing to retire, said the Prince, continuing his Speech to Apronaeus and Diaporon, for we have talk'd a good while; I will only stay you so long as to give you a little Advice, for I perceive you have been conversant with Atheists, who though they dare not speak directly, yet if you examine what they say, you will find that those Arguments which are us'd to traduce the Providence of God, serve no less to impugn his Being. I presume the rather to give you a friendly notice of your Danger, because Atheism is not only stain'd with Ingratitude, but is commonly rooted in a love of Sin, and nourish'd with a desire to live with an unregulated Will. When men have perswaded themselves that there is no Divine Power, to whose Laws they owe an Obedient Regard, they think they may indulge themselves in a Voluptuous Life without controll. They deny the Being of God, lest they should be put to the trouble of giving him holy Worship; [Page] and when they seem to allow a Deity, they confine him to the superaerial Regions, lest being plac'd too near them he should take notice of what they doe here below, and so for fear of being call'd to an account for their enormous practices, they deny his Providence.

Your Civility, said Diaporon to the Prince, is infinitely obliging; but I hope my Errour, if I be mistaken, is not so dangerous as you pretend. That great Philosopher whom we honour as the Master of our Sect doth not, I confess, acknowledge a Providence; but I suppose it is not only for those Reasons which I have mention'd, but as thinking it is below a God to mind such small things, or that it would be troublesome to his Happiness. It is well known that he confess'd an Eternal and most blessed Being, and affirm'd that he ought to be worshipp'd for the Excellency of his Divine Nature: and as your Reason will not permit you to think that he did not believe a Deity, because he reproch'd the Gods of his Country, against whom he had but too much to say; so I hope your Charity will not let you call him Atheist, although he thought that Divine Being did take no care of this lower World.

I know well, said the Prince, that your Sect doth magnifie Epicurus as the Inventor of Truth and the Architect of Happiness, who having only been honour'd to see what is True, had redeem'd the World from Errour, and declared the Methods of a blessed Life, which before were unknown: but I know no Reason for any such Encomium, both because a great part of his Philosophy was not his own, and that which he added to what he borrow'd (to say no worse) is altogether Contemptible to Wise men, for he asserted the lowest sorts of bodily pleasure to be the supreme Happiness of Men. This Imputation is not fastned upon him by Ignorance in History, as some of his Admirers would make the World believe; for by those Relations which we find there, we have as much reason to doubt whether he himself were a Temperate Person, as to be assured that his Followers were not. Though Laertius hath spoken in his behalf, and, to vindicate his Reputation, says [Page] that his Scholars did either Ignorantly or Wilfully mistake him; yet his profess'd Disciple and great Admirer Lucian, (who preferr'd him before all other Philosophers, and extoll'd him with the highest words which can be bestow'd upon a Man) comparing him with Aristippus and Democritus his Masters, says, that he exceeded them both in Impiety and Luxury. And we know that Cicero, an Author more Faith-worthy then Laertius, objected to one of Epicurus his friends his unworthy Definition of Happiness, quoting it in his own words, and reproching the sense of it, asserts that Epicurus did acknowledge no Happiness distinct from soft and obscene Pleasures, of which he us'd to discourse by Name without blushing. He reports also concerning Metrodorus, who was Epicurus his most intimate Companion, that he did scornfully disdain his brother Timocrates, because he made a doubt whether all things which belong to a happy Life are to be measur'd by the Belly, and offer'd to shew Velleius his books if he question'd the Allegation. His Garden was not shut against Whores; Leortium was the chief, famous for her bold writing against Theophrastus, and who cast a sufficient disparagement of impotent Lust upon Epicurus, even when he was grown old, in a Letter which she wrote to Lamia, yet extant.

But this is not a matter which I care to contend for, whether Epicurus was so Voluptuous as these report him to have been, or to shew that his Followers were egregiously dissolute, which is not disputed; but to prove that his Principles did so dispose men to Vice, that he said most truly who long ago asserted, Let those which would be Excessively Intemperate, prepare themselves to enjoy their desire by embracing the Epicurean Philosophy.

It is strange to me that Epicurus should be so magnified for his Philosophy, since (as I said before) the greatest part of it is not his: He took the best Flowers in his Garden from Democritus, without asking his leave, neither did he give him thanks for them afterward. It is a blur upon him upon Record, that he did also ingratefully throw mud and stones into that Well from whence he water'd his Garden. [Page] But I chiefly blame him for those Doctrines which are by his own Sect assign'd to him as his proper Opinions, some of which you have repeated; for by them all he deprav'd the Philosophy of Democritus, expos'd Humane Nature as a Prey to Licentiousness, expresly denied God's Providence, and only Ironically acknowledged a Deity, and so undermin'd Religion.

That he debas'd Humane Nature, is prov'd already; for what can be more unworthy of a Man, then to use his Reason to make him more perfectly a Beast? That the Extirpation of all Religious Observance of God was his Design, is manifest both by the acknowledgment of his greatest Disciples, and by the nature of his Discourse. Velleius, extoll'd by his Contemporaries as equal to any of Epicurus his Scholars that were Greeks, and preferr'd before all the Romans, embrac'd his Principles being afraid of that Omniscient God which other Sects put as a perpetual Observer of Humane Actions, to whose Judgment he was not willing to be obnoxious for what he said or did. He did rationally hope for exemption from these fears in the School of Epicurus; for Lucretius, who took the pains to put his Philosophy into Verses, hath recorded it as his Immortal Glory, that he was the first that ventur'd to set his Face against Heaven, durst disclaim Religion, and brought Arguments against it into the Field of Disputation, which made Devotion tremble and flie out of the Souls of Men, and trampled under his Victorious feet that which durst resist him, and then triumph'd over it. Some, I know, do excuse this attempt with a smooth Interpretation, that he did not engage against Religion, but that gross Superstition which was practis'd by the Sottish part of the Heathen World. If that were all, we should have no reason to find fault, neither would Lucretius have any great cause to boast of his Master's Valour: For the Superstition which he vanquish'd was but a Cowardly thing; and the Gods who were honour'd by it were so Contemptible, that they could not defend themselves nor their worship from the just scorn of Wise men. It was a most miserable Picture of Divinity which [Page] was made up of all the Passions and Vices of the worst of men; and their Religion was proportionable, for it principally consisted of such Rites and Performances as were Oblations only fit for Devils. But true Religion, which is a Masculine Principle, Rational in its Original, being founded in Knowledge and Justice, and noble in its Products, is affronted by his Arguments. For he not only denies God's Regard of us, for which chiefly we are obliged to acknowledge him with Religious Adoration; but hath given such unworthy Characters of his Eternal Being, which he pretends to own, that he doth rather expose him to Contempt then promote his Worship. Having left his most beautiful Attributes out of his Description, he hath drawn only a wan Image with a few inconsiderable Delineations, such as are to be seen in the first Draughts of a Picture; for which cause, if there had been no other Reason, it was just that his God was anciently derided by the name of Monogrammus. What strange kind of God must that needs be which doeth nothing? If he have an Almighty Power, his Omnipotence is bestow'd upon him to no purpose; if he have not, he is Contemptible for his Weakness. He says his Eternal Being is to be worshipt for his Excellent Nature: but how can we believe that he hath an Excellent Nature, who is devoid of the greatest perfection of Being, Goodness? It is the Glory of all brave Natures to be Good, and it is the Lustre of the Divine Majesty that it is the [...]: But what Goodness is it in that Nature which (as he confesseth) doth delight it self in its own pleasures, and neither did, doth, nor will doe any thing else? It is likely that Men will acknowledge an Idle thing sitting in Heaven with folded Hands, for a God? Is that a proper signification of his Blessedness, that he hath nothing to doe? Is he worthily praised who is reported to be like those delicate people, who esteem Idleness so great a Felicity, that they would judge themselves unhappy if they had any Employment to attend? Doth he rationally perswade us to worship God who tells us that we were never beholden to him, and that he is resolv'd never to take any care of us, nor doth more [Page] regard our Adorations then if we did blaspheme him? Will the vulgar honour him for a God, whose excellent Nature a Philosopher reprocheth with such base Representations? Shall not discerning persons conclude that he is an Atheist really, who asserting a Godhead in words, speaks so unworthily of him as to hinder those which heard him from believing what he said? That this was the sense of some of the best of Ancient Philosophers concerning Epicurus his Theology, is evident to such as know Books.

He did prudently to talk of God, for fear of drinking in Socrates his Cup: but he was infinitely below the generous Simplicity of that brave man; for he deliver'd his Opinion plainly, but this declar'd his mind in such slight words, that he discover'd he had form'd no nobler Conceptions of the Immortal Godhead then of the Vulgar Idols, nor equal to those estimations which his Neighbours had of Statues of Stone; but it was sufficient to his purposes, if they serv'd him for an Antidote against the Athenian Poison. I must confess I do not wonder so much at his prevarication, when I see some of his Followers, who pretend to doe honour to God by bestowing Glorious Attributes upon him, slur it by saying they gave him those Titles only as Poets write flatteries in a Song.

I have observ'd how variously this sort of men use their Wit to excogitate devices by which they may cast dis-respect upon God, whilst some deny his Being, and others disallow his Providence; some say that God is a Benefactour to us in that possibly he governs the World, though he did not make it, only orders things which had an eternal Existence from themselves. Those which have read the story of Vaninus, know how little Atheists desire to be believed when they speak any thing in favour of God. This new Notion is no great favour, I confess; but it is the less, because it is incredible. How shall God obtain such a Dominion over that which he did not make? It was either given to him, or lent, or else he took it by force, or bought it, or it was pawn'd to him; He came to it by Succession or Right of Occupancy, or possibly was hired to govern [Page] it for some other. But these are such Impious Vanities, Diaporon, that we cannot imagine they were design'd to any other purpose, but to deprive God of all Title to Creation or Government.

But Epicurus, knowing it was a slur upon the Divine Prudence, if God being acknowledg'd to have made the World, should have left it without Government, bestow'd the honour of Creation upon Democritus his Atoms, by which he hath sufficiently discover'd what he esteem'd to be the Cause of all things; and though, it was Glory enough to his Mock-God to confesse jocularly the Excellency of his Divine Being, and look'd upon it as no small Courtesie that he exempted his Delicacy from the care of any thing but Pleasure, pretending, as you say, that the Government of the World is a thing below the Divine Majesty, or too troublesome to his Happiness. These two Allegations might signifie something more then they do, Diaporon, if we did not know that Ingenious persons want not various pretences to dismiss that Company with which they are not pleas'd. Why should it be below a God to Govern the World? Is it not worthy of a Creatour to overlook those things which he hath made? The Creation was not unworthy of God, and it is no less becoming him to preserve then to make. You may as well say that it is below God to be Good, as to say that he is above a Charitable Regard to his Creatures. The most Benign Father of the Creation doth not abandon the Orphan World to the careless disposal of blind Chance, or to be commanded by the savage Passions and turbulent Humours of exorbitant men, who would soon make it unhabitable to those who are most worthy to live in it; nor doth he despise their Concernments in it, but doth find reasons for his continued Care in his own innate Goodness. The Corporeal World is not contemptible, for it is a visible Image of the Divine Perfections; and whilst God doth order all affairs in it by his Almighty Wisdom, he doth illustrate that Glass from which his Glories are reflected. That goodly Machine, the Universe, the regular Motions of the Heavens, the Vicissitudes of Seasons, the alternate [Page] Mutation of Bodies, the safety of the whole System notwithstanding the rude Clashings of turbulent Matter, and the Symmetry of all the parts preserv'd intire notwithstanding the frequent concurses of contrary Principles, shew not only the power and presence of a Great Mind, but assure us that God pleaseth himself to take care of his Works. Because Goodness is essential to God, he is not wearied with Ingratitude, he makes his Sun to shine upon Atheists. That which was Courtesie at first to the Ignorant, continues till it grow Mercy to the Unthankful. Selfish Spirits are unacquainted with this Divine perfection, and think all labour lost which is bestow'd upon the Good of others; and, being indigent Souls, stand in need of all that they can doe for themselves. But God is inexhaustible in his Sufficiency and infinite in his Good will, and can supply the Necessities of all his Creatures, expecting no return but what is their Benefit which give it. Why should men phansie this employment below God? For as none is so stupid as not to acknowledge many of his Greater Works to be Excellent, that is, Products of great Skill and vast Power; so those which are but small in bulk testifie as much Art, and are valued proportionably by such as have judgment in things, and they are convinc'd that it was more then a little Skill that made them, since their Composition is so Mysterious that it requires a great knowledge to understand it. That many things which seem but mean have no excellent Uses, because the Ignorant know not what they are, is no more just a Consequence, then that a Lute is only fit to carry Ashes, because a poor Woman doth so mis-employ that rare Utensil sometimes for want of a Dust-barrel. Those Imperfect pieces of the Creation, that is, which are so esteem'd by undiscerning persons, could no more have been spar'd then little pins can be rejected which hold together the Frame of a curious Watch. It may be we think some things little, because we have conceived our selves to be greater then we are. All things are but small if we compare them with God's Being: but to say that any thing is too little for his Care, is to reproch him for labour ill bestow'd in the making of it.

[Page] But whereas you say it is Civil to exempt the Divine Majesty from an Employment so troublesome to his Happiness: It is an Officiousness so far from Civility, that it is the greatest Dishonour imaginable, and shews with what mean Conceptions they have bounded the Divine Power which speak such poor words concerning it. God is an omnipresent Goodness, piercing through all things with his powerful Wisdom with more facility then the Sun can dart Light and Heat through the Air, Water and Earth. A Man, which is no great thing, can govern a Ship amongst raging waves, can guide a Chariot drawn by fierce Horses, can rule an Army consisting of vast Multitudes of valiant Souldiers, and, by the assistance of a little borrow'd prudence, can manage the Affairs of many Kingdoms, and wrap up their principal Concernments in a few thoughts: And shall not he which made Man doe much with Ease as well as he can doe a little with Trouble? Cannot he accomplish his Designs without any disturbance, when his Creature only fails for want of Skill or Power to force the Spirits of those whom he doth govern into Obedience? God needs not to send Scouts into forein Parts for Intelligence, he wants to help to obstruct the Machinations of his Enemies, he can make them destroy one another. He is not distracted with cares, he never suffer'd any Disappointment. He dwells in the midst of a serene Light, and sees all things at one view, and with a powerfull Hand keeps an indisturb'd Order in his Affairs. This is the Reason of that perfect Consort which is between the Parts of the Creation; and his Government is no more interrupted by some Accidents which seem to Jarre with it, then an Harmonical Composition is disorder'd with Half-Notes well plac'd. Those Instances of Government wherein the Methods of Prudence or Justice seem to be contradicted, and with which we find fault because we know not how they agree with all parts of his Design, are not more justly blameable then Knee-Timber, without which Ships cannot be built, is to be slighted because it is crooked. So that all the Favour which this Argument made up of a pretence of [Page] Civility doth bestow upon God, is to represent him Ignorant, Impotent, or Envious: It must be Weakness or want of Skill, that he cannot govern all things, or want of Goodness, that he will not take any care of his works; and he is a Blessed Being in a very unhappy sense, being suppos'd a God, who is defective in any of these Respects.

Here the Prince, resolving to make an end of the present Discourses, concluded thus: As I would not have been willing to upbraid Epicurus with this Gross Ignorance, since he had not the happiness to look upon things by the light of Divine Revelation, which not many years after his time shin'd upon the deluded World; so I should not have troubled my self nor you, Gentlemen, with so large a Confutation of this Errour, but that the Method of our Conversation and the Danger of so great a Mistake requir'd it. I doubt not but you esteem it an extreme folly to retain an Errour which God hath made known, and know that the plea of Antiquity is vainly applied to Falshood, since Truth is more ancient; and that it is an unworthy rudeness not to accept of the notice of Truth, because formerly you have been acquainted with her Enemy.

Thus ended the amicable Dispute between the Prince and his Keepers: but his Arguments so captivated their minds, and his Sweetness had so prevail'd upon their Affections, that they wish'd it might consist with their Duty to set him at Liberty, and manifested the humble Respects which they had for him in several Expressions of Sympathy. The Prince, with an Air which signified the serenity of his Generous Soul, replied; My friends, I am not unsensible of Ingenuity wheresoever I find it; but I desire that you would not express your Love to me in any pedantical notion of Pity. The Miserable may be compassionated; but I hope I have given you no [...] occasion to reckon me as one of that number. I have many times taken a serious notice of the Afflictions of my friends; but I never us'd such a pity as made me take a share of their grief without lessening their part. I account that Compassion only worthy of a Man, which is so express'd that it delivers him that [Page] suffers from his Calamity: All else is despicable, because there is no reason that two should be afflicted for one. If you be not, as possibly you are not able to express this sort of Pity, do not trouble me or your selves with vain Affections. I know that the Rode which leads to the other World hath so many Varieties of Good and Bad, that when I meet with the worst I do not think my self out of the Way. I have no power to make it all plain, neither have I bargain'd with God to smooth it for me. My mind is fix'd upon the thoughts of my Journey's End, and if I may arrive in God's presence at last, I am much unconcern'd in any thing which may happen till that time. Undeserv'd Disgrace, a Father's Suspicion, a close Prison, an immature Death, and that hasten'd by Malice and Falshood, are all Welcome. A Storm doth no hurt which brings a Mariner sooner to his Port, though his Bark sink there, if he save his Lading, where he must have left the Hull however. I speak not these words out of Despair of Restauration, for that is possible enough in it self, and I have no cause to make it improbable, who have Innocence for a Bottom of Hope: I do not think there is any difficulty in the Divine Methods, because I understand them not, nor do appoint God a time to bestow those Courtesies which I do not absolutely pray that I may receive. Dramatists do usually so lay their Plot, that it is nearest to take effect when it seems to be a lost business. For my own part, I protest I do not desire God should alter the course of his Providence to accommodate my present Condition; neither will I think that any thing falls out amiss, though he permits that which I unjustly suffer from my adversaries not to be rectified in this Life, since I know it will be set in order in another World to my infinite Advantage. Though I might be troubled at the Mystery of my Affliction, because I am not yet acquainted with the Cause of it, yet I am satisfied in the Wisdom and Justice of the Divine pleasure; and I hope that God, who is the lover of Truth and patron of Innocence, if he allow no means of my Rescue, will however vindicate my Reputation, by which means my Name will rise again, and live when I am [Page] dead. If I knew the Instruments of my Adversity, I should no more attribute my suffering to them as having any Concern in the principal Design of it, then if I were assured that two Angels did play at Chesse invisibly, I would think that the Knights and Pawns did put themselves from one place to another, because I could not discern the power that mov'd them. So far as I think Grief becomes me, I am sorry for those who, having, as I am afraid, no principles of Action but Ambition and Covertousness, have done me wrong, and engag'd you in an unworthy undertaking.

Here Apronaeus and Diaporon making Excuses for so long a Visit, (but which they would not have liked so well if it had been shorter) took a humble leave of the Prince. Diaporon being very passionate in his desires to deliver one whom he judg'd most unworthy to be a Prisoner, went with Apronaeus to his Lodgings, and beginning to discourse, ask'd him how he liked the Prince's Philosophy, and what he thought of his Deportment. I cannot tell, said Apronaeus, whether I should admire more his Wit or his Patience; but as I plainly perceive that a Prison is no restraint to his generous Soul, so I am made to believe that Vertue is the Foundation of his Courage, and that there is more Providence in the World then Dogmapornes doth acknowledge. If Vertue be so happy when it is afflicted, I think a Sinner is not safe though he be unpunish'd for a time. However it be, I will endeavour to understand whether it be a Reality or no, since it makes her Lovers so content with all sorts of Fortune. For my part, answer'd Diaporon, setting aside the Dignity of a Prince which God hath bestow'd upon Alethion, I should be glad to be in a worse Condition then he now suffers, so I might but have the experience of that Goodness which possesseth his Soul. Since Wisdom enters not into Malicious minds, I make no doubt but his Soul is the Temple of Innocence. Whilst Diaporon pronounc'd these words, one knock'd at the Door, and when he was come in, told them that he was lately come from Polistherion, where the King was much disturb'd with the news of Aletbion's Death, and that one of Dogmapornes his acquaintance was accus'd for [Page] forging Letters in the Prince's Name, that the King was fallen sick with Grief, and that the Army and City mutter'd some discontented words against [...] and Dogmapornes, as the Contrivers of the Prince's Imprisonment. This Relation startled them both; and having desired the Messenger to withdraw, they consulted each other what was fit to be done. I think, said Diaporon, that this is the most intricate Scene of Affairs that ever I beheld in my life. I thought it impossible that Alethion could be suspected, but much more that any should dare to accuse him, and most of all that the King would believe any thing suggested against him. I know no reason why any should report him to be dead, unless they meant to kill him; and I cannot but conclude that if the King be so disturb'd at the false news of his Death, that it hath made him sick, he will be so much more pleas'd with the true Report of his Life, that it will recover his Health. I think it is not only our duty to our Soveraign, to whom we owe all services, but our prudence, not to neglect such a fair opportunity to shew our Loyalty by preserving his only Son. The worst Interpretation that can be made of our Action is, that we endeavour'd to put into a Harbour which was not assign'd us, to avoid the danger of a violent Storm; and if any thing happen contrary to our Expectation, we can suffer nothing dishonourable, having desir'd to perform our Duty, though we saw it full of Hazzard. I am much amaz'd, answer'd Apronaeus, at this strange Accident; since the Prince is reported to be dead who was in my Custody, I may be assured that his friends will look upon me as his Murtherer, especially since one of my Colonels acquaintance is accus'd for writing the Letter for which the Prince is imprison'd. Since the Army and City, by whom the Prince was alwayes infinitely belov'd, do concern themselves in his sufferings, I am afraid of the Issue of this dark Affair, and wish with all my Heart that I had not received such a troublesome part as I know not how to act. However, Diaporon, I think it is best to follow your advice, by which we shall gain time, and save our selves from sudden Attempts. [Page] But to what Port shall we steer our Course? What we are to doe in this matter, if we can doe any thing, requires speed. You say true, replied Diaporon, we must resolve quickly, lest long Deliberation take from us our power to act. Let us convey the Prince into Theoprepia, which we may effect thus. There is a private Door which leads by a subterranean Passage from the Governour's Lodgings to the River's side: let one of your servants about four a clock this afternoon bring our Horses thither, as if he intended to water them, there we will take Horse, and conduct the Prince first to the Castle of Misopseudes, who is his known friend, where we are sure of safe Repose to night, and from thence we shall easily reach the Borders of Theoprepia. Apronaeus lik'd the Contrivance; whereupon they presently return'd to the Prince, and acquainted him with the Intelligence which they had but then received; and with many protestations of their sincere Intentions reveal'd their desires of his Safety, and told him of the way which they had agreed upon to secure his Person, if he pleas'd to accept of their service. The Prince knowing it was better to run any hazzard then to stay where he was, after a short discourse accepted their offer, and went away in a Disguise.

When they had travell'd about two miles, they met a Horseman riding toward them with a very great speed, who knowing Apronaeus, stopt his Horse, and told him that he was sent before by Trisanor, who was not much behind with a Convoy, and brought Misopseudes Prisoner to his Castle. Whence do they now come? said Apronaeus. From his House, replied the Messenger, where we surpriz'd him this morning about break of day. By whose Order, said Apronaeus, have you perform'd this service? By a warrant sign'd by Antitheus, said the Messenger. When they heard that, Diaporon at the Prince's Command took hold of his bridle, and then dismounted him. Whilst they were deliberating what to doe with him, (for it was not fit that he should go to the Castle and give notice which way they were gone, and his Company was but of uncertain use to them if he went back) Apronaeus desired leave of the Prince [Page] to kill: him but he falling upon his knees and begging his Life, the Prince had but just granted his Petition when the Party which conducted Misopseudes came up. Trisanor rode in a little Charriot, which was attended with two Horsemen upon each side, and gave leave to Misopseudes to sit with him. Apronaeus rode boldly up and kill'd him which drove the Charriot; upon which Trisanor flung himself out of the Coach, and mounting his Horse which was led by one of the Souldiers, gave Misopseudes who was disarm'd in charge to one of his Souldiers, and then a sharp fight began between the Parties. Trisanor and his men resembled the Deportment of a stout Tigre, which whets valour with rage when she is in danger of being robb'd of her Whelps. The Prince's friends animated their Courage with the worth of the Person who had honoured them to be his Protectours, and whom they knew to be very able to defend both himself and his Guard; and concluding that it must needs be a grateful service in the beginning of their Trial, if they could also rescue one whom the Prince intirely lov'd, they threw themselves between the Prince and his Enemies. Diaporon made such a sharp pass upon Trisanor, that if he had not avoided it by turning aside, he had been slain at the first encounter: however he lost not his labour, for he kill'd one of the Souldiers who came in to the relief of his Captain, and afterward continued his combate with Trisanor, who being asham'd that he had given ground, redoubled his Vigour in the next Charge. The Prince attacqued him which guarded Misopseudes, and with a Princely boldness said, Traitor, deliver up that Loyal subject to his Prince; and accompanying his Commands with a blow or two, made them to be obey'd: for the Souldier fell down dead, and the Prince gave his horse to Misopseudes, who was come forth of the Coach, not so much glad of his Liberty as amaz'd to see him that procur'd it. Diaporon had given and receiv'd some wounds from Trisanor, who fought desperately, not so much desiring to save his life, as to sell it at a considerable Rate, and discharg'd a blow upon Diaporon's head which was so far effectual as to astonish him [Page] for a while, but withall broke his sword; and as Diaporon recovering himself was aiming a thrust which would have ended the controversie if it had been prosecuted, the Prince hoping by Trisanor to understand the Affairs of Polistherion, commanded him to hold his hand, whereupon Diaporon riding close up to him [...] him out of his saddle, which being perceiv'd by the rest, who were four, they fled, taking the way which leads to Misopseudes house.

This Storm being thus blown over, the Prince gave the Charriot to be driven by the Messenger whose Life he had spar'd, who had seiz'd upon the Horses, which, perceiving themselves destitute of a Guide, began to run wildly up and down the Field. They had advanc'd but a little way in their intended Journey, but they were forc'd to return again to their postures of Defence, and put themselves in order for a new encounter, perceiving six arm'd Horsemen to make all possible haste towards them, whom they suppos'd to come to secure the Captivity of Misopseudes. They were only some of Misopseudes his kinsmen, whom his Lady had procur'd to endeavour the Redemption of her Husband; and as they were going to Charge each other, both found themselves happily mistaken. Misopseudes led the Party, and though they were his friends, they also suppos'd that they saw him, but being much distracted between Wonder and Joy, could neither tell what to say or doe, till Misopseudes imagining what doubts possessed their Minds, resolv'd them by crying aloud, Alight, alight, my true friends, your love to me is infinitely [...]; you doe not receive me, but our Prince. These words were such an Addition to the former unexpected Happiness, that they began to think that they were asleep, and therefore put these strange things together in a Dream which could never be enjoy'd waking. However having the use of their Eyes, and the Prince doing them the Favour to pull off his Vizard, they threw themselves from their Horses and ran to perform their Homage. The Prince gave them his hand to kiss, but not without Tears; for he could not conceal the sentiments which he found in his Soul of those Affections which his Friends had for him in his extreme Adversity.

[Page] Amongst all these clashes of various occurrences, one thing fell out happily, for Misopseudes his friends kill'd all Trisanor's Souldiers that fled, except one whom they took prisoner, by which means the Prince had a more safe opportunity to escape out of the Power of their Enemies. The Prince having now a little more leisure, was willing as he rode along to acquaint Misopseudes and his Companions with the manner of his escape from the Castle of Dogmapornes, and was going to express to them the Obligations which he had from Apronaeus and Diaporon; but the deep Impressions of dutiful Love which were fix'd in his Soul for the King his Father made him first call for Trisanor, by whom he hoped to be inform'd concerning the state of his Father, the Court and Kingdom. Trisanor was now grown so near unto Death with loss of Bloud by reason of many wounds, that he could scarce speak, and only said with a low voice, Anaxagathus is dead, and Antitheus is proclaim'd King.

This News as an unexpected Allay took off the lushious Relish of their late good Fortune. Though they did not fully believe what Trisanor reported, yet they had but too many reasons to cause them to believe the truth of that which he said, besides this, that Bad news is seldom false. The Prince's Faith was stronger in this point then that of his Companions, and his passion prevail'd so proportionally, that he was forc'd to give it leave to exhale it self in this exclamation: How unserene are all the Joyes which we possesse upon Earth! Certainly mortal men are uncapable of pure pleasures. How is every grain of Contentment which we are allow'd in this World blended with a much greater quantity of Sorrow? There is no time so proper for us to expect Affliction as that wherein we think our selves most secur'd against it. We have no confirm'd Peace, but only a short Truce made with Adversity, and that never well kept; for our escape from one mischief is but a short delay that another makes which is design'd to overtake us. But to what purpose do I speak after this manner? we must not refuse what God presents; and since we are yet uncertain [Page] what his pleasure is, let us placidly await it.

Misopseudes perceiving that the Prince had ended his Discourse, continued a Reflexion upon their present estate after this manner: The afflictive sense which I have of the Condition of Theriagene cannot equal Yours, most Excellent Prince; my presumption is not so bold as to come near such a great Comparison; but it gives precedence to none else: for as my Obligations urge it as the highest Duty which is now possible; so that knowledge which I have of the effects which must needs ensue upon this strange conjunction of unlucky Accidents doth awaken whatsoever I possesse of pious Affection. But as I am fortified against what may happen with that magnanimity by which your self most concern'd in these Dangers makes your Courage exemplary; so I find all reason to hope, when I consider the strength of those Principles upon which your Felicity was alwayes founded. Who hath not observ'd that in Extraordinary Cases the Design of Providence is laid so intricately, that we may have just occasion to wonder, but none to doubt? It is to me a sufficient Argument that an Almighty Knowledge attends the Concernments of Good men, because though they are frequently permitted to come near those Pits which their Adversaries have prepar'd for them, yet they seldom fall into them. There are two States in the World, Good and Bad; and when that which is worse hath cunningly contriv'd the destruction of Vertuous persons, whose multiplication is the Welfare of the World, and is assisted in this most unworthy Attempt by vast numbers of those who are sworn Vassals to Wickedness, it is a great Testimony of the over-ruling Power of Supreme Goodness, that it is able to make their Designs abortive, when the distance is but small between the Contrivance and the Execution.

We thought, most Dear Prince, that your Life and your Friends Interest in Theriagene must needs be blown up, when a Train was so privately laid against it, and so many hands ready to give Fire to it: but by our mistake we gain this Assurance, That when good men are not successful, it is [Page] not because God is defective in his Care, or wants Ability to assist them; or when the Designs which are made against them take effect in part, it is not because he could not have frustrated them totally, but because he gives ground for a time, as prudent Commanders make their men retreat with a seeming Flight, that they may make way for the employment of their Ambush, and then by a more complete overthrow destroy the vain hopes of such as thought themselves Conquerours only because they were deceiv'd. We ought not to be so curious as to the Mode of our Preservation, as to deny God leave to shew his Wisdom when he doth us a Courtesie.

This is all the sense which I have of our Condition; and since we cannot of a sudden put our selves upon Action, it will be requisite that we think of some place where we may deliberate with safety. Whether should we betake our selves? replied the Prince. To Theoprepia, said Misopseudes. I have resolv'd upon it, said the Prince, with Apronaeus and Diaporon, whom I must now and alwayes commend to your Affections as Friends to whom under God I owe my deliverance; we have agreed to retire to Theoprepia, where I am sure to be welcome to my good friend Theosebes, whose Kingdom was ever an open Sanctuary to wrong'd Innocence.

Here Philalethes made a pause, and crav'd pardon of Bentivolio and Amyntor for so tedious a Report, adding this excuse, That it is not easie to make a short story of that which pleaseth him that tells it. You shall not need to ask forgiveness, said Bentivolio, of those which owe you infinite thanks for performing an office which hath taken up much of your Time, and highly oblig'd us both by making us to understand those incomparable Vertues with which your Prince Alethion is accomplish'd, and because you have so fully assur'd us of the safety of his Person, which we esteem as a divine presage of his and Theriagene's Restauration. Noble Travellers, you have express'd a Generous Charity, said Philalethes, in the Compassion which you have entertain'd for a miserable Kingdom; and how rationally your Pity is [Page] bestow'd you will more fully understand, if you can endure to hear any more of our present Condition: but because the Relation is long, I will not begin it till to morrow; and if you please, we will bestow the rest of this Evening in the Gardens and Park which adjoyn to my House; for as I am sure you have travell'd enough to day, so I am afraid I have talk'd too much.

The next day Philalethes conducted his Guests into a Turret which was upon the top of his House, where in a pleasant privacy he continued the Discourse which he had begun concerning Theriagene to this sense: After Dogmapornes arrived at his Castle, and was told that the Prince was gone, he was infinitely confounded; not being so much astonish'd that the Accident was contrary to his Design, as vext that a thing should be possible which he had made so difficult. At first he endeavour'd to give no credit to those which told him the news, being very unwilling to think that could be true which he most passionately desired to be false: But when he was convinc'd by the testimony of many witnesses and the fruitlesness of a diligent search which he made himself, and was inform'd concerning the Manner of the Prince's escape, he was utterly bereaved of that vain Hope with which for a while he smother'd his Passions, and then the Fire pent up in his wrathful mind broke forth in flames of wild Rage, whilst he talk'd after this manner: Though I did not think that there is a God, yet now I see there is a Devil, and that he hath made this Castle his Hell in which he doth torment me; but I will not burn alone. Then he wounded and kill'd some of his Souldiers. Many were not present; for the greater part considering the Cruelty of his Temper, and knowing that the Vexation of Disappointment would make him excessively revengeful, without taking any notice whether he punish'd Offendors or Innocents, had withdrawn themselves as soon as they heard of his approch.

Dogmapornes made no long stay here, for knowing that this Accident requir'd new Counsels, and being disenabled to perform the task for which he was sent, he saw that it [Page] was necessary to return speedily, and give notice to Antitheus of that which had happen'd. Antitheus was much pleas'd when his servants told him that Dogmapornes was come back, hoping that he had deliver'd him from the fear of his most considerable Adversarie: but when he was come into his presence, perceiving that his Countenance gave no intimation of such news as he expected, What, said he, Dogmapornes, with an angry doubtfulness, is not all well? No, Sir, answer'd Dogmapornes, I am the unhappy Messenger which must let you know that Alethion made an escape from the Castle a day before I came thither. How, said Antitheus, with a great Consternation in his looks, is Alethion got out of our hands? what Mad Fate doth over-rule our Affairs? Had ill Fortune no other time but this assign'd to act her part? It is to no purpose to be angry, but I cannot help it; for the same Chain of perverse Destiny that hath drawn down this Misfortune upon me, doth also pull me along with it into a Confusion of thoughts. However I may hope that as this Accident was unlikely to have happen'd if we consider those things which went before it, so possibly that which is to come after it is as different from this. That invincible Necessity which forceth me to think so, whether it be true or not, makes me also speak after this manner, whether it be wisely or not. But let us go on, Dogmapornes, and make what we can of this unlucky business; I mean, let uncontrollable Fate tumble us further down the Hill, or roll us up again. That which hath happen'd could not have been otherwise, and what is come is not in our power to prevent. Since we have no Freedom to chuse our Actions, it is some comfort that we are not accomptable for what we doe. If that which we aim at be destin'd for us, we shall arrive at it whether we will or no; if it be not, we do but trouble our selves in vain. Since we hope not, why should we despair?

You are startled, Noble friends, added Philalethes, at this Mode of Discourse, but it is not unsuitable to his Principles; and you will wonder more at the absurdity of his Actions. I will give you a brief accompt of those Rules [Page] by which he pretends to govern his Life, and also tell you the effects which they have produc'd in this poor Kingdom since he put them in Practice. But before I reherse his Opinions, which are the most hurtful Extravagancies into which Humane Nature can fall, I will let you know how he became capable of such extraordinary Delusion. He hath a good Natural Wit, but that so over-match'd with Pride, that he is like a little Vessel with a vast Sail and no Ballast; for he looks upon himself as one born to govern all the World, and boasts that his Stars whom he acknowledgeth for his Creatours have accomplish'd his Body (for a Soul he doth not believe to be in the Nature of things) with such transcendent Vertues, that he is not unfit to be the Illuminatour of Mankind, and declareth frequently that the Universal World is not only obliged to hear him, but to sit at his [...] with the lowest Reverence, and receive his Doctrines as the indisputable Commands of a Catholick Dictator in Knowledge, and yield Obedience to his Precepts as proceeding from the great Father of all Art. He wonders that the Ignorant Nations do not flock to him, being the Infallible Oracle by whom Nature is at last pleas'd to speak; and doth often say, That though the present rebellious Age doth not perform their duty, yet he makes no doubt but after-times will understand themselves better, and deploring their long Ignorance expunge out of their Souls those Erroneous Principles by which before they misguided their Actions, and keep an anniversary Festival as a solemn Commemoration of him the Redeemer of Knowledge. He esteems all Books, Ancient and Modern, except two or three of his own, but Rhapsodies of such insignificant words as Mountebanks deliver upon their Stages; and compares those which reade them to the dull Multitude which is abus'd with their impertinent Medicines. He is much displeas'd that the Ancients were born before him and by way of revenge will sometimes say that Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, Hippocrates, Plotin, Simplicius, and the rest of that Rank, are but the Names of doting Fools whom the World hath sillily admired; and that Epicurus, and [Page] it may be one more, lived till they began to know something, but not much, which also by the Malice of Time and the Ignorance of latter Ages is almost lost: but that He hath taken the Ashes of buried Knowledge out of their Urns, and to the joy and wonder of men hath made it live again. It is a great part of his ordinary Discourse to reproch the Neotericks; and then he makes use of such a scornful Carriage as if he were switching one of his Lacquaies with a Riding-rod, and will protest that those who do not confess that they have learn'd whatsoever they know from him, are proud and ingrateful Dunces; yet sometimes in a better humour he will express a pity for such as do not believe his Opinions, because none can understand his Books but himself. He esteems Schools the Nests of purblind Owls, where nothing is learn'd but Ignorance, and says that the Universities cure the Imperfections of their Disciples after no other manner but as Tinkers mend pots.

It may be you will laugh if I should tell you what he said not long since to one of his Confidents: Nature hath made me her privy-Councellour, and done me the Honour to see her undress'd; a favour bestow'd upon none but my self: She hath led me through all her Territories, and, being not a little proud of my Company, talk'd with me all the way, and resolv'd me all Questions in Natural Philosophy, Divinity, the Doctrine of Manners, and Rules of Civil Government; hath intrusted me with the Key of her Secrets. She hath shewn me the Pillars upon which Truth is founded, and expos'd to my view the essential Connexions of all things. She hath conducted me with a dark Lantern through the Subterranean Labyrinths of this Earthen Globe, and let me see those hidden Floud-gates by which the Sea steals into the under-ground Rivers, as also the backstairs by which they climb up to the tops of Hills where they make Springs. She hath led me into the entrails of the deepest Mines, and shewn me the great Caldrons where Earth is refin'd by Subterranean Fires. She hath walk'd with me through the greatest Seas, and acquainted me with [Page] the whole Nation of Fishes, and leading me round the outward part of the Earth, hath discover'd to me the nature of all things which appear upon the surface of that Globe; hath shewn me the various contextures of different Atoms into several forms of Being, and let me see those strange figures by which the little particles hang together, which other men have not as yet heard named. She hath told me why it was impossible for some things to grow, and how some came to have Sense, and why others are honour'd with Reason, the highest of all Bodily Faculties. After this she carried me through the Air, and acquainted me with all its various Modifications, taught me the doctrine of Vapours by Experiments, let me stand by whilst she gave fire to Thunder, dissolv'd congeal'd Clouds, and squeez'd thick moisture into Rain. Here we sate down upon a Rainbow, and she resolv'd all difficulties that arise from the Nature of Matter; told me what Light is, and how Colours are produc'd, and answer'd all Questions that concern Motion. Then she transported me into the AEthereal Regions, and shew'd me the Motion of every Orb without those Artificial Spheres which ordinary Mortals are fain to use, and that to small purpose. She gave me the proper names of the Stars in a Book, and a Catalogue of their distinct Qualities, by which means I can tell the true nature of every particular Influence. At last she let me see the utmost Wall by which the World is inclos'd.

Here Bentivolio making an interruption to the Discourse said smiling; I thought, Philalethes, that you would have told us among other things that Antitheus was Complemented by all the Signs in the Zodiack as he rode through the Heavens upon the back of the stately Asse Alborach; and that as he was passing by the Lunar Orb, the Moon, over-joy'd to see this new Endymion, crept into his sleeves to embrace him, and went out in two pieces at his Neck; and that he, by the great Skill which Nature had then taught him, souldred it together again in requital of so great a Civility. But to be more serious; Pray, good Philalethes, acquaint us with some of those deep Mysteries which he pretends to [Page] have learn'd by such a miraculous Method. I know not yet what he hath perform'd, replied Philalethes; but he brags that the Civil World was not known till he discover'd it, having descended from the Mountains of Light, and that the Principles of true Policy are no older then his Books; that he hath rectified the Notion of Religion to the unspeakable Benefit of the World; that there is nothing worth Observation in the Mathematicks which is not entirely due to him; that he hath reform'd the whole System of Natural Philosophy, and so perfectly discover'd the Impostures of Ethicks, that he hath prov'd the Doctrine of Vertue and Vice to be a mere Fiction, by a new way of Reasoning which he hath invented; in short, that he hath so advanc'd Mechanical Skill, that the best Artists esteem it their happinesse to become his Apprentices. I beseech you, Philalethes, said Bentivolio, what hath he reveal'd concerning Divinity?

I can more easily give you an accompt of his words, replied Philalethes, then tell you what he would have us believe to be his meaning; for at different times he doth express himself in such contrary Language, that it is difficult to suppose that he hath any resolv'd thoughts concerning God. This Great Phoebus looks at all his Dictates as Oracles, but they are useless to manking till some other Apollo rise up to unriddle them: However we see Reason enough to imagine that he did not intend men should increase their Faith of a Deity by reading his Books, because he hath written so ambiguously concerning his Nature. One while he says there are no Beings but Bodies, and that Incorporeall Substance is a term of Contradiction; which would make us think that he believes no God but the Visible World, and that the Sun, Moon and Stars, Men, Beasts and Trees are the Limbs of his great Body; but that at other times he hath been heard to say that God neither is nor can be a Body: for when they consider that these Expressions jarre so horridly that they are incapable of Reconciliation, they are forc'd rather to conclude that he is in jest when he mentions God, and useth the name Deity by way of scorn, or for fear of the Fate of Vaninus. [Page] For when he wrote his Books, he knew well enough that the Religious acknowledgment of a Supreme Power is so deep impress'd in the Minds of men, that if he had talk'd plainly against Almighty God, some of his more Loyal Creatures would have chastis'd the boldness of his Blasphemy after some such Fashion.

Sometimes he sayes there may possibly be a God, but we are utterly ignorant what he is: that is, that there is something in the World which none can tell what it is, which is God; and that we ought to adore him, that is, doe honour to we know not what. When some much displeas'd with such a dull Assertion have answer'd, That his Attributes are known significations of his Divine Nature, that is, Essential Properties which are manifest by his Works; and urg'd that we have as true a knowledge of God as of any thing else, and behold the Wisdom, Power and Goodness of his Eternal Being reveal'd long since in the Creation of the World, and which do still present themselves to the eyes of men in the Preservation and prudent Government of all Created things: He replies, that the foremention'd Attributes may be given to God, but they do not truly expresse what he is more then the Amorous Sonnets of Extravagant Lovers do give a true Character of their Mistresses Persons, and that the Praises which they import do not more properly belong to God then the Flatteries of Amoroso's do to their Idols, whom they extoll for Perfections which were never in them. Since some would be apt to call this Atheistical Impiety, he hath endeavour'd to hide it under the plausible Notion of God's Incomprehensibility; that is, he would have men such Fools as to believe, that because they cannot comprehend the Immense extent of the Divine Nature, therefore they do not apprehend any thing concerning it: as if it were not more easie to find the great Sea then a small River; or as if we could not discern the wide-spread Ocean at all, because we cannot drink it all up with our Eyes.

You will easily suppose, Bentivolio, said Philalethes continuing his Discourse, that he hath represented Religion as [Page] springing from base Grounds, who hath given such a miserable accompt of the Deity which is to be acknowledg'd by it. If he had not been disaffected towards the Divine Nature, he might easily have found many good Reasons to support his Honour in the World. The chief of those which he hath assign'd are these, Ignorance in the Generality of Mankind, the Impotent Fear of Superstitious Fools, the Cunning and Hypocrisie of Princes and Priests, and the Influences of some Stars. Thus he pleaseth himself to imagine that the Ignorance which forceth Mankind to frame strange conjectures for want of acquaintance with Ordinary causes, made them suppose that some Invisible Power created the World; and that seeing the Condition of Mortal men is often oppress'd with Poverty, Disgrace, Sickness and Captivity, through an impotent fear of such Misfortunes, though they happen by chance, yet either by reason of their own Ignorance, or because they have been told so by others no wiser then themselves, they esteem them Punishments inflicted by an Invisible Power whom they have offended, and to whom out of a slavish pusillanimity they are apt to doe Homage, and appease with Prayers and Sacrifice, that so they may escape Torment. Some have observ'd that in his lucid Intervalls the inbred Notion of a Deity hath forc'd him almost to confess, that there is something in God for which by the Right of his Nature he is to be ador'd; yet he will by no means allow it to be Beneficence, which doth naturally infer Gratitude; but, if there be anything, it is Power, by which he is inabled to doe us a Mischief. Thus he would have men to acknowledge God only for such Reasons as the Devils, because they can doe hurt, are ador'd by the Indians in a dreadful Image arm'd with sharp Teeth and crooked Claws. By this Iron yoke the Heathen world was of old kept in subjection to those Cruel Spirits whom the Hebrews properly nam'd Asmodei, and the Greeks Apollyons, and we, from the Evil which they doe, Devils, the power of their mischievous nature commanding fear by hurtful actions.

Men being naturally under the power of the foremention'd [Page] Principles, he says that cunning Princes, who with the Assistance of covetous Priests both contrive and alter Religion as it best serves their Designs to awe their People into Obedience, endeavour to make them believe that they receiv'd their Laws from God; telling them that when contagious Sicknesses, cruel Famine, dreadful Earthquakes, or any other extraordinary Misfortunes happen, it is because God is angry for the neglect of his Rites; teaching them to appease his wrath with expiatory Sacrifices: and when they took notice of obstinate Offenders whom they could not conveniently punish because of their Multitudes; they threatned them with Punishments to be endur'd in the World to come, by which means Melancholick people are affrighted into their Duty.

Besides these Reasons, by which Piety is rather undermin'd then supported, he says that Mankind is piously affected by certain Stars, and that Religion is diversified according to the Variety of Influences which are sent down upon the Earth. He pretends also to know the Complexion of every Star so exactly, that he can declare by what Planet or Conjunction of Stars every distinct Religion is produc'd, and affirms boldly that the Jewish Discipline is from Saturn, the Christians Gospel from Jupiter and Mercury, the Mahumetan Superstition from the Sun and Mars, the Idolatry of the Pagans from the Moon and Mars. It is strange that he deriv'd not Heathenism from Jupiter, since his name was so famous among them; and that Mahumetanism should not have taken its Pedigree from the Moon, which would have symboliz'd with the Turkish Arms, the three Crescents; and that neither of them should have been made to hold of Venus, since both are so full of abominable Lusts. However, borrowing a little more canting Ignorance of the Astrologers, he sayes that all these Constitutions have been and shall again be afflicted according as there happen any great Conjunctions in those Opposite Trigons which have dominion over their Laws (as for example, Aries, Leo and Sagittarius have over Christianity, Gemini, Libra and Aquarius over Judaism;) and that as one Planet [Page] overcomes another with Reason, Craft, Piety, Cruelty or Lasciviousness, Religions alter and succeed one another, as they have done eternally. These are the unworthy Bases upon which he would place Religion, slighting those noble Pillars upon which it was at first erected, God's Right and our Duty. Any man that believeth the Being of God, and confesseth him to be the Creatour of the World, will easily grant that we are obliged in Justice to worship him, and Ingenuity will constrain him thankfully to acknowledge and humbly to adore his Patron and Benefactour. But as Antitheus has stifled the Connate sense of a Deity, which all Nations do confess to be interwoven with the nature of their Souls; so esteeming himself not beholden to God, he suppresseth those great Reasons which make other men Religious, left he should be judg'd Ingrateful.

It may be you desire, proceeded Philalethes, to know by what brave Standard he measures Religion, which he hath disgrac'd with such a mean Original. Antitheus taking no notice of the Law of Nature, or the Gospel of our Saviour, assigns no Rule but the Arbitrary Commands of the Civil Magistrate, and esteems that true Religion in every Country which the Governour thereof prescribes, and approves all for true, though one contradict another, and judgeth him Religious who, because he is commanded, worships the Devil; and says it is no sin for men to prosess Atheism, if they be requir'd to doe it, or to renounce their Saviour, nay, though it be against their Conscience; and teacheth them to excuse the denial which they make in words by thinking otherwise, and gives them liberty to doe it in their interiour Cogitations too, if they will, upon this ground, because, as he says, Mens thoughts are not subject to the Commands of God. Thus he hath represented the Saviour of the World as a Rebel for preaching a Gospel which was not authoriz'd by the Roman Emperour; and hath disparag'd the Apostles as seditious Hereticks, because they perswaded the World not to worship Idols. If any thing can be added to that which I have already related, he hath further demonstrated that small measure of Good will which he hath [Page] to Religion by endeavouring to invalidate those Arguments which assure good men that it proceeded from God, the chief of which are [...] and Prophecy. Miracles are Divine Works transcending all ordinary Power of Nature, by which God hath given Testimony to the Doctrine of his Messengers. These he calls only unusual Accidents of Nature, which Ignorant people wonder at; but which Wise men look upon as no great Matters, because they understand their Causes, and because Impostors doe such things by a dexterous application of Natural Causes, or make weak people believe so by [...] casts of Legerdemain. He says also that if some things be so strange that they seem to transcend all Power of Nature and all Art of Magioians, yet he which performs these rare Operations is not to be credited unless the Civil Magistrate declare that the Works are Miracles, and that the Person is come from God. By which Argument the World was not obliged to believe in our Saviour, though they saw him cloth'd with Divine Power, commanding the Winds, making raging Seas obedient to his Word, subduing Devils, healing all sorts of Diseases without any natural Medicines, triumphing over Death, both by raising some to life out of their Graves, and rising himself after he had been buried three days, in a word, exercising an absolute Authority upon universal Nature; because Tiberius and his [...] did not make his Miracles authentick with their Civil Sanction.

He is so willing to vilifie these great Operations, as Tricks invented by Covetous Artists to get Riches and Honour, that he will affirm those strange Prodigies which appear sometimes in the Air, to be either Visions only reported by Princes to have been seen, to amuse their People, or else that they are represented in the Air by Glasses. He says that the Armies which seem to skirmish in the Air are only Images of Souldiers at Land or Sea reflected from one cloud to another, and multiplied as shadows are ordinarily by divers Looking-glasses; and when no Armies are near the places where these Apparitions are seen, he says they are brought from remote parts by strong Winds. Sometimes [Page] he fancies that men form these Shapes upon thick Vapours which swim in the Air by the power of Imagination, as women make marks upon the Embryo's in their Womb; or else that the Celestial Intelligences which move the Orbs imprint those shapes in their own Bodies, which are extended much like to Skins of Parchment, and in these men seem to foresee future Events by painted Schemes. Thus he makes Miracles things of no greater wonder then an Ignis Fatuus, and Ignorant Superstition the only Reason of that Faith which is produc'd by them.

Prophecy in his Opinion is no better Assurance: for he esteems Prophetick Visions only as Dreams of phrenetick men, that thought they convers'd with Angels when they talk'd only with their own Shadows; and says, that God's speaking to them in Dreams is no more but that they dreamed that God spoke to them. Because sometimes things seem to be foretold, he ascribes the power of Prediction to prophetick Vapours which some parts of the earth exhale in some certain seasons, and that those Inspirations enabled the Ministers of Apollo to give Oracles at Delphos, and forc'd the Pythian Girles to sing ecstatick Verses.

These being the chief Reasons which we have to believe what God hath said, and to doe what he hath commanded; you may easily suppose that he esteems the Primitive Martyrs Egregious Fools, and their Noble Deaths only effects of potent Imagination, which they suffered either through a great desire of Honour, or were forc'd to it by the strength of Hypochondriack Humours, and that except the Applause of their Sect they perish'd as trivially as a wild Indian, who will die rather then not Worship his Pagod. Thus that Passive Obedience, which for many Ages was perform'd with so much humble submission, that it was manifest to all beholders to be no obstinate Humour, and by such vast multitudes, that it prov'd it self to be no Rebellious Design when they could not comply with unlawful Commands, which was the ancient Glory of Christianity, and made it flourish under the most sharp persecutions, is by him disparag'd as at the best but an Honest Foolery.

[Page] You will not wonder at all, if after all this he expound any great point of Faith into a Trifle. The Resurrection he esteems only a Recovery from some Apoplectical Distemper; to raise a man from the Dead is only to awaken him out of a Lethargical sleep, or to cure one that is sick of an Epilepsie. The Apparitions of men that have been buried, as he says, are only some Vapours extracted out of their Graves by the Stars, which represent the shapes which they had when they were alive: The potent Stars collecting it seems Vapours out of their cloths too, for they appear many times in the same Habit which they us'd to wear. But it is easie for him to swallow such small matters, who esteems Angels in general but Phantasms or wild Imaginations of sick Brains, and by Good Angels would have us to understand nothing but our Friends, such as are of our Opinion, observe our Humour, or applaud what we say: So an Archangel is a Parasite, or a Carrier which brings good news in a Letter. Departed Souls he interprets Shadows, that is, such as fall from our Bodies when we walk in the Sun; and says that the Anguish which is call'd Remorse of Conscience is inflicted by those, and that they are the most proper Ministers of that punishment, because they must needs be conscious to all our Mis-doings, having accompanied us in all places. Devils he reputes either Fictions of terrified Souls, which hurt only such as make them by their own Fears; or else Wicked men, that is, such as are not of our Mind; and sometimes any thing which hurts us, as Diseases. Sometime he says he could be more content to believe that there are Angels in the received sense, but that the Assertours of that Doctrine do not allow Angellesses. He doth not value Eternal Blessedness, esteeming the Beatifick Vision an unintelligible Notion; and instead of a clearer knowledge of God, and all things accompanied with an incomparable Joy, he says the Kingdom of Heaven signifies only a state of Civil Government, like to that which the Jews had before they made Saul their King. He tells us that the Souls of Good men do not ascend into Heaven or enjoy any knowledge, but die with the Body, but that they [Page] shall rise again, and then be as Adam was before he sinn'd. He under stands by the pains of Hell, that Wicked men shall die as others do, and lie without any sense in the Grave till the day of Judgment, and when they rise again shall be tormented by seeing themselves more unhappy then others, that is, they shall be forc'd to eat, drink, marry and beget Children, as they did before, and then die again.

Here [...] made a pause, and begg'd pardon for the Length of his Narration in these words: I am afraid, Bentivolio and Amyntor, that I have wearied you both with a prolix Story of Antitheus his Theology; but as I hope that Obedience to your Commands will serve for an Excuse of my offence, so I make no doubt but that though the matter of my Discourse hath been displeasing, because it gives notice of a Wicked [...]; yet it is the less considerable, because that which is design'd is impossible. For though the Engine which I have describ'd be fram'd with an Intention to throw Religion off the Hinges; yet it is no more able to doe it, then to pull Humane Nature up by the Roots.

You might have spar'd this excuse, Philalethes, said Bentivolio, but that you can omit nothing in your Conversation which you judge Civil; but if your own Weariness be not the true meaning of your Complement, we desire to be acquainted with some few of those Principles by which [...] pretends to have glorified Natural Philosophy. It is but a small labour, answer'd Philalethes, and if it were greater I should willingly undertake it at your Command. Antitheus, to make the foremention'd Engine more strong, hath fortified it with some assistances which he pretends to have receiv'd from Natural Philosophy, though indeed they are only a few false Opinions which he had bestow'd upon it in hope to borrow them as he should have occasion to use them; that is, to [...] Philosophy to serve his Design against Theology: turning the sound Principles of sober Discourses into bold Paradoxes, and fitting extravagant Fancies, which are apt to take with vain Souls, not only to oppose true Notions, but to lay Foundations of Atheism in his Disciples minds; at once endeavouring to supplant [Page] true Reason in those whom he teacheth to misunderstand Nature, and to disserve God's Interest with such as know not the difference between Jargon and Philosophy. One of his Fundamental Notions is, That the World was made by a fortuitous concourse of stragling Atoms, or, in plainer Terms, that it is Eternal, and was alwayes such as it is now, or not much unlike to it; the common Principles of all things which did eternally exist of themselves, being often [...] into feveral Forms by a continued succession of various Motions. By which Artifice all Dependance upon a Deity is rejected, and the World instructed to acknowledge no first Cause. For he was afraid that if he should confess that the World was not Eternal, he would also be forc'd to acknowledge that the Supreme Deity determin'd it to begin at his pleasure. The World thus constituted he calls Nature, and sometimes dignifies it with the Name of God; not meaning that Omnipotent Wisdom, which being distinguish'd from all created Beings derives from himself to them what they are in their particular kinds; but the Nature of things connex'd by several Links of Essence which make the World to be what it is: which is but a more dull Expression of the Doctrine of Atoms, and depends upon the Ignorance of this Truth, that Nature is God's Work, that is, the Method of Divine Art plac'd in the Essences of things, by which they are led orderly to their particular Ends, and so is only the effect of his All powerful Goodness, or the proper Nature which he hath bestow'd upon everything.

He looks upon Incorporeal substances (as I told you before) as things to be hiss'd out of the consideration of Philosophers; and in correspondence with that brave supposition asserts, That the Soul is nothing distinct from the Body, but only a few Atoms put together by chance in a certain Order; and that Death is a dissolution of that Contexture, and a Resolution of the Soul into small particles of fine Dust. But because of some who have diligently consider'd those rare Operations in which Humane Nature doth manifest it self to be some better thing, he says that all those [Page] Acts are capable of explication by Corporeal Motion. He affirms Sense to be nothing but the local Motion of certain parts in the Body, and that Motion, and Sensation which is the Perception of Motion, are both one; that is, a Bell hears it self sound. He defines Reason to be only a Motion of the exteriour Organs of the Body caused by an Impression of the Object, and propagated by a succession of Agitations to the inward parts; that is, the In-side of a Base-viol is made to understand Musick by him that draws a Bow over the strings which are fastned upon the Out-side, and is a Living creature all the while it is play'd upon: poor Musicians never dreaming that they have such a power bestow'd upon them, that their Instruments understand Musick as well as they; and not believing that the Trees or Stones did ever dance after any Harper, though some Poets have said so. Thus as he would have the Constitution of the World understood without a God, so he would have all the Phaenomena of Humane Nature explain'd without a Soul, that so Men may be free, if they please, to live like brute Beasts, to whom by his Argument they are not Superiour. The best notion which he can bestow upon the Soul is but a Vivacious Habit of Body, or the local Motion of some particles, and the Beasts have that; and Life possibly is an Harmonical Wind, such as is convey'd by Bellows through the Pipes of Organs, whom we may suppose to live as long as they breathe. Discourse is nothing with him but Motion with Reaction, of which a Lute-string is equally capable with any Man. He obliterates all Connate Idea's of God by which Excellent persons think themselves inabled to converse with the Divine Nature, as the Eye being replenish'd with a Crystalline Humour is made capable of seeing the Sun. Thus Men are represented as no more fitted for Religion then Beasts. But as his Doctrine raiseth Wood and Stones to the same pitch of Sense with Humane Nature, it is but a small matter for him to depress it to the same Level with Beasts, either in Excellency of Knowledge or Capacity of Religion. It is consequent to this That the Soul is Mortal: How should it be otherwise, [Page] being but Motion. when that ceaseth, it dies. And considering that many believe otherwise, he adds, that the Immortality of separate Souls is only a Window open'd into the dark Region of Eternal Torments by such as have been fool'd with the Demonology of the Greeks.

I perceive you are cloy'd with his Natural Philosophy, and therefore I will set no more of it before you, but give you a taste of his Ethicks. But doth he acknowledge any such thing as Vertue? said Bentivolio. You may well make a Question of that, replied Philalethes, by what I have reported; but I will tell you what he says, and then you may judge. He asserts that in the Natural state of Humanity all things are indifferent, that nothing is absolutely Good or Evil, and that no common Rule of Good and Evil can be taken from the nature of the Objects themselves; but all things are to be measur'd by mens Appetites, which have the only Power to make whatsoever pleaseth them Good. He supposes men in the state of Nature to be a company of Licentious People stragling up and down the surface of the Earth without any Law, obnoxious to no Authority, incapable of Sin, both because there are no Eternal Rules of Good and Evil, of which the best Philosophers have believed the Law of Nature written upon our Hearts to be a Transcript, and because no positive Commands were given to them; for from whom should they receive them who were their own Lords? He says that the World had never been troubled with those useless Notions of Vertue and Vice, but that some proud Ignoramus introduc'd them upon an arrogant Supposition that men have Liberty of Will, that is, a free Principle of Action; whenas by his words all the Freedom that they have is, that they do not see that they have none; mens Wills being, like other things, extrinsecally determin'd: Hence he infers that either there is no Sin, or that God is the Author of it, who doth not only help us to Act, but force us to Will; teaching the vilest Persons to excuse their worst Actions by accusing those causes which with irresistible sorce necessitate them to operate as they do. Thus Deliberation is rendred as a great Foolery, [Page] and a Horse made as capable of Honesty as a Man, and a Stone as either of them. Conscience, which the Good, men of all Ages have ever rever'd as an in-dwelling God, is despis'd by him as an Idol made by false Imagination. Blame is reckon'd but a signification of Displeasure, not the Imputation of a Fault. His new Gospel hath abolisht ingenuous Shame, and says that those whom we call our first Parents had no troublesome resentment of their Eating the Forbidden Fruit as a Crime, but express'd a little Anger against God for not making them with their Cloths on: as if they had been blind, and did not see their skins before they broke their Creator's Orders; or had no reason to blush when through an ingrateful Carelesness they devested themselves of the Innocence with which he indu'd them, by doing what he had prohibited. Thus he hath exterminated Sorrow for unworthy Actions, which in sinners begins the Practice of Repentance; and made humble Prayers, by which all the World doth express a Dependance upon God, as impertinent as if we should make an Oration to the Sun to day to perswade it to rise to morrow. It's true, sometimes he makes bold with his own Doctrines, and frets at cross Accidents, and says that by reason of great Prudence one man is fitter to give Advice then another, and admits of the Distinction which is made between Counsels and Commands, with many other such like pronuntiations; which being mingled with his assertion of the extrinsecal Pre-determination of all Actions and Events, are Arguments against the Liberty of the Will, compos'd much after the manner of those Horns which Mahomet saw upon the heads of some of his Monster-Angels, which, as he says, were made of Snow and Fire.

Mens particular Natures being thus represented, you will expect that he should appoint strange Rules to govern them when they are joyn'd in Society. They would be excellent, if they were proportionable to that great Conceit which he hath of his own Ability in this, kind: for before his time, he saith, the Doctrine of Civil Government was unknown; and that his Prescriptions are far above any [Page] Comparison with what hath been deliver'd by the best Legislatours in the World, in that the better sorts of Beasts have a more prudent Politie then Men, and could promulgate better Laws if they would please to speak in such a language as we understand. But some which have consider'd his new Modell affirm it to be only a fictitious supposal of a state of Humanity that never was or will be, and that his several Dictates are useless Consequences drawn from false Principles, and perversly applied to the Condition of Mankind, which doth not only reject them as impertinent, but abhor them as mischievous to the Nature and Happiness of Men. Some of his Orders suppose men to be Autochthones, Intelligent Mushromes, or else Pre-Adamites born before the Moon upon some Arcadian Hill; others are fitted well enough for the Serpentine Brood of Cadmus, or for a barbarous [...] of Men degenerated into Beasts: but they agree not with the nobler state of Mankind, which by the prudent appointment of our great Creatour is derived from our Common Parents Adam and Eve, whose state was never Anarchical, for their Creator was their King; neither were they at any time without Law, for they came not into the World till God had fix'd the Principles of Reason and the Roots of Love in their Natures, and obliged them by bringing them into Being to observe the Laws which he had written upon their Hearts. Their Liberty was not unlimited, for these Laws bounded it; neither could their condition be a state of War, unless they should fight against themselves: for by an universal Law well known to them all they were oblig'd to love their Neighbours as themselves. They have deserv'd all Commendations who, writing upon this Subject, have not only reduc'd the Civil state of men to right Principles, but represented a better to mens consideration then was yet ever seen but in Books; that so the World might meliorate it self by the just imitation of a noble Example: But Antitheus hath so far encourag'd the World to Degenerate, that he hath made the Nature of Men worse in his picture then ever it was in it self. For he hath presented the first state [Page] of Rational Beings as a War of all men against all men; that is, a Commonwealth wherein every man is his Neighbour's Enemy, and in which every one may justly doe what he will; where the use of Force and Fraud is lawful; where every man having a Right to every thing may get Possession of it as he can, by enslaving or destroying not only what doth hurt him, but also that which he imagines able to annoy him; every man's Appetite being the Rule of what he may desire, and his own Apprehension the sole Judge of the best Means to attain his Ends. He affirms sometimes, and it is correspondent to the foremention'd Principles, that Cain did no wrong to Abel, since he only took out of the way one that was offensive to him; and as it was no Injustice to kill his Brother, so it was but Wisdom to tempt him into the Field that he might have an opportunity fit for his purpose. Antitheus thinks it was no just Reason to move him not to doe it to his Brother because he would not have had his Brother done it to him; and that Cain was punish'd by God unjustly, since he had done nothing but what he could justifie by the Law of his Nature, being to give no accompt of his Brother, no not to God, since he was not his Keeper. He slights the Foundation of Happiness which God had laid in Civil Society, pretending that Reason and Love will not hinder men from doing harm to others. But then he should have put some better Principles then what we have yet seen, for Fear and Hatred will not doe it; and if he thinks that they are the only means of Self-preservation, it is a weak thought: For though Reason and Love did require men to doe only good to others, yet they did not forbid them to defend themselves against such as should transgress the just bounds of Common Good. But his own Reasons are good enough for him, who supposeth neither Abel to have been Cain's Brother, nor Adam, to have been their Common Father; and so excuseth Cain from any Obligation to Fraternal Love, and makes him unaccomptable to Adam, though he depriv'd him of a Son without his leave. By this you may perceive that his Doctrine is not agreeable with the first state of Nature, but [Page] only a false Imagination of his own, and useful nowhere except the barbarous Regions of Cyclopia.

Antitheus having bountifully allow'd this strange Liberty to Men in the state of Nature, hath taken what care he can to assure it to them in all states, and let them know that it is incapable of receiving prejudice from any thing, not excluding those limitations which they themselves shall set to it by voluntary Promises; declaring to them that they are not bound to keep any Covenants made in the state of Nature: and hath added, that no Promises are at any time to be thought inviolable for any Reasons taken from the nature of Honesty, which make them sacred Bonds, since Words are but Wind; but that men ought to perform what they have said for fear of Evil Consequences which may happen upon the breach of their Promises. Men in his Opinion either not being under the force of a Divine Law; or that continuing no longer in force to oblige men to their Duty, then till they have opportunity to neglect it without Danger from their Neighbours.

These are his Sentiments concerning those mutual Duties which Men owe to one another in general: what his Opinions are concerning them as they are under Government, you shall soon know whilst I tell you what Power he assignes to the Magistrate, how he determines the People's Right, and how he takes from them both what he had formerly allow'd to them by cross Grants. He hath gratified the Supreme Magistrate with a Power of Creating Good and Evil, and pronounc'd that his Absolute Will is Divine and Humane Law, and would have his People to believe every thing to be Just which he Commands, and that whatsoever he forbids is for that Reason Evil, and that no Laws made by him can be unjust: That Subjects have no Propriety in whatsoever they possesse, and hold their Lives merely at the Will of their Prince, who without doing any injustice may take away the Life or confiscate the Estate of his most innocent Subject; and that all things are his in such an unlimited sense, that if he please he may justly give away or sell the Sovereign Power. Having consider'd [Page] that the Vulgar, which are almost all the World, are easily taken with specious Pretences, he exhorts Princes to learn the Art of Dissimulation, and to esteem it a most necessary part of Royal Accomplishment to be able to Counterfeit all plausible Vertues, especially Piety; that is, prostitute the sacred Notion of a Deity to Worldly Interest: and remembring that so long as men continue Bad, as they do yet, to be truly Good will sometimes prove dangerous; he says they ought to know also how to make a profitable Use of being not Good, though they seem so at all other times: and because it is accompted a Point of Honour in a Prince to verifie his Word, he adviseth him, when it is his Interest to break his Promises, to colour the Action with pretences of Urgent Reasons, that the Common people may think he was necessitated to violate his Faith.

At other times reflecting upon that boundless Power which he had bestow'd upon Princes, and fearing that the People would think him guilty of Adulation, and say that he had misinform'd Princes in point of their Right to gratifie their Ambition, he hath made a Compensation for his Errour by granting unreasonable Allowances to Subjects: For, to make the Possession of Royal Power insecure in Princes hands, he hath given the People leave when they can to take it from them; and when they are put to suffer Wounds or Death, though never so justly, he hath authoriz'd them to resist: and lest they should doubt that they are obliged to the contrary, he hath told them that Pacts made in the condition of Nature do not bind; that is, Subjects when they can may absolve themselves from those Oaths by which they have sworn Fealty to the Sovereign Power; and that in all Cases the longest Sword is the true Measure of Right, and the strongest Arm the only Infallible Judge of Wrong.

But I will trouble you no longer, added Philalethes, with the repetition of such Doctrines by which the state of Reasonable Nature is mis-represented and Men unhappily directed, and which would quickly destroy all that Felicity which depends upon Civil Policy, if they were entertain'd [Page] in the World. Here Philalethes ended his Discourse; and as Bentivolio was about to make an Apology for having put him to so much trouble, and to give him thanks that for his and Amyntor's Satisfaction he was willing to spend so much time in the Report of such unacceptable Matters, one of Philalethes his servants whom he had sent to Polistherion was return'd, and came into the Room to give him notice how things went there. Ha! Kalodulus, said Philalethes, I have expected you these two dayes; but it seems your entertainment was so good in Polistherion, that you could not get away suddenly. Polistherion is at this time such an undesirable place, replied his Servant, that if it had not been in Obedience to your Commands, I would not have stay'd there one day. I gave thanks to God a hundred times as I was upon my way home, that you were banish'd from such a forlorn City, which I can compare to nothing but Hell. You dwell in Heaven here, Dear Master, and do singly enjoy that Happiness which for any thing that I could discern is not to be found in all Polistherion. I met nothing but Discontent wheresoever I came: the Streets are fill'd with Cries, the Houses echo Complaints; the Exchange is spoil'd with Fraud, the Courts are become a prey to Injustice. All Relations have abandon'd those Vertues upon which their mutual Happiness was founded. Fathers have given up all Studies but their Pleasures, and their Children imitate them. What Errours the Women commit I dare not say, but they defend them by the Examples which they receive from Men. Friends undermine each others Interests, and yet complain against one another. Fidelity is grown so rare, that Masters are insecure as to their Domestick Servants, and men have as many Adversaries as Neighbours. In short, they live after such a fashion as if Wickedness were licens'd amongst them; but I believe that they will soon grow weary of this false Liberty, and be glad to return to their former state. For Unhappiness seems to have made a perfect Conquest of Polistherion, and having broken those Holy Links of Justice and Love by which Prosperity is [...] to Humane Society, doth make them drag one [Page] another with chains of Oppression to suffer the torments of Disorder which they mutually inflict upon those whom they should love and serve.

I will only trouble you further with the hearing of one or two strange Accidents which happen'd whilst I was in Polistherion. I came one Evening (for I durst not be seen in the Day-time, being known to belong to you) where a multitude of People were gathered together; and staying to enquire the Cause, I perceiv'd that a Child was unmercifully expos'd in the Street, and that the Dogs had kill'd it and eaten half of it. The Mother being discover'd to be the Author of this Cruelty, the Father, not a little displeas'd with what was done, was going to have kill'd her, but was interrupted by the coming of a Judge who was returning from the Castle of Antitheus to his own House. He complain'd to this Judge of the barbarous Fact committed by his Wife, and demanded Justice against her. The Judge ask'd if his Wife was the Child's Mother; and the Father answering, Yes, Then, said the Judge, she hath only kill'd her own: but that you have any reason to complain as a Father is uncertain, and you do only believe it because formerly she told you so; but this is plain, that by the Right of Nature the Dominion over the Infant did belong first to her, because she had it first in her Power: and as to the Child he determin'd, that it was mere Courtesie that she did not kill it sooner, and so went away.

My other story is of a Servant who kill'd his Master, call'd Streblodespotes, who had possess'd his mind with large opinions concerning the extent of his own Authority, and would often say that a Master could doe no Wrong to his Servants, because they are suppos'd by the Nature of their Condition to have subjected their Wills to their Masters Commands without Reserve. The frequent Repetition of such Speeches induc'd one of his Servants, who presum'd to understand his Master's Power better then he himself did, to dispute with one of his fellow-servants concerning the Unlimitedness of Magisterial Authority, and to urge against it that no Master could justly claim such an absolute Command; [Page] but that if he requir'd of his Servant any thing which was inconsistent with his Obedience to God or Allegiance to his Prince, he might think himself greatly wrong'd, and ought not to doe what was commanded, and yet have a sufficient Warrant for his Disobedience. Streblodespotes being acquainted with this Discourse resolved to kill his Servant; but he understanding his Master's purpose by one whom he had spoken to for his assistance in the Execution of it, ran away to prevent his Danger. One Cacodulus, another of his Men, who had as extravagant Principles for a Servant as Streblodespotes had for a Master, did not only justifie the Prudence of his Fellow-servant that was gone, but protested, if it had been his Case, he would have stay'd and taken another course. How do you prove that to be lawful? said one of Streblodespotes his slaves which stood by. Thus, answer'd Cacodulus; We were taken Captives, and because our Master might have kill'd us if he had pleas'd, we promis'd to serve him whilst we liv'd if he would not put us to death: But since he hath entertain'd us he both makes us perform very hard service, and sometimes puts us in Chains; and therefore I suppose we are free from any Obligation to our Promise. I think so too, said the other slave; and since we have no hopes of Freedom till our Master be dead, let us redeem our selves with his Life. Both agreeing in this Resolution, they watch'd a fit Opportunity, and kill'd him. Some, which saw what was done, endeavour'd to apprehend them; they did what they could to defend themselves. Whilst the Contest lasted, a Captain of a Galley happen'd to come by who was a friend to Streblodespotes, and having demanded of the slaves a Reason of their Action, one of them replied, Our Master was infinitely severe in his Commands, and said he could doe us no wrong what tasks soever he set us, or what Punishments soever he inflicted, because his Dominion over us was gain'd after the same manner by which Men subdue Beasts; and we thought we might, as soon as we could, re-gain our Liberty, Right according to his own Law depending merely upon greater Strength. It may be so, said the Captain; [Page] and since I have more Power then you, I will take punishment of you for the Death of my friend; and immediately commanded his Servants to kill them.

Here Philalethes interrupting his Servant, and turning to Bentivolio and Amyntor, said, I did easily foresee that such as these or worse Mischiefs would soon happen under the forlorn Government of Antitheus; and ask'd his Servant if he did not see Antitheus. Only once as he pass'd by in a Coach I saw him through the Glass of my Chamber-Window, replied his Servant; for he doth seldom go abroad, and never without a very strong Guard, alwayes fearing lest some of Alethion's friends should stab him. Philalethes ask'd him how he was reported to spend his time. He answer'd, Much after that manner which Sardanapalus us'd in [...]. Who are his usual Companions? said Philalethes. As I was inform'd I will acquaint you, replied his Servant, for I durst not venture into the Castle. He hath made Pasenantius and Antholkes his Principal Secretaries, Dogmapornes is his Favorite, Panthnetus is the Steward of his House, Philedones his Treasurer, Asynetus his Chief Justice, Autautus is the Captain of his Guard, and his Brother Proselenus is his Lieutenant: Psychopannyx, Saprobius, and Udemellon are of his Bed-chamber: Medenarete is his Minion, Astromantis with his inseparable Companion Thaumaturgus are his Physicians; Scepticus, Hypsagoras and Antigraphus are generall Buffoons to them all. I hear also that one Hieromimus lately come to town hopes, by the Intercession of Hypsagoras, to be entertain'd by Antitheus, and that Anopheles doth much favour him. Gastrimargus, Cantharus and Aphrodisius are all preferr'd by Philedones. This is all that I could learn in Polistherion. Philalethes said nothing, only shak'd his head, and bade his servant withdraw. When he was gone, Bentivolio desired Philalethes that besides his pardon for their former troublesomeness, he would please to oblige himself and Amyntor with a short Character of the foremention'd Persons, adding, that upon the hearing of their odde Names he could not but imagine that they were observable for some singular Qualities.

I shall willingly doe it, said Philalethes. Pasenantius is a man [Page] of a most perverse Disposition, and so is Antholkes: they both take a great delight in contradicting what others assert, and think nothing well said or done but by Antitheus and themselves: they are very agreeable to his Humour, because they have a rare faculty in minting new Words and Phrases, of which Antitheus makes no small use; for by expunging all known Terms, he hopes to extinguish all receiv'd Opinions, and to introduce his new Philosophy into the World. But his Expectations have a very weak Foundation; for it is observ'd that after he hath taken much pains to divulge some hidden Mystery in strange Sentences, he hath been found only to have wrapp'd up a Falshood in unusual Terms, or to have obscur'd some common Notion which every Novice understood as soon as he had enter'd the first confines of Study, and could have express'd in better Words. Shall I give you a taste of his Variations by which he hath advanc'd a Philosophical Ignorance? For God, he hath put Nature; for Providence, Chance; for Creation, Eternal Vicissitude; for Prescience, Fate; for Liberty, Omnipotence; for Contingency, Necessity; for Possible, Future; for History, Mystery; for Cruelty, Justice; for Discourse, Contradiction; for Philosopher, Dictator; for Hypocrisie, Wisdom; for Religion, Mockery; for Theology, Atheism.

Of Dogmapornes you have heard something already, and of his Unworthy Opinions concerning the Divine Providence, in the story of Apronaeus: he hath many more of the same nature, for which, as being very fit to be entertain'd in Brothel-Houses, but worthy to be banish'd from all Civil Societies, because they send down a mischievous influence upon Humane Life, he was call'd Dogmapornes. I have often fansied that his Countenance doth very much resemble the Air of the rebellious Giants, and that he is much of that Disposition which did so corrupt the Manners of the old World, that Almighty God was provok'd to [...] them with a Deluge. If ever Apostate Angels begot Children upon Lascivious Women, he may well be thought to have come of that Race.

Autautus would have us believe that the World made it, [Page] self, or at least did of it self Eternally exist in loose Atoms, and that after many wild encounters the jumbled particles, as if they were playing at the ancient sport of Oscillation, did at last luckily throw themselves into that infinite number of rare figures of which this World consists. Proselenus is of the same opinion, and is usually very troublesome to the Company where he happens to be, with strange stories of Men whom he affirms to have been fifty thousand years older then the Moon; and hath fram'd many fabulous Tales of Eve's Great Grand-mother, whose Father, as he says, was call'd Praeadamita. He affirms also, almost in the same words with the Atheist of Florence, that we should have certainly known the Customs and Accidents of the former World, but that a great Deluge happen'd in Adam's time, by which all the Records of the foregoing Ages were destroy'd, and no Persons preserv'd but Adam and his Wife, two Mountainous Shepherds; and that Adam, to gain the Glory of being reputed the first Father of a new World (a strange Ambition to seize upon the thoughts of a poor Shepherd) agreed with his Wife to conceal the knowledge of that which was destroy'd from their Children: by which means it came to pass, as he guesses, that we have only the notice of about five or six thousand years time; but supposes that Adam's Posterity did find some Remembrances of another State, yet, to support the Honour of their Family, reckon'd them but Fabulous Devices made by some of their Predecessours.

Philedones is one wholly devoted to a Voluptuous Life, of which he hath made choice as his only Happiness, as he saith, merely in Imitation of the Exemplary Vertues of the Epicurean Gods, who rejecting the troublesome Cares of this lower World, doe nothing but feast themselves in Heaven. He was inclin'd to Sensuality by his Natural Complexion; but when he doubted a Man was made for more noble purposes then those of which a Swine is capable, he was confirm'd in his way by two of his Companions, Panthnetus and Udemellon, who made him believe that Men have no Souls, but that as they are born and grow like [Page] Beasts, so they wax old and die as they do, and are not accomptable in another World for what they doe in this. When he put this scruple to them, But what if the Soul should be Immortal? You need not fear that, said they; for if Souls, supposing that there are such things, did not perish with their Bodies, they would be so thick crowded together in the other World, that some of them would have been glad of the Errand to come and tell Atheists of their Errour, and reprove them for speaking against their Existence. With such foolish Arguments they have perswaded poor Philedones to believe that all Felicity is in Pleasure, and that only to be measur'd by the Belly; and with the help of Gastrimargus, Cantharus and Aphrodisius, whom he hath made Purveyours for his inordinate Appetites, he is so improv'd in Luxury, that he will not eat without a Deaths-Head hung over the Table, nor drink but in a Priapus, and will have none to present his Ambrosia but a Ganymede. He repents of nothing but the Time which when he was young he lost in serious Studies; and to signifie to the World that he is a real Convert, he hath declar'd that he will have no Remembrance after Death, but a Monument made after the fashion of that Statue which Sardanapalus had at Anchiala, and this Epitaph upon his Tomb, HERE LIES ALL PHILEDONES.

Psychopannyx creates his Companions some disturbance, for he contends that the Soul is a substance distinct from the Body, and shall awake again, though it sleep a while in the state of Separation, being not able to live out of the Body: but because he was in some doubt whether the Soul, having snor'd many hundreds or thousands of years without so much as any Dream of Life or Sense, will not afterwards be unable to know it self again, they were content to take him into their Company as an Honest Heretick: but of late Udemellon hath made him much more acceptable, for, as the only way to make him hope to escape the Punishment of a Wicked Life, he hath perswaded him to be of his Opinion, That there is no Judgment to come, and that the Resurrection is a mere Fable.

[Page] Asynetus is one whose part in this Infernal Tragedy is, with a scurrilous boldness to traduce the notion of Conscience; and he hath acted it so to the Life, that those which have seen him have imagin'd that he hath often stab'd that tender part of his Soul: But some that know his Constitution say, that such a callous Matter is grown round about his heart, that no Dagger will pierce it. He doth teach Men to take off the sense of Sin by committing it often; that is, to contract an Habitual Impenitency by a frequent Repetition of Wicked Actions, and to rifle the Native Modesty of their Souls, by adding greater Crimes to smaller Sins: herein following the damn'd Example of those Traitours who make it their Excuse for committing the highest Villanies, that they have already done such as can be defended by no other Means. He hath utterly spoil'd a young Gentleman call'd Saprobius, whom he hath made a miserable Spectacle of a Vicious Life; Sin hath done its utmost upon him, having now left him nothing but a despairing Soul in a putrid Body. I look at him as irrecoverably lost, because he is mortified to all sense of Ingenuous Principles; by which means he hath broken off from himself those Handles by which God doth take hold of us, and seems to have murther'd those friendly Guardians which God hath appointed to reduce such as think to free themselves from their Obedience by a rebellious Flight.

Medenarete is a She-Philosopher, and so in many respects acceptable to Antitheus. Her Opinions are very conformable to Saprobius his Practices: She esteems Vertue nothing but Words, Laws the Opinions of Men in Power; She denies that there are any Eternal Rules of Righteousness, which took their Original only from God, or that there are any Indispensable Principles of Good and Evil, or that God hath written any Laws upon Humane Nature in any other sense, but that Vertue and Vice are determinable by the Customs of divers Countries, and Holy Rules variable according to different Fancies of several Ages or Persons: That Religious Constitutions are only founded in the Wills of Princes, and Piety supported by the Credulity of the Ignorant [Page] Vulgar, and the Obedience of such as are forc'd to doe what they are commanded. She doth boldly affirm that it is only a Rustick Bashfulness, or else a Cowardly Fear, that hinders Men and Women from saying or doing any thing when they are out of the reach of the Law; and that what is abhorr'd by all the World as most Evil, would become Good if it pleas'd those who have Authority to determine so; and that what is generally embrac'd as naturally Good because it agrees with the Common Principles of all Mankind, would become Evil, and ought to be rejected as Wicked, if the Laws of Men did appoint so. This is that brave Medenarete with whom Antitheus is infinitely inamour'd.

What Astromant is is you may partly guesse by those wild Notions of Fantastical Astrology, of which you have heard something in the Prince's Discourse with Diaporon. His Custom is to tell strange Stories, and to pretend an extraordinary Ability to doe great Matters by reason of his peculiar acquaintance with the Stars; which he esteems the principal Ability of a Physician, and absolutely necessary to one that hopes to be successful. Thaumaturgus is a Jack-pudding to the Mountebank, and goes along in his Company muchwhat with the same Grace that the Monkey doth with the Bears. I will not trouble you with any longer Description of him, you will quickly hear of him in Polistherion. Anopheles is an intimate friend of Astromantis: he is wholly taken up with making of Talismans, i.e. useless Images imboss'd or ingraven in Stone, Wood or Metall, under certain Constellations, made to represent some Celestial Planet or Conjunction of Stars; that is, bearing the Figure of those living Creatures which are describ'd in the Heavens, and especially in the Zodiack, which hath its name from them. These being thus compos'd, as he saith, receive a Power from above; for the Stars being much taken with the Resemblance of their Figures, send down potent Influences upon those small pieces of Stone, Wood or Metall, which they not only retain themselves, but are also able to impart to other Matters of the same Figure, as to a piece of Clay or Wax [Page] taking an Impression from them. His Talismans thus made doe, as he would make us to believe, in a natural and constant way strange Wonders: as for Example, They drive away Serpents and Rats from Cities, cure those which are bitten by mad Dogs or stung by Scorpions, chase away hurtful Insects out of Fields, as Locusts and Caterpillars, and deliver people from the Pestilence and all Contagions of the Air; nothing of all this depending upon any Conversation with Spirits, which he esteems Fancies.

Thus, as he says, he hath reviv'd the old Art by which the Jews made Teraphims, and the Arabians and Egyptians fram'd Statues according to the Rules of Astrology and Natural Magick, and having fetch'd down the Spirits of the Stars, imprison'd them in these Shrines much after the same manner that Daemons are said to be included in Humane Bodies, by which means their Talismans of Brasse and Stone do move and speak, and resolve those Questions which are propounded to them: I suppose Roger Bacon's Brazen head was some such thing. By this Art the Brachmans, whom we must not think to have been Magicians, made Boys of Brass, which serv'd in their Meat, and fill'd Wine to the Table when they entertain'd Apollonius. It may be that by a Resemblance of this rare Philosophy the Laplanders make Iron Frogs, which hop upon a little Drum whose Head is fill'd with many barbarous Characters drawn with bloud, and as they rest upon different Figures enable those which look upon them to divine concerning Wind and Weather, and direct them concerning Fishing and Hunting. Why may not the Laplanders fansy some of the Figures in [...] Zodiack to be Frogs, as easily as others can see Fishes there? Who knows but the Piper of Halberstade was of this Profession, and had some Talismans in his Pocket when he drove the Rats into the River and the Boys into the Hill? Thus Nectanabo, a glorious Instance of this Heavenly Skill, made Ships of Wax, no doubt under the Influences of Argo, and then drown'd them, by which means he sunk those of his Enemies; as Witches make Images of wax under some Malignant Aspect, and then prick them with Pins or melt [Page] them, when they would afflict or destroy those persons which are represented by them.

As Experience doth manifest the Truth of these Effects, so he says the Reason is evident from the Nature of Resemblance, which draws the Power of the Stars to Bodies which are imprinted with like Figures to themselves; imagining vainly that, because some Inanimate things do bear the Images of others that have Life, that the Figure doth both form the Matter, because Toads are sometimes found in the midst of a firm stone, and give it Operation, because Plants are sometimes Medicinal to that Member of Humane Bodies which they resemble: not considering that those small particles of Matter which have a Vegetative Power are also endued with a plastick Virtue, by which they form themselves into those Figures which are suitable to their Natures. So the Seminal Atoms which are preserv'd in the Ashes of a Rose in a Glass, are rais'd through the assistance of Fire into the colour and figure which the Flower had before it was reduc'd to Powder. He doth not mind also that many things which are mark'd have no Operation upon those living Creatures to which they are like; and that where they have, it is God's care of our Good, who by these external Signatures hath given us notice of the Virtue which he hath put into the Nature of things: as by the red Drops which are visible in the Stone call'd Heliotropium, he hath shew'd us with what we may stop bloud, and without which Natural power the Figure which he talks of would doe no more good, then soft Butter will stab a man being made up in the Figure of a Dagger. But that which he says concerning their deriving a power from above by the similitude which they have of some Celestial Figure, is most ridiculous; for who knows not, that hath ever look'd upon the face of the Heavens, that the Scorpion in the Zodiack is no more like the Scorpion in the Earth then a Cat; and that the sign call'd Aries resembles a Bull as much as a Ram? And what thing is so different from another, but they will be able to reconcile it in their great Fancy, who imagine the Seven Stars to be a good picture of [Page] a Bear? So a Jewish Astrologer pretending to reade the Destinies of Kingdoms in the position of the Stars, form'd each Star into such a Character as fitted the Notions which he would have express'd by the word which was to be made up of them; and another possess'd with a different Imagination makes other Figures of them, and so spells the same Stars into other Syllables, and at last reads them into a quite contrary sense to the former.

But Anopheles supplying the Defect of Real similitude with Imaginary, is so abus'd with this idle Fancy, that he thinks those men to have but a weak Faith and small Learning, that do not believe that all such as are born under the sign of the Ram will be meek like Sheep, and those which had the Lion for their sign will be valiant. So all that had the ill luck to be born under the Dart of Sagittarius must be kill'd; and all those suffer Shipwreck whose Nativity was so dispos'd by the Bucket of Aquarius. He tells the World that all and only such as receive influence from Virgo in their Birth, shall have disshevel'd Hair, be Beautiful and Modest, and have no Children; giving us leave to infer that no Ethiopian, no Mother, no Whore ever had the Virgin in their Horoscope.

I should have wonder'd that any man could found a Belief of such strange things upon so weak Principles, but that I remember how this vain Resemblance fansied against all sober Reason hath abus'd conceited people in other Cases. So Ananias Jerancurius thought he could explain the Prophecies of Daniel and St. John by the Figures of two Fishes which were taken up not very long since, one upon the Coast of Norway, the other of Pomerania; which he might undertaken as rationally, as another could perswade himself that we are to reckon just so many years from the Death of our Saviour to the World's End, as there are Verses in David's Psalter. Thus some have pretended under a pleasant Influence from some jocund Constellation, to frame a piece of Iron which should make a Woman that pass'd over it to laugh and sing; and have boasted that from a sad Planet, I suppose it must be Saturn, they will draw such a [Page] Melancholick influence into a Load-stone, that being laid under the bed of a Woman that is not Chaste, it will make her talk in her sleep and confess her sins, or fall out of her bed, especially if she put off her left shoe before her right.

I am glad, said Philalethes continuing his Discourse, that these Fancies make you merry; (for Bentivolio and Amyntor could not forbear laughing) I was afraid you would have been wearied, for I made my story the longer because Anopheles will not converse freely with such as you are, and takes a great pride in concealing the Mysteries of his Admirable Art, and will by no means profane them or expose them to Contempt by Communication: for the supposeth they are Curiosities unheardof before his time, and which none knows but himself. But since your Patience holds out so well, I will also give you an accompt of Scepticus. He is one of the Buffoons general to this wild Company, and hath accustomed himself so long to believe or dis-believe any thing, that he is now not much unlike those people who, having lost their Palate by the Malignity of some Disease, are not able to distinguish the various Relishes of good or bad Meat. His chief Employment is to make a strange kind of Balance according to some Rules which he hath receiv'd from one Pyrrho, and his hopes are, that when it is finish'd he shall by this rare Instrument be able to bring Truth and Falshood to an AEquilibrium. He is assisted in this Design by Hypsagoras and Antigraphus. He hath lately open'd a new Academy, in which he reads weekly Lectures out of three Books which he hath written (call'd Labyrinths) concerning the Art of Dis-believing all things. In the First he asserts, That there is Nothing: In the Second, That though there be something, yet it is not Comprehensible by men: In the Third, That though we do understand some things, yet we cannot explain them to others. He hath two Orders of Scholars: those which are of a lower Rank he calls Degrues, which are such weak Wits that they doubt concerning most things which others assent to. Upon the other which are of a higher Form he hath bestow'd the Title of Forts Esprits, whom by his Artifices he [Page] hath brought to that Perfection, that they believe Nothing. They are so valiant, that they will talk in Defiance of their own Faculties, and are able to swallow the greatest Contradiction as easily as a Hector can drink a Frog in a Glasse of Wine. They make no question but a Part may be as big as the Whole, and that, for any thing we know, Men may be and not be at once; or, which is all one to them, they may be dead when they think themselves alive. Hypsagoras is one of his chief Proselytes, and speaks infinitely in the praise of his Master, preferring him before all the Philosophers that ever were in the World except Pyrrho: despiseth those which say they find in their Souls connate Notions of Truth and Falshood, and a natural sense of Good and Evil; and rejects the most approv'd and general Sentiments of Mankind: says, that all Discourse is but the Sentences of Blind men concerning Colours, and Industry is but mens Inquiry after they know not what; and that it is as certain that men have no Criterion to discern by, as it is a great doubt whether there be any Men or no. He will swear often (for he accompts Oaths as necessary Ornaments of Gentile Speech) that we cannot distinguish the brightest Day from the darkest Night, and that no man can tell when he is awake. He affirms, that if men do but speak boldly and make a noise with great words, that Nonsense is as good as Sense, and that

The gentle Whale whose Feet so fell

Flie o're the Mountains Tops,

is as good a Poem as any Ode in Horace; that Ovid's Metamorphoses is as true as Polybius his History, and that Tom Thumb is a Book altogether as useful as Plutarch or Seneca. He supposeth Stones do understand as much as Men, and that pieces of Wood can speak, but they are sullen and will not. In short, he asserts that we ought to believe Nothing, and that he doth not believe himself.

Scepticus hath seduc'd many young Wits into his Academy, and hath gratified the Licentiousness to which their Age is but too prone with such pleasing Principles, that he [Page] hath made himself an absolute Master of their Souls, and they have sworn unreserv'd Obedience to his Orders.

I remember, a Gentleman riding with him upon the Rode, and hearing him often say that we are sure of Nothing, told him that his words did include a Contradiction; for if we know that we know nothing, we are sure that we are Ignorant. This Argument doth not prove what you desire, replied Hypsagoras, for it is but like a Purging Potion, which expelling many Humours doth withall carry away it self. I rather think, said the Gentleman, that it is a Counter-poison, which freeing the Soul from the dangerous Infection of an irrational Incredulity, restores the Mind as it works to so much health, that it is able to conclude that it knows at least its own Ignorance, and so makes an Antidote of Venome: The Argument proving it self by this means of as good Effect to the Soul as our Bodies find of Physick, which when it is purg'd away leaves us in a more healthful condition. But there are better Arguments against brutish Unbelief, and I should wonder what hinders their operation in you, said the Gentleman continuing his Discourse; but that I know your Sect is extremely distemper'd with a strong Connexion of Ignorance and Pride, which is manifest, besides divers other things, in this, that you would have us believe you that we ought to believe none.

Discreet Persons have left off to dispute with Scepticus and his Disciples, knowing that it is to no purpose to talk to such as obstinately deny the most evident things in the World. Some years since we wondred at a strange story which was told us of a Village in Africk, whose Inhabitants were all said to be petrefied; but now I think it is no such great matter, since I have seen men in our own Country transform'd so far into a degenerous Nature, that they are mortified to Common sense. I will tell you a Trick which was lately put upon Isosthenes, one of Scepticus his Admirers, at a Gentlemans House whose name is Antisthenes, by a witty Youth who waited at the Table where he was at Dinner. The Youth had heard him talk as he thought very absurdly, [Page] That our Knowledge is so imperfect, that we are not assured of any thing; and resolving to venture a beating by making a waggish trial whether Isosthenes did believe what he said, or spoke only in a way of proud contradiction to the sense of all the World, he procur'd two of his Fellow-Servants to assist him in his Design. His Device was this; When Isosthenes call'd for Wine, he gave him a Glasse of Vinegar; which when Isosthenes had tasted, What (saith he) dost thou abuse me, Boy? I ask'd for Wine. And I gave you Wine, said the Youth. No, replied Isosthenes, this is Vinegar. Do not believe that, Sir, said the Youth, it is Wine. It is so, said his Associates, for we saw him fill it. Ha! said Isosthenes with a passionate Air, shall I not believe my self? The smell is not that of Wine, the colour is very different, and the taste quite contrary. Sir, replied the Youth, our Senses deceive us; for any thing that I know, Vinegar and Wine are the same, I have no faculty by which I can distinguish one from the other. I beseech you be not displeas'd with me, for it is my unhappiness that I do not know any sign by which I may be assur'd what Liquor is Wine, what is not, or whether there be any Wine or other Liquor in the World. Isosthenes was not a little angry, for he saw himself abus'd, and was the more vex'd because the Company laugh'd at him; for whilst the Youth defended himself by disputing against him with his own Arguments, they were much pleas'd to see how cunningly he had insnar'd him, and made him endure the practice of his own Rules. But Antisthenes, to appease the wrath of Isosthenes, prudently told him that it was below him to be angry at a saucy Boy, and order'd the Youth to be carried forth and beaten for his Presumption; though in his Mind he approv'd his fault, knowing that besides these which his Servant had us'd, there are no other means to reduce such obstinate Dissemblers to their Right Mind, except burning Coals or good Cudgels. This Isosthenes, amongst his other Fooleries, used to dispute against Motion, and pleas'd himself with this trifling Sophism to make good his Opinion; If any thing be in Motion, it must be moved either in the [Page] place where it is, or where it is not. It is not moved in the place where it is, for there it rests: And it cannot move in the place where it is not, for how can any thing act in the place where it is not? It happen'd as he rode one day out of the City he fell from his Horse, and having put his Shoulder out of joynt, he was forc'd to betake himself to Sotericus, a noble Chirurgion, and to desire his help. Sotericus having heard of his Humour, resolv'd to make himself some sport with Isosthenes, and told him that his Shoulder was in the right place, and that it was impossible for his or any other mans to be dislocated; alleging that no bone could be put out of joynt but by moving out of the place in which it was, or in which it was not; neither of which are possible. Isosthenes seeing himself jeer'd, pray'd Sotericus to use no Arguments in that Point with one that was necessitated to dis-believe them by the great Pain which he felt, and also a disability to use his Arm. Very well, replied Sotericus; since you are convinc'd of your Folly in arguing against Motion by the dislocation of a Bone, I will confirm you in your right Mind by putting it into its place again.

I have now, proceeded Philalethes, given you the Characters of all Antitheus his Companions, except Antigraphus, and I must not omit him; for as he joyns with Scepticus and Hypsagor as in decrying the Conduct of Natural Reason, so he hath a particular delight in vilifying the Assurances of Divine Revelation. His common Sport is to jeer at Religion, and he thinks they have but a foolish Wit who scruple to make a Jest of any thing. He says that Protagor as was but a Cowardly Fellow, because he did not write more positively, and reviles the Athenians for burning his Books; only he says they did something expiate their Crime by giving Hemlock to that troublesome Moralist Socrates. He is deputed by Antitheus to quarrel with all Books which contradict the Opinions and Practices of his Sect, especially to disparage the Authority of the Holy Gospel: which he endeavours sometimes by taking occasion, where none is given, to blame the Matter, sometimes he dislikes the Style; [Page] sometimes he falls foul upon the Author, sometimes reviles his Scribes; sometimes he pretends an incongruity in the Historical Narrations, at other times he vilifies the Rational sense: Being unable to distinguish between seeming Differences and real Contradictions, or to explain things which are obscurely express'd, he puts the dishonour of his own Imperfections upon others, and accuseth the Holy Writers sometimes of Falshood, alwayes of Ignorance. Sometimes he quotes the personal Infirmities of some Writers which they have confess'd, and makes what he had never known but that they told him, Objections against their Books; expressing Malice where they have only shewn Ingenuity: for it was not Imprudence but Humility in them to acknowledge their own Weaknesses, whose Design was not to doe Honour to themselves, but to serve their Great Master; and made it impossible for generous persons to think that they would lie in his behalf, when they spoke true against their own Interest.

Sometimes he abuseth that Holy Book by taking single Words and pieces of Sentences out of several places, and putting them together, as if he were making a Cento Biblicus: by this means forcing them to express a Ridiculous sense, which those Divine Leaves abhor, and endeavouring to make others think that they favour absurd things, though whosoever turns them over knows that if they mention them in one place, they condemn them in twenty. But such Unworthiness doth become one that hath taken some of the Fragments of Celsus, the worst leaves in Lucian, and having bound them together with some of the most putrid pieces of Vaninus, Aretine and Rablais, hath made them his Bible.

In the height of his Impudence he forgeth blasphemous Cavils against the Unspotted Innocence, the Perfect Goodness and Unparallel'd Prudence of the Great Prince Anaxanacton, and asperseth his Discipline as a thing founded in Ignorance, and which exposeth those which entertain it to scorn and injury; wilfully neglecting to see that which is visible to all that can reade, That as Anaxanacton was the [Page] Mirrour of absolute Perfection in his own Example, so his Gospel is full of wise Counsels and prudent Rules; that it is adorn'd with the noblest Explications of Vertue, and doth so much tend to the Melioration of the World, that no Method was before discover'd which in any respect could be equall'd with it; and hath so fully spoken to all important Cases, that nothing can be added to make it more complete or useful; and hath its Credibility so strongly supported, that no other Book can come into Competition, nor any Caviller be successefully Malicious: Its Divine Authority being first signified by Prophecy and Miracles, and the Truth of what is said in Honour of it confirm'd by Universal Tradition.

One thing I should wonder at, but that I can admire nothing which Antigraphus sayes, since I know what he is; which is, that he should prevail with himself to affirm, as he doth in one of his scurrilous Books, That the Founders of Christian Religion had never establish'd their Doctrines, but that among other Devices they burnt the Books of the Heathen Poets and Historians, and destroy'd the Memorials of the Gentile Theology. Here the Atheist was so unlearn'd that he had never read, or so malicious that he would not remember, that the ancient Patrons of Christianity were Persons accomplish'd with all Humane Literature, and both made use of the Heathen Books as very fit Instruments to overthrow their Idolatrous Opinions and Worship, and resented it as a great Oppression when the Doors of those Schools where such Books were taught were shut against their Children; and were so far from endeavouring to destroy any Registers of Antiquity, that one of the most Learn'd of all the Heathen Emperours us'd all possible means to be made Master of the Library of a Christian Bishop after his death, knowing it was well furnish'd with such as he esteem'd Excellent Authors: and that those Fathers of the Christian Church recorded nothing false in their own Histories, is manifest, in that they appeal'd from them in their Apologies to the Annals of their Enemies.

[Page] But this Impostor not much caring what he said, having falsly accus'd the Christians of unhandsome Practices, would alleviate it by saying, that the Heathens deserv'd to be so us'd, because the Professours of Gentilism had practis'd the same Arts against the Sect which went before it. Perversly imagining (for he never had any Evidence for his bold Assertion, but good Records of the contrary,) That it could not be otherwise, since, as he suppos'd, the Sects must needs change often in long Periods of time; and those he fansied as long as he pleas'd; and thought he had abundantly proved what he said by a quotation of a later Date, i. e. That Christianism hath destroy'd Judaism, and the Religion of the Turks hath overthrown Christianity. Which Argument is only a story guilty of manifest Falshood: for Christianity did only reform Judaism, which confess'd it self to be but a Temporary Mode of Worship, and by reason of many Imperfections capable of being improv'd; and that Turcism hath vanquish'd Christianity is no more true, then that the Turk is Master of all Christendom.

Here, said Philalethes, I have good reason to make an end of speaking, for I have troubled you with too prolix Descriptions of Unworthy Persons. Bentivolio and Amyntor, sensible of their engagement to Philalethes, gave him thanks, and being much amaz'd at his Report, thought that this Country, if any in the World, deserv'd to be call'd Theriagene; but by the Prudence and Civility which they saw in Philalethes, they perceiv'd that the Apostasy was not General, and upon his invitation stay'd at his House a few days, both to relieve the Solitude of such an Excellent Person with their Conversation, and to enjoy that Felicity in his Company which they expected not in any other part of Theriagene. But the Sympathy which they had with the afflicted state of the most Princely Alethion, and the Misery which the better part of his Kingdom suffered with him, made Bentivolio resolve to depart towards Polistherion, both to satisfie himself as to the extents of a strange Calamity, & to inform himself whether there were yet any Possibilities of Deliverance. He thought he might undertake this with less suspicion, [Page] since he travell'd through the Country as a mere Stranger: and lest he should make himself a more unfit Instrument to put his purposes in Execution, he took a more speedy leave of Philalethes, and with his faithful Companion Amyntor begun his Journey towards Polistherion, desiring to know the Persons whom he had already seen in Picture, and to view the Country it self of which Philalethes had given him such an exact Landskip.

The End of the Fifth Book.

[Page] THE SIXTH BOOK: OR, ELENCHUS.

[Page]

THe second day after King Alethion and his Companions departed from Misopseudes his House, they arrived upon the Borders of Theoprepia. They were forc'd to lodge one Night in a Desert peopled only with wild Beasts, and to guard themselves against their harmful Approches by encompassing themselves with Fires. This Wilderness was made horrid upon one side with the dark shades of old Trees, and on the other with vast Precipices, and the Noise of a Roaring Sea which doth perpetually beat upon the Rocks with mighty Waves. Here they reliev'd themselves with Meat and Wine which they carried with them. The next day about Noon they came to the famous Cave Phylace, situate not far from the Sea-side. Alethion having heard strange things related concerning it, did much desire to see if the Truth was answerable to the Report. The Mouth of this Den open'd into a passage so full of Horror and Darkners, that they durst not resolve presently to make an entrance into it. Whilst they remain'd in Doubt, an Old man, who got a small living by guiding Strangers through the Meanders of that Vault, came toward them with a Dark Lantern and some Torches, offering them his Assistance; and having lighted his Tapers, and distributed them according to the Number of those who were to go in, [Page] he led them the way: They follow'd, being encourag'd by the boldness of their Guide; and he was not afraid, having made the Danger familiar by Custom. The Passages were rough, and much like to those broken Stairs which are usually seen in the ruinous Walls of an old Castle. When they had gone about a hundred paces, sometimes climbing upward, sometimes creeping downward, and often winding about; they came to a place which had the Resemblance of a large Hall, and seem'd to be hollow'd out of the Rock, whose Roof was supported with Natural Arches and Pillars. Through this they came to another Room which had the fashion of an old Chappel: upon the sides of it they saw many Images of Living Creatures rudely emboss'd, and in the middle some hung down being fastned to the Roof; which whether they were of moist Earth petrefied or Water congeal'd to Stone, they were an Ornament not unsuitable to the Place. The Horror of this dark Solitude was much encreas'd by the murmuring Noise of a River, whose Stream passing under many hollow Caverns through streight places where it was [...] up by too narrow a Chanel, made a sound not altogether unlike to grones: The water, as far as they could discern by their Torch-light, was of the same colour with Iron. Alethion and his friends were struck with no small Admiration at this strange sight; and whilst every one was conjecturing at the Design of this Disconsolate Mansion, I think, said Alethion, that it hath been an under-ground Temple consecrated to Melancholy, or some Hermitage where Despair hath us'd to dwell, or else a dark Prison where guilty Souls have been shut up and made to endure a kind of Hell. You would more confidently pronounce what you say, replied the Old man who was their Guide, if you knew what I have seen in a remote corner of this Vault. What have you observ'd? said Alethion. Things so extraordinary, said the Guide, that I am afraid you will hardly give credit to the report when I tell you. Possibly, answer'd the King, you may bring us to the place, and then our Eyes will take away our Unbelief. No, replied the Old man; if I could, I durst [Page] not: for I was soundly beaten for my boldness, and charg'd no more to disturb the privacy of the Mysteries which were perform'd in that Place: but as one who not long since would needs venture the same way told me, a great part of a Rock is fallen down, and hath stopt the Passage which led to that Dungeon, by which means for some years none have been able to see or hear any thing. Then let us understand what we may by your Relation, said the King. I shall obey your Command in that, said the Old man, and proceeded after this manner. As I often came into this Place to conduct those who desired to see it, so I went sometimes alone into the innermost Hollowness of the Vault, to satisfie my own Curiosity: and coming one day by a troublesome Descent to a low Grate, I saw by the light of a small Lamp a Spectacle so miserable, that I can never think upon it without Dread: and as your Eyes tell you that I am but too lively an Image of one that hath been affrighted, so by my discourse you will understand the reason of my wan looks. Through Iron Bars which denied all other entrance but of mine Eyes, I beheld such Objects as I never desire to see again, Men and Women whose Flesh was so wasted and their Skin so discoloured, that their Bodies seem'd to be only dry Bones inclos'd in black Sackcloth. Their Eyes were sunk into their Heads, and stared wildly; their Faces were pale like those which are macerated with want of Meat; some with their Teeth tore from their Arms those small parcels of Flesh which were yet remaining upon them: and they perform'd this after such a desperate manner, that it was manifest they endeavour'd rather to express a Rage then to satisfie Hunger. Some lay upon the Dirty ground tied back to back, others were chain'd to Posts with heavy Fetters; some were stretched upon painful Racks, and others laid upon hot Gridirons: Some made me Weep to hear their Sighs; All forc'd me to Sigh to see their Tears. I turn'd my Eye no where but I saw fresh occasions to excite an unspeakable Compassion. Some ran up and down distracted, and talk'd of Honour; Some struck their Heads against the sides of the Rock, and [Page] curs'd their Riches; Some had Books of Accompts recited and deliver'd to them, which they threw away with a thousand Expressions of Despair and Wrath. Some sate upon the ground with their Arms a-cross, and seem'd to be infinitely amaz'd when they were told what pains they had taken to bring themselves to this Misery; and others, who were near them, tore wider the Wounds which bled already, by reproching them as Causes of their Unhappiness too. In other places I saw some hang down their Heads and Curse their mad Obstinacy, and after a howling manner say, What? could nothing but Hell make us believe that there is a God? Are these intolerable pains the price of our Sins? Lord! at how dear a rate have we bought a little pleasure? Did those who yet see the Light of the Sun but know to what a filthy Dungeon we are confin'd, they would no longer live in a Voluptuous carelesness, trifling away their Time, as we did; nor think any thing too great to doe, or too hard to suffer, to secure themselves from falling into this Infernal Pit, where old Mother Night, Original Darkness, Darkness that may be felt, dwells. Sure it was out of this Magazine of cursed Shades that the Afflicting Angel borrow'd that Pitchy Mist which blinded and [...] the Egyptians, and here in this Store-house of Plagues he repos'd it again to our Unspeakable Torment. Is there no Hope for the Damned? Did those who dispute so eagerly concerning the Duration of our Miseries feel what we suffer, they would think every Day a Year, a Year an Age, an Age Eternity. O Annihilation! how desirable art thou to such as are oppress'd with a Being unsufferably tormented? We have heard some say, That they had rather be any thing then Nothing: A short stay in this place would make them change their Opinion. Would to God we had never been, or could yet cease to be. But we wish Impossibilities, being condemn'd to live an Immortal Death.

I will trouble you no further, said the good Old man, with a Repetition of calamitous Words, only before you return I will shew you the outermost Passage which led towards [Page] that Mournful place. It is barr'd up, as I told you, upon the In-side with the Ruines of a Rock. Whilst they were viewing the out-side of it, Alethion spied an Inscription over the Door, and causing his Attendants to advance their Lights, he read these following Verses.

This is the Prison of Apostate Souls.

Within this Iron Grate Vengeance controuls

The Pride of Rebels, fetter'd in such Chains

As Justice makes by linking Sins to Pains.

Accompts are justed Here: Bold Debtours Now

Are forc'd to pay, and say, 'Tis what they owe.

Here God's at last acknowledg'd, and Men see

That Sin is something, Hell a Verity.

Here late Repentance dwells. Here Hopeless Spirits

Hate their own Being loaden with their Merits.

Where a tormenting Darkness clearly shews

What God will doe when Patience Fury grows.

Alethion and his Companions having entertain'd themselves awhile with the Contemplation of this strange House built by Nature under ground, return'd to the Lightsome Air, and designing nothing now but to see Theoprepia, he made such a good progress in his Journey, that about the time when the Sun went down he came to Xenodochium, the chief City of Philadelphia. The Governour having understood that some were come to Town who by their garb and deportment appear'd to be no ordinary Persons, sent two Gentlemen according to their Custom to offer what Accommodation could be had in Xenodochium. Alethion's present condition forc'd him to stand in need of their Courtesie, and the Nobleness of his Soul taught him to accept it with such an excellent Grace, that they found themselves requited where they endeavour'd to oblige. They brought him and his Company to the [...] House, who, though he had been us'd to Conversation with generous Persons, was something surpriz'd with the Presence of these Guests, especially of Alethion; but having [Page] quickly setled himself, he made the Reasons of his Wonder Motives to a more exact observation of such Rules as the present Accident made necessary to be practis'd. He brought the Prince into Lodgings which were nobly furnished, and presented all supplies after so handsome a fashion, that Alethion could not but judge the Philadelphians the most civil people in the World. And when he perceived, by the excellent discourse of those Gentlemen who attended him, from how great a knowledge their Courtesie did proceed, he had no way to relieve his admiration, but by supposing that the Philadelphians were priviledged with an extraordinary temper of Soul, and by calling to mind, that they were governed according to most excellent Rules by the best of Princes. Which made him think to what a rais'd height of Goodness brave Kings may elevate their Subjects by making themselves great Examples: And how severe a Sentence they may justly expect from God, when he shall call them to account for teaching their people to degenerate into a low nature by their own ignoble Actions. And he was apt to determine in his thoughts, That the chief hope of the emendation of humane nature, which all good men pray for, doth much depend upon God's bestowing vast measures of a divine spirit upon Princes.

Though Alethion had given order to his Servants to conceal his name, and to allow no other notice of his quality or companions, but that they were strangers, who travelling to see the World desired before their return home to visit Theoprepia; yet his attempt to conceal himself proved ineffectual: For the glory of great Souls, not capable of being hid behind the thin veil of this flesh, breaks through their bodies with illustrious Rayes, and commands Honour suitable to their Worth. Thus the Philadelphians were assured that they had the happiness to entertain one of the bravest persons in the World, though they knew not that he [...] call'd Alethion. The Governour was but young, and had either not been in the Wars of Theromachia, where Alethion did nobly assist Theosebius; or else had forgotten the features of his face, and other Characters of his person. [Page] But the Prince, thinking it a necessary piece of just Civility to let him know whom he had obliged, told him his Name. Alethion resolving to stay here one day, both to see the City, and to return his acknowledgments to the Philadelphians, sent one of his Gentlemen to Theosebius, to give notice of his arrival in Theoprepia; and to [...], that he would wait upon him at his Court, when He should please to give him leave. This Messenger carried news so unexpectedly good, that it was above the faith of those who heard it. The King would have punished him as an Impostor, if he had not produced a Letter written by Alethion, whose hand he very well knew. Theosebius immediately communicated this news to Phronesia and Agape, who were at that time together lamenting the unfortunate Death of Alethion, of which they had heard two dayes before. This contrary report brought so sudden an alteration upon their Passions, that had not Incredulity stopt the working of their spirits for a while, and made this cross motion more gentle, it had wrought some such dangerous effect upon their health, especially in Agape, as frozen people find when they are hastily removed out of cold snow to an hot fire. But when they were not only assured that Alethion was alive, by reading his Letter, but understood also at how small a distance he was absent from them, they could not but permit themselves to a pleasing Transport of Affection, and antedated the joyes of his Presence with the contentment which they took in the knowledge of his Safety, and revenged themselves upon their Grief by increasing the sweetness of their present satisfaction with the remembrance of their former tears.

Theosebius sent presently for Lysander, the General of his Army, and having acquainted him that the Prince of Theriagene was arrived at Philadelphia, he commanded him to go thither immediately; and taking his Coach and Life-Guard to conduct him with all care and honour to Phronesia. Alethion having received this noble invitation by Lysander, rose up early the next morning, and before it was twelve of the clock came to Kepanactus, one of the King's Houses, [Page] which was within a League of Phronesia, where Theosebius intended to dine with the Prince of Theriagene. When Alethion was now about a quarter of a mile from Kepanactus, Lysander's Lieutenant retiring from the head of his Troop, came to the Coach side, and acquainted his General, that Theosebius at a very small distance was upon his march towards them. Alethion, impatient of any further delay, stept out of the Coach, and went speedily to the first rank of the Guard; where Theosebius seeing him attended by Lysander and his own Servants, alighted from his horse, hastning to imbrace one who had already opened his arms for him, and assoon as he could obtain a power to speak from the vehemency of his passions, saluted him in these Words. Most Dear Prince, the joyes which the sight of you produce in my Soul are so great, that I am not able to let you know them, they are too big for words. That delightful original from whence they are derived is such an unexpected Felicity, that I can scarce think you here, though I see you. Most Excellent Prince, replied Alethion, I alwayes made my self believe that I had lodged you in the best place of my Soul; and I have now received an infallible proof that I was not mistaken, since in your own name you have exprest the thoughts which I formed there. Although I know I can never equal your noble Love with worthy Affection, yet I am sure my joy exceeds all that was ever produced by the encounter of any other friends. But is it you, Alethion? said Theosebius interrupting him: My Dearest Brother, is it you? And are you come from the grave to revive those who were ready to die of grief for your Death? You might very truly think that I was not alive, replied Alethion; for I esteem'd it a cruel death to be so long separated from you, my Dearest Theosebius: And now I am restor'd to life, now I live, whilst I see my self so near to the King of Theoprepia. We can never be too near, said Theosebius, and then renewed his imbraces; which Alethion receiv'd, and made reciprocal with such passionate endearments, that all the Company fixt in a delightful amazement were forc'd to shed tears in sympathy with such a moving sight.

[Page] While the Princes were thus lockt in each others arms, the Queen's Coach came up, and Phronesia with the young Princess, perceiving that Theosebius had made a stop, alighted to come towards them; which put Alethion into new raptures of joy: For Theosebius took him by the left hand, and presenting him to the Queen and Agape, said, Dear Mother and Sister, receive the best of Princes, and our Dearest friend, Alethion. It is possible to imagine something of those Passions which were rais'd by this second encounter: But all that I am able to relate would be so far short of that which was then experimented, that I think I can doe them right only by Silence. Who can expresse the Ecstatical joyes which possessed the mind of Phronesia, when she now receiv'd a Prince from death, who saved her Son's life? How could she love him too much, who thought he did never love Theosebius enough? Agape could not but be transported more then the rest, because she seem'd to her self to have the greatest share in this happiness. How welcome this confirmation of Alethion's life was to that fair Princesse, none but she her self can tell, who had lamented his supposed death with so many tears, that never was any real death deplor'd with more. Though her modesty would not give leave that she should make the deep sense of her Soul publick, yet she forc'd her self to make those significations of affection which Alethion took for more then ordinary good will: And as he was best able to make a judgment of such indications, so she the more confidently allowed her self to give them, because she was assured of their approbation to whom she was accountable for her carriage.

The true Friends of both the Princes could not but take their parts in this solemn Joy, which flow'd from the happiness of those who were dearer to them then themselves: And the felicity which attended this accident was so general, that no by-stander thought himself unconcern'd in it. As many little rivulets fill'd with a land-floud, and meeting in some wider chanel, swell the waters which they find there into so great a River, that they overflow their usual [Page] bounds, and uniting those little rills with themselves, carry them all along in one mighty stream: So the particular joyes which seized upon all that beheld this glorious sight, joyn'd themselves into one vast body of unspeakable Contentment, in which every one found his private satisfactions doubled by union with those of others. The Princes would have continu'd longer in this pleasing entercourse, but that Phronesia, considering how far Alethion had travell'd, desir'd Theosebius to break it off till they came into the house; where having perform'd the Civility which was due to the Prince, they might afterwards re-assume their delightful conversation. When they had dined, they diverted themselves in the Gardens which belonged to that pleasant house for an hour or two. Theosebius desiring to return into the City before it was dark, placed Alethion with the Queen and the Princess in his own Coach, which being open on all sides did not withhold their sight from the greedy eyes of the People, through whose chearful Acclamations, echoing to the louder noise of great Guns, they passed all the way till they came to the Royal Palace.

In the mean while Bentivolio and his Fellow-Travellers arriv'd at Polistherion. Having stay'd there one day he enquir'd of his Host concerning the way to Sigalium, a place not far from the City, where Eugenius, a friend to Philalethes, and one who was worthy of the best Friendship, had a pleasant Retirement, and where by Silence and a seeming Unconcernedness in the present Affairs, he obtain'd a Protection from the Observation of his Enemies. Bentivolio and Amyntor made a Visit to him, both that they might know that good Gentleman, and by his means inform themselves more fully concerning those things which were requisite to their present condition. They told him, that as Strangers travelling through the Country, they could not but desire to see the most considerable Places, and to enjoy Converse with worthy Persons; but that they came to him upon the friendly recommendation of Philalethes, who, amongst those many Civilities which they had receiv'd from him, had given them, as one of the greatest of them, such a [Page] notice of Eugenius as had made 'em bold to put him to this trouble. Eugenius, whose Temper was to be civil to all, but very obliging where he saw great reasons of endearment, soon perceiving that they were no ordinary Persons, gave them a most affectionate Welcom, and desired them to make his House their own whilst they should have occasion to stay in those parts of the Country. Bentivolio refus'd that offer, alleging that he could not accept this great Favour without a prejudice to them both; it being impossible that Antitheus should be long ignorant of their arrival in his Country, or that he should not suspect some Design in his enter course with Eugenius, if he did not first make known to him such reasons of his coming to Polistherion as might prevent those Jealous Apprehensions which are naturally apt to possesse the Minds of Usurpers: and therefore he requested Eugenius at present only to assist him with his advice, and to direct him how he might seasonably appear in Polistherion, and discover himself to Antitheus with some fair Advantage. Sir, said Eugenius, to morrow Antitheus makes a great Feast for his Courtiers, and in the Afternoon, to divert the Polistherians from the Contemplation of the late unpleasing Accidents, he hath appointed some young Gentlemen upon Horse-back to run at a Ring, and hath given leave that whosoever pleaseth may be admitted Competitors; and hath declar'd that he who first carries the Ring three times, shall receive for a Prize liberty to ask what he will of Antitheus. If you have a mind to engage in this Exercise, I will go to Court, being invited yesterday, and as opportunity requires will doe you any service which shall be in my power. Bentivolio, who very well knew the Rites of this Undertaking, was glad of such a happy occasion to [...] his Acquaintance with Antitheus, and taking his leave of Eugenius with all due Acknowledgments, he return'd to his Lodging in Polistherion.

When the time was come which was appointed for the Celebration of this Sport, Antitheus appear'd upon a Scaffold attended with his chief Courtiers, and accompanied with many Ladies enrich'd with greatness of Beauty and [Page] embellish'd with fair Jewels. Ten young Gentlemen shewing themselves upon stately Horses ready to perform the design'd Action, Bentivolio advanc'd towards them: His Horse was black all over, except one little Star in his forehead, which being vigorous and of a proud carriage added Grace to his Rider; and he managing his activity with a dextrous skill gave life to that Grace. The Rivals entertain'd him civilly, not being able to disdain a Gentleman of such a goodly Presence. Orders being given for the first Course, they finish'd it to the great contentment of the Spectatours; but the praise of the Action fell only to Bentivolio and two more, Proselenes, and Alcinous the Son of Eugenius; for the rest miss'd the Ring. The next Course was perform'd much after the same manner, only Proselenes miss'd the Ring, which Bentivolio and Alcinous carried the second time. In the third Bentivolio and Alcinous succeeded as formerly, also Autautus the Brother of Proselenes had the good luck to carry the Ring upon his Lance; the rest, either by the unmanageableness of their Horses, or want of Experience in that Exercise, missing it. The three Courses being finish'd, Victory, which had denied all her other Votaries, hover'd at an equal distance between Bentivolio and Alcinous. As soon as Alcinous saw the Event of the third Course, moved not only with those singular respects which he had entertain'd for Bentivolio, whom he had opportunity to know at his Father's House, but much pleas'd with his own Good Fortune to be match'd with such a Competitor, that it must needs be to his Honour which way soever Victory should at last dispose the Prize, rode up close to Bentivolio, and accosting him with a serene chearfulness, said, Sir, I am very glad that my contest happens to be with such a gallant Adversary. Though I should miss the [...], I shall not be pitied, having been worsted by one whom none can overcome; but since our Fortune is yet doubtful, if you please let us decide it with the repetition of three Courses more. Bentivolio being willing to avoid the Envy which might accrue to him from the Victory, and doe him some disservice in the time of his abode amongst such as [Page] could not be well contented to be overcome by a Stranger, turning himself toward Alcinous, told him that it was not fit for him to dispute the Prize further with one whom he could not but judge to have wone it already; alleging that though he himself had carried the Ring thrice, yet he expected no advantage from that performance, since Alcinous had done it before him. No, replied Alcinous, you must not be Judg'd not to have done it first, because we could not both run at once; my order in the Courses was a thing of Chance, and can give me no pretence to Victory, since I was equall'd by you as soon as your Turn came: although I am not unsensible of your Civility, yet I had rather lose any Prize then receive it dishonourably. After some other words Bentivolio was forced to condescend to his Proposal, and both agreed that the next Miss upon whomsoever it should happen should end the Controversie. For two Courses they were equal; at the third Alcinous having the Ill luck to strike the Ring upon the ground, Bentivolio putting spurs to his Horse quickly took off the other which was plac'd in the room of it, and took up also that which Alcinous had let fall upon the point of his Lance. Whilst all the Spectatours, struck with the Admiration of Bentivolio's Action, accompanied his Victory with a general Shout, Antitheus, though he was of a proud Temper, and utterly indispos'd to like any thing which was Excellent in another, could not but enquire who he was; and being told by Eugenius that he was a Gentleman who came lately to Polistherton, having a desire to see the Country, he sent for him. When he was come, the Beauty of his Person, the Gracefulness of his Deportment, and the Power of Universal Applause made Antitheus condescend to personate Civility, and accost him thus: Generous Stranger, said he, whoever you are, and whatever your Design be, you are Welcom; if you had not merited it by your late Performance, yet I esteem it but a due Civility to your Person to grant you whatsoever you can ask in Theriagene. Bentivolio receiv'd this great favour with much Modesty, and making that Obeisance which is due to a Crown'd Head, only desired that himself [Page] and two Gentlemen who travell'd in his Company might with his good leave stay awhile in his Country, and that he might have liberty to divert himself sometimes at Sigalium with Eugenius, to whom he was obliged for the notice of this Opportunity, by which he had the happy advantage of coming so soon into the King's Presence. Antitheus, surpriz'd with this incomparable Modesty, by which Bentivolio both shew'd the Generosity of his Temper and warily avoided the Envy of the Courtiers, replied, that instead of granting this as Bentivolio's Request, he would make it his own, and entreat him to stay in Theriagene; adding, that he should look upon it as a great Accession to his Prosperity, if in Sigalium, Polistherion, or any other place in his Kingdom he could find any thing to make his stay not unpleasant. Bentivolio having made Answer to his obliging Discourse with many thankful Acknowledgments, Alcinous, Proselenes, Autautus and their Companions pass'd many Complements upon him, and profess'd that they esteem'd it as a great Prize, that by their Foiles they had gain'd the knowledge of a Person that was so worthy to overcome. Whilst Bentivolio was making many Civil Returns, Antitheus took him away, and entertain'd him and his Companions with a Noble Collation and various Discourses, and offer'd him Lodgings in his own Palace; which Bentivolio thankfully refus'd, and after Supper retir'd with Eugenius and his friends to Sigalium. Whilst Bentivolio stay'd at Sigalium, Pasenantius, Antholkes, Autautus, and many others of the Court, sometimes by order of Antitheus, and sometimes for their own pleasure, visited him. From these he gain'd a full Intelligence concerning the Affairs of Theriagene, and by many Discourses understood plainly by what false Principles they govern'd their Lives, and offer'd at a Rectification of their Errours: which though he could accomplish but in a few, the Dominion which Passion usurps over Reason being almost invincible when it is confirm'd by Custom, yet it was some satisfaction to his mind to have done that Duty which Charity enjoyn'd; though it was some grief to him to see the Accompt which he had receiv'd from Philalethes [Page] so fully verified. Sometimes he and Eugenius went to Polistherion to visit Antitheus, where he had no content but to see how lovely Vertue is by comparing it with the ugliness of Vice, which was there represented to the Life. At other times he and his friends, under the Conduct of Eugenius, travell'd into the Country to see the most remarkable places in that Kingdom.

After Antitheus by many Converses understood that Bentivolio's Principles were contrary to his, and the manner of his Life quite different from that of his Court, he began to suspect that his coming to Theriagene was upon some ill Design; which to prevent, he caress'd him more then he had done formerly, and offer'd him very honourable Commands: which Bentivolio could not accept, being very much wearied with the Unpleasing conversation of the Antitheans, and hating those Actions which had made the Usurper able to offer entertainment to Persons of Quality. But to make his Refusal plausible, & to hinder Antitheus from discovering the Truth of his Purposes, he said (which was most true) that he had strong desires to return home, and also pretended himself necessitated by very great Obligations to serve a Friend of his, whose condition, as he lately understood, did much require his Assistance. Indeed his purpose was to go into Theoprepia, where he heard that Alethion, the lawful Prince of Theriagene, did at present sojourn, to whose Restauration he thought he should be able to contribute something from what he had observ'd in Theriagene. He was the more encourag'd in these Hopes, because the time of the Year began to be seasonable for Armies to take the Field; and he made no doubt that Theosebius would supply him with store of men, or that Heaven would second them with good success. Before he took his leave, he acquainted Eugenius with his Intentions, whom he perceiv'd to be no great friend to Antitheus, and who promis'd him, if ever occasion serv'd, to further what he design'd, and entreated him in the mean while to assure Alethion of his Loyalty.

Antitheus his Jealousies being increas'd with the Intelligence that he receiv'd from one of his Spies, who knew [Page] Sympathus, That Bentivolio and Amyntor had correspondence with Philalethes, and were entertain'd at his house, he design'd to murther them both. But one of Philalethes his Kinsmen having notice of his purpose, discovered it to Eugenius, by which means Bentivolio and Amyntor went away privately to Misopseudes his house, and sent a Messenger to Philalethes to meet them there; from whence they went away all together to Theoprepia. Only Bentivolio, according to his promise, sent Nicomachus to his Brother Panaretus, to acquaint him and his Sister with what had hapned already, and to desire him and Sympathus to meet him at the Court of the Prince of Theoprepia, where they should understand what was design'd further.

Theonoe, Urania, and all the Company which were left at Theander's house, rejoyced exceedingly at the sight of Nicomachus, hoping also that Bentivolio was not far off: And though they found themselves deceiv'd, they were not much displeas'd. For Nicomachus told them he was well, and that he and Amyntor were gone to Phronesium, and did intreat Panaretus and Sympathus to meet them there, whither he also himself was to accompany them. They guessed at the design, and could not but approve it: Only they intreated their friends to stay with them a day or two, that so before their departure they might understand the State of Theriagene by Nicomachus. Their desire was granted, and having pleas'd themselves with the news of Alethion's escape, though it was but a repetition of what they heard before from one that came from Theosebius his Court, they conjured Nicomachus to inform them concerning Bentivolio's entertainment in Theriagene. Nicomachus obeyed their command, and when they had dispos'd themselves to hearken to his relation, he acquainted them with what had hapned in the way to Philalethes his house, and his entertainment there; and made them know the manner of the Prince's escape. Then he told them of their journey to Polistherion, and of their retiring to Eugenius his house, and let them understand how Bentivolio made himself known to Antitheus, and with what Complements he was receiv'd by his Courtiers. [Page] Urania knowing that Bentivolio did not use to spend his time only in Eating and Drinking, making and receiving Visits, ask'd Nicomachus as soon as they had supp'd, if they did not sometimes meet with such persons as gave an occasion for more then ordinary discourse. Yes, said Nicomachus; and their Principles being very contrary to those of Bentivolio, caus'd various disputes between him and those with whom he hapned to converse. I beseech you, replied Urania, if you and this good Company give me leave to make such a request, let us know of what they talked. With all my heart, answer'd Nicomachus, if you'l grant me pardon for the wrong which I shall doe to Bentivolio by forgetting many Excellent parts of his Discourse, and for the offence which I must needs give you by the imperfect recital of what I can remember. You need not make so many excuses, said Theonoe, to those who will confess themselves obliged to you for a great favour; and Bentivolio's honour must needs be secured, since if your memory should fail, of which we have no fear, you are furnish'd with a ready supply from your own judicious wit. If I could receive this Complement without blushing, replied Nicomachus, and might lawfully erre of choice, I would sin again by making some new pretence of silence, that I might be once more so obligingly reprov'd for not speaking. Pray, good Nicomachus, said the sweet Irene, put us not upon any further loss of an opportunity, which we have destin'd to know Bentivolio's and your last Adventure. I will be obedient, answer'd Nicomachus, and began thus.

The chief of our Visitants was Pasenantius, who commonly brought with him an obstinate Gentleman call'd [...]. When they came first, Bentivolio and Eugenius were engag'd in a Discourse concerning the rational belief of a Deity: And Bentivolio affirming, that he could not but be astonish'd that any man should so far degenerate from Reason, or apostatize from Ingenuity; as not to acknowledge so great a Benefactour, or forget so known a Friend; their entrance into the room made him break off his speech. Which Pasenantius perceiving, after he and [...] had [Page] perform'd those Salutes which are usual at the meeting of friends, he crav'd pardon for the interruption of their Conference. To which Eugenius answer'd, Let us not leave off our talk, Bentivolio, for these Gentlemen are Philosophers, and friends of mine. Yes, said Autautus, and will not only think that we have wrong'd you, but that we our selves are depriv'd of a great benefit, if you judge us unworthy of your Conversation. We will go on then, said Bentivolio; and since we are engag'd in an important discourse, we shall be glad of your assistance to help us, as the difficulty of the matter shall require; and turning to Eugenius, proceeded thus. You demanded last, as I remember, the Reasons which made me so confidently [...] the Being of a Supreme God.

My first Argument is the inbred Notion of a God; which as it shines in my particular Mind with bright Rayes of truth, so I find that in all Ages it hath been universally acknowledg'd by Mankind. This receives strength from the contemplation of the Nature of things: for I am forc'd to confess a first Cause by the very Existence of the World; much more when I consider both the Beautiful Order of the Systeme, and infinite Variety of Excellent Beings which makes up this noble Frame. I am convinc'd further of the truth of this perswasion, when I behold the vast number of those horrid Absurdities which flow from Atheism; and consider how easily all those Objections may be confuted which are oppos'd to the assertion of a Deity.

I like the method which you propound for your Discourse, said Eugenius; and if you will doe us the favour to declare in order what you have to say for the confirmation of the aforemention'd Reasons, I will desire Pasenantius (for he is vers'd in this Controversie) after each Argument to put those Objections which are properly opposite. Since you judge them all easily answerable, you will be put to no great trouble for their confutation; and we shall be more methodically resolved in our Doubts. I shall take what course you please, said Bentivolio, either by a continued speech, or else by making frequent pauses to allow a liberty [Page] for alternate Answers. For since our Design is only to apprehend that lurking Errour which troubles those Crystal streams wherein Truth is represented; it is all one to me, either by insisting upon particular Arguments to fish with a single Line, or else by putting them all together to make useof a Net: But since you like the first way better, I do so too. When I say the Notion of God, I mean that Conception which we form of him in our minds when we think of him; as, That he is the First Cause, the Maker of the World, the Governour of all things; That he is an All-wise, most Good, All-powerful, and absolutely Perfect Being, and so necessarily and eternally Existing; and consequently to be Worshipped, not only for the Excellency of his Nature, but as the benign Parent of all things, and great Benefactour of Mankind.

This Notion is natural, that is, imprest upon our Souls by that God whose Idea it is; men having not learn'd it by Custom, or been forced to the belief of it by any Law. It is a Truth profest by all Nations, who, notwithstanding the difference of their Customs, the variety of their Laws, diversity of Dispositions, and hostility of their Practices, have universally agreed in this, as a thing that naturally results from the use of Reason; and which even by such as have not spoken very honourably of God, hath been acknowledg'd as a common Prolepsis, that is, a connate Information. Of this I think my self the more assured, because no beginning of time can be assign'd when the World entertain'd this belief; but that the common Parent of Mankind, who was made with it, and to whom it was confirm'd by conversation with God, taught it his Children; who easily receiv'd it, because when they were arriv'd to that age in which they were capable of being taught by others, they plainly perceiv'd that it did naturally spring from the free exercise of their own understandings. If this were not true, I can give no rational account how it came to be generally receiv'd by the World; it being impossible that by Force or Fraud any contract should have been made to necessitate such a common Faith. For what Prince had ever power to enact such a constitution? or what [Page] Oecumenical Sanhedrim ever met to consult about such a business? It is also manifest, That this is an everlasting. Truth deeply engrav'd in humane Souls, since no successions of time have been able to wear it out. Though Falshood steal the Mantle of Truth, yet it cannot so conceal it self long; for Time will pull it off, and discover the Cheat. If it had been unnatural, men would long before this time have rejected it; and, being alwayes impatient of yokes, they would not so long have born this, which doth oblige them to the strictness of Religious observances. But they have been so far from abandoning this Truth, that they have not subjected it to be dishonour'd with Disputes, and so have declared, That this is that great Article of their Common Faith in which they all agree. If this which I have said be not enough to justifie the Reality of this Truth, and to free it from all suspicion of Fictitiousness, we must confess that, notwithstanding our best Faculties, which are appointed for our guides, we are capable of being at a loss, when we have good reason to think our selves most sure of our way: and being bestow'd upon us to such mean purposes, we may justly cast this [...] slur upon Nature, (to speak in the language of Atheists) that she hath made one of her best works in vain, having given men Rational Faculties without any possibility of being assur'd what is Truth by the use of them; and so hath expos'd them to a necessity of being deceiv'd, notwithstanding the pretence of a rare Criterion; and so hath not only made a snare of the best of Notions, but also having put us into a strong propensity towards the Divine Nature, and made us think our selves happy in that noble Love, hath abus'd us with a vain affection which hath no real object, and rendred us Fools by making us Religious. Which is so absurd to imagine, that it is not more incredible to say, That wise men build great Ships only to lie at hull, and drive up and down with every wind. Since then the evidence of Reason is so great, that it hath led all men to an ingenuous Acknowledgment of God, I cannot think that it is only a wildness of phansie, but a perverse disposition in men who have us'd themselves [Page] to resist known Truths, that enables them to deny him: But that it is unreasonable to suppose it true of any, I should think them the only persons in whom Nature hath implanted Errour.

When Bentivolio had thus declar'd the sense of his first Argument, Pasenantius was about to frame an answer; but Eugenius desiring his patience for awhile, intreated Bentivolio to explain himself more fully: For by that which you have affirm'd, said he, you seem to believe, that the Minds of new-born Infants are possest with a Notion of God, and that such as scarce know any thing have an actual sense of the Divine Being. I would not have you understand me after any such manner, replied Bentivolio: For when I say, That the Notion of God is inbred, I mean, That the Soul is principled with a natural sagacity, by which she is apt upon the first occasions which are administred to her after she is out of her Nonage, and admitted to the free exercise of her Rational powers, to make a clear acknowledgment of a Deity. The Energy of Nature being excited by outward Objects, there is form'd in our minds an Image of the Supreme God; this Effect notwithstanding being due to the innate virtue of our Soul as the principal Cause, and which doth owe to the Impulse of the foremention'd Objects only for the assistance of an Extrinsecal occasion. The Seed which is sown under ground awaits the warmth of the Spring to make it bud; but the blossoms and fruits which it sends forth are chiefly to be attributed to the Plastick power of the seed, not to the heat of the outward air. Humane Souls have many natural Ideas imprest upon them, for which they were never indebted to Matter; of which that of the Cause and Effect is one: which being awaken'd in the Understanding by the Consideration of such a noble Being as the World is, hath present recourse to some excellent Nature as the Cause of so great an Effect. This rational capacity is plac'd in our Souls as an Antecedent Principle of [...] Knowledge, and it improves and ripens it self into an actual apprehension of God by time and [...] I understand now what you mean, said Eugenius [Page] to Bentivolio and if you please (added he, turning towards Pasenantius) you may let us see, if you can disprove what he hath said.

You have put a fair colour of verisimilitude upon this Notion, said Pasenantius to Bentivolio, by the greatness of your Eloquence; but the truth of what you affert lies so open to the mercy of powerful Objections, that it is no hard matter (as I think) to dispute probably against it, and to allege various reasons which disturb the belief of what you have said. That this universal acknowledgment signifies not so much as you would make us believe, seems to be evident from this, That you all confess the God of whom you speak so confidently to be Incomprehensible; that is, neither perceiveable by our Senses, because he is Spiritual, nor to be comprehended by our Mind, because he is Infinite. The weight of that allegation which you make of numerous witnesses seems to be lessen'd in that the greater part of them are Fools, and you despise them when you please for their Ignorance. Their folly is but too apparent in those ridiculous Explications which they have given of the Deity; and you your selves confess them worthy to be abhorr'd: For there is nothing so contemptible but the rude Heathen adored it for a God. This testimony is not Universal neither; for many Nations never heard of God, and in those which did many have profess'd Atheism, and there is no doubt but many more did think there is no God, who durst not express the sense of their minds in words. Those which were seduc'd into this belief may well be suppos'd to have been out-witted by Politicians, who cunningly invented, and afterwards made use of, the Notion of a Deity. But if it had not taken its Rise from them, yet the fears which vulgar minds unacquainted with natural Causes are apt to entertain upon extraordinary Accidents would incline them to think, that God was the Author of that which they did not understand possible to be produc'd any other way; and it was easie to propagate such a vain belief by Tradition. For such as had been deluded first, would be apt to transmit it to successive Generations, and [Page] spread the Infection from one Country to another. Besides this, it is manifest enough that those great Deists who concern themselves as great Patrons of this Faith, and seek applause by endeavouring to make Proselytes, do believe no such thing themselves; being guilty of those enormous crimes which nothing but the Disbelief of a Just [...] Potent God could make them commit.

I did expect some such Objections, replied Bentivolio; for that dull Principle Atheism hath not been able for many hundreds of years to improve the Minds of those who entertain it, or teach them for its defence to adde any considerable thing to the boldness of their few Predecessours: and by discovering the falshood of each Allegation in order as you have recited them, I will shew you with how little reason they magnifie themselves against the Truth.

As to your first Exception, I grant, That because God is Spiritual, we cannot perceive him by any of our external Senses, nor paint his sublime Nature to our selves in Corporeal Images; but since he hath given us divers Faculties, which are so many distinct wayes of perception, we can no more justly conclude that he is not Knowable by our Understanding, since he doth not fall under the notice of our outward Senses, then we can infer that there is no such thing as Sound, since we cannot hear it with our Eyes. When we see a Ship under sail, we often discern no Pilot with our Eye, yet we know that he is at the Helm, because the Vessel escapes the circumjacent Rocks. But whereas you say, That we do not perceive God by our Understandings because he is Infinite; I must take a larger compass to give you satisfaction, and convince you that we do. I grant that it were too great a presumption to hope to bring down that Excellent Being, God, to a just equality with our Understanding; since we are inform'd by our own Reason, that he is rais'd far above the highest reach of our Imagination. The Nature of the Godhead must be Infinite, because if it had bounds it would be imperfect: and though we conceive this Immensity rather in respect of those degrees of Virtue and Power and Duration which are contain'd in his [Page] great Being, then by Extension of Figure or Unlimitedness of Space; yet those Degrees being unmeasurable, when we conceive of God as the most Perfect Being, we always grant that he doth incomparably exceed our best Conceptions. Yet our Assurance of his Existence is not hurt by the [...] of our Intuitive Knowledge of his Essence. To say that because we comprehend not the Divine Being, whose Nature we know to be Incomprehensible, therefore we have no Reason to think that it doth Exist; or because we understand him not perfectly, therefore we know him not at all; is no more reasonable then to affirm, That there is no Sea, or that we do not see it in part, because we cannot grasp its vast compass in one look. For though we are not able to frame a complete Image of the great God in our confined Minds, yet the power of our Reason compells us by the force of strong Arguments to acknowledge the truth of his Existence, and assures us concerning the properties of his Nature by rational consequences; and we do most distinctly apprehend the Divine Perfections when we do endeavour to entertain our selves with the Contemplation of them, because they do more fill our thoughts with the greatness of their Essential Worth, then any bodily thing can doe; neither are our minds troubled with those Limitations and Littlenesses which we meet with in our perception of other things.

I grant it is ordinarily said, That the Divine Nature cannot be known; but we must distinguish between that which subtil Atheists pronounce upon Design, the unwary Rhetorick of foolish Oratours, and the well-weighed Assertions of considerate Philosophers. For many speak of Knowledge who know not what it is to know; and so being ignorant, that all the knowledge of which we are capable is only to understand the Properties of things by their Effects, they puzzle the weak, make sport to Atheists, and are pitied by the Ingenuous for their Ridiculous Philosophy. We are not allow'd such intimacy with any created Being as to see its naked Essence; that is hid from mortal eyes; Nature in all her converses with Men keeps her veil on, [Page] which none yet have been able to pull off. Therefore I infer, That the Properties of the Divine Nature are as perceivable as those which belong to any other Subject: The virtue of the First Cause being as manifest in its Effects, as the Powers of any which are Secondary, whose Properties we know only by their Effects.

These things being consider'd, I know no reason why we should not think the Godhead understandable, except we judge it good sense to say, that because we cannot look directly upon the Sun with our weak eyes, therefore we do not perceive its glorious Light when it is reflected: For God is represented by his works as it were in bright Looking-glasses. Or if, because some things in the Divine Nature do transcend the power of our Perception, we ought to think that we are not sufficiently assured of its Being; why do Atheists grant so freely the Existence of Matter, and talking confidently of its Nature make no doubt but it is Quantitative, and yet cannot tell whether it be divisible into Finite or Infinite Parts? Those who argue after this manner do only take a poor Sanctuary in a Sceptical device, and say, Wel know nothing, because we know not all things; or, which is all one, because we are not able curiously to explain the Modus of every thing, therefore we are not sure of the Existence of any thing; and that we ought to reject the most known Truths, because we cannot give a Reason for all particular Effects. But will any rational man give cred't to those who deny the Being of God, and do not believe what they themselves speak when they say so? Those great Philosophers, who well knew that Modesty doth alwayes become us, and especially in Divine Enquiries, have confest that, considering the great nature of the Object, they thought themselves more happy in that little knowledge which they had of God, then in the most perfect understanding of less worthy things.

But because this Notion will receive a clearer Explication, and so a fuller proof, from the Arguments which I am to produce, I will at present confine my Discourse to answer your other Objections. You said, That a great part of [Page] those who are concern'd in this universal confession of a God are Fools, and thence deduce the invalidity of their testimony. Really, Sir, if the opinion of Fools is to be despis'd, I might very well except against the Objections of Atheists: For they disbelieve, or at least deny, what we say concerning God without any Reason. They object we never saw God: It is true; but affirming his Existence, we shew them his Works as a testimony of his Being. They never saw any thing to the contrary, yet say there is none. But since the case admits of no proofs by Eye witnesses, this advantage lies on our side; We give a good reason for what we say, whilst they have none but the sullen obstinacy of a perverse Will.

But since the evidence of this Notion depends upon universal acknowledgment, and the World is divided into two parts, the Wise, and those that are of Weaker understandings; we ought not to think its truth disparag'd because men of slower parts receive it; but rather [...] that it is a natural Verity, since the dullest do so easily understand it. That it is no Artifice in them is manifest, because they are weaker then that they can hope to deceive: and that they are not out-witted by others for want of ability appears by this, that Wise men, who are not easily impos'd on, profess that they cannot but believe it.

Whereas you say, That it is an Argument that many Nations did not understand what they spoke when they talk'd of a God, because they gave so many absurd Explications of his Nature; and that we cannot rationally think our selves oblig'd to believe that there is a Deity, because of their testimony who have also told us that every thing is a God: I desire you, Pasenantius, to consider whether if the simple Notion of a Godhead had not been natural, it could have been possible that men should have attempted to have made any particular Explications of it. The truth in general is confirm'd by these mistakes: except we think that the making of a false description, or putting a wrong name upon any man, destroyes his Existence; or that there is no Sun, because some have imagin'd it to be only a burning stone, [Page] and others have taken it for a shining Torch. But as their speaking of God, though they said what was unworthy of his Nature, supposeth his Existence; so the Reason of their Errour in the misapprehension of his Nature was only a shortness of Reason which disenabled them to explain a great Truth, and they mistook by endeavouring to deduce a false Conclusion from true Premisses. For having understood not only that there was a God, but that he was universally acknowledg'd to be Good, they inferr'd weakly that every Goodthing was God. We must pity them in their Errour, but not deny Truth, because they misunderstood it. It is a great want of [...] to conclude that no good thing is God, because they judg'd every good thing to be so. Whilst they knowing that the Divine Nature was infinitely good, took every good thing for a Deity, and bestow'd that incommunicable name upon all Beneficial Creatures; some say, and that not without reason, That though the vulgar suppos'd the Divine Power to be spread through the Nature of all things, yet Wise men were not wanting amongst them, who taught them that it was but one great Mind, which was also the first Cause of Being, and exhorted them to worship him as their Creatour. By which you may see, good Pasenantius, that you have no reason to conclude that there is no God from what they said of him, and possibly that they did not mean so unworthily as they seem'd to speak.

You do well, said Pasenantius, to make your Party as considerable as you can; but since your Argument supposes the acknowledgment of this Notion to be universal, what say you to that which I objected against their Numerousness? I remember what you said, replied Bentivolio: for to perswade us to believe that the number of those which are on our side is not so very great, you told us that many Nations, whom we think to be for us, did never hear of God, and that in those which did, many have profest Atheism, and more would doe so, but that they dare not. To which I reply, That any whole Nation was ever so barbarous as not to acknowledge a God, is a saying for whose truth we [Page] have no evidence. In ancient times no such people were known, and the late discoveries of Countries formerly unknown have assured us that they have not been so Atheistical as to deny a Deity; but by reason of a fatal Ignorance, whose Cause peradventure is not so easily discoverable, were guilty of some gross mistakes concerning it. Such as have travell'd into those parts which we have most suspected for Irreligion, have convinc'd us of that Errour, by giving us an account both of the names of their Gods, and the manner of their Worship. As to others, who would make us believe that they are Atheists by speaking against a Deity, I answer, That they have been but few in comparison of the rest of Mankind; and that you prove no more by this Argument then that which none ever denied, that it is possible there should be Monsters. Some few minute Philosophers have been registred by Antiquity as blots in the History of the World for entertaining such an absurd perswasion; and some such have been produc'd of late years, and with their Atheism they have patroniz'd other opinions so Monstrous, that Humane Nature is astonish'd at the rehearsal of them: As for example, That what they say against God's Existence may be both true and false, or neither; and That there may be a God who at the same time also may not be. But suppose that some of these Gigantick Philosophers should happen to have six fingers upon an hand, or six toes upon a foot, would that enforce us to conclude, that it is natural for all men to have as many? If some be blind, or deaf, or want any usual member of the body, will they make us believe that those defects are not Monstrous and Irregular? How small is the number of these obstinate dissenters in comparison of those who assert us this great Truth? If we think it reasonable that all the World should conform to their opinion, why may we not as well allow authority to two or three Mad-men to give Laws to the sober part of Mankind? God hath imprest this Character upon mens Souls, and there is no more reason that he should lose his right in them when they have blurr'd it with foolish imaginations, and made it less legible [Page] to themselves by the effects of their ingrateful disobedience, then that true owners should forfeit their just pretensions to their Plate, when Thieves have endeavour'd to deface their Arms, and cut their marks out of it.

You dispute plausibly, said Pasenantius; but why may not we think that Politicians, as I told you, invented this Notion, since we commonly see the good use which they make of it? You might have done a courtesie to your Cause, said Bentivolio, if you had not mention'd this Objection: For the great advantage which Politicians make of it proves that it's natural. How could they have made use of the Divine Name, and by it put an awe upon people, but that they were acquainted with it and dreaded it before? How could they have perswaded valiant men to venture their lives for their Country, by promising they should be Gods if they died in the attempt, if they had not been prepossest with venerable thoughts of Deities? The Imposition of counterfeit Money doth suppose the use of good Coin. It's true, that cunning States-men feign'd many things under pretence of Divine Authority; but what would that have signified if the notice of God had not been more ancient then their fictions? They abus'd Mankind with fabulous Narrations of Celestial Visions, fill'd Religion with Superstitious Rites, and pretended to have receiv'd from God as Divine Laws those Rules by which they serv'd their particular designs; but they could not have perverted Religion by such undertakings, if the people had not acknowledg'd a God by their own natural instinct.

But as it hath been said of old, replied Pasenantius, why may we not think that Panick fear brought in this terrible Notion of a Deity? It is not imaginable, said Bentivolio, that men should entertain the fear of a God in their Souls, but that they knew there was one. Nothing can be more foolish then to honour a God whom we our selves make; but it is rational to adore him that made us. Great accidents in Nature giving fresh testimonies of the Divine Power, awaken in us apprehensions of God's Presence, and the Conscience of our own guiltiness may very well make [Page] us fear; when we know that we do not only deserve punishment, but that he whom we have offended is Just and very Able to inflict it. I will no longer dispute against this Phantasie.

Whereas you mention Tradition, by which (as you say) men seem to have receiv'd this Opinion, and afterwards to have communicated it successively as they do other Opinions and Customs: If I grant that it was spread by Tradition, my Concession would be little to your advantage; for I mean that it was deriv'd first from God, who implanted it in Humane Nature, nourish'd it by a Converse with the first Man whom he made, and with many others, who afterwards convey'd it successively from one generation to another: and thus the Objection is no more destructive to the Natural Verity of this Divine Notion, then it is undecent for a Man to stand upon two Feet. But since you allow not that it was Traditional in this sense, I must crave leave to ask whence this Tradition had its Original. If it had no Beginning, it was an Eternal Falshood; and as I shall have occasion to prove in my following Discourse that this supposition is impossible, so for the present I must tell you, it is not good sense to say that a Tradition was Eternal; for all Traditions, being Opinions or Modes of Action receiv'd from some first Author, must have a beginning. It is a bold Arrogance to say that there was any Age in which Mankind liv'd without the acknowledgment of a God; since there is no foot-steep in History to lead us to such an Imagination, nor any Writer that tells us who did first perswade men to believe that there was a God, or mentions the time when men quitted the contrary Opinion of their Fore-Fathers, of which they are usually very tenacious. If the World was generally Atheistical, how was it possible to eradicate that Faith out of their minds, and to introduce into the Catholick Creed a new Article which is so troublesome, that Atheists have confest that it is one of the most vexatious Opinions in the World to suppose an Omniscient God set over us as a watchful inspectour of all our Actions? Though the Notion be useful even to Atheists [Page] themselves now it is receiv'd, yet it is not to be apprehended by what Artifice any Anti-atheist should perswade Mankind to imbrace such a belief, but that it was correspondent to the natural sense of their Souls: And it is very difficult to imagine how men should think of it, but that it is a common Dictate of reasonable Nature.

Well, well, said Pasenantius, I am too apt to think that you have a devout regard to this Deity of which you speak, because you have taken so much pains to enable your self to defend his Interest in the World: though I see that many who pretend themselves to be Patrons of this Faith, and endeavour to propagate it in the Minds of others, do not believe any such thing themselves; because they do as manifestly deny that there is a God by their guilty lives, as Common Atheists do in their blasphemous Words; so that this verbal acknowledgment of a Deity only shews that some men would have us think that they believe what indeed they do not.

The power of this Objection will easily vanish, replied Bentivolio, if you will please to give me leave to shew you, That to have the Notion of a Deity in our Minds, and to adore it with a submissive Will, are not only two things; but that it is too possible to know that there is a God, and yet not to correspond with that knowledge by an Obedient deportment. The truth of this will easily appear from the Observation of our common practice in other things. Who knows not that Health is one of the greatest Felicities of humane life, and that an universal Temperance is the most assured Method by which it may be preserv'd? and yet how many by an irregular Mode of life throw away this inestimable blessing? What? Shall we say that there is no such thing as Health, or that it is not infinitely more eligible then Sickness, or that men do not know it, because they sometimes make themselves sick? No, no, it requires more to cure the Gout, then to know that it is a Disease which affects the joynts; and the pain of it is no less great, because men do not take that care which they ought to avoid it. Do not men perceive in [Page] their Souls a Natural Obligation to the practice of Justice, and know certainly they should not invade the Rights of others, because they would not be disturb'd in their own possessions? and yet how frequently Wrong is done appears but too evidently by the complaints of the opprest: so that the enormity of the impious is no Argument against the Existence of God, neither doth it prove that they have no knowledge of him in their Souls; but rather declares that they are Apostatiz'd from God, and as a punishment of their Revolt are fallen into a double mischief, that is, the perverse obstinacy of an irregular Will, which is the root of the unlucky strife between the Rational and Sensitive appetites; and also into a defect in their Judgment, which doth not with a sufficient constancy bear up against the rebellion of [...] desire, and make that which is truly good alwayes more visible then those false Appearances which do so easily catch their Passions.

This is enough to demonstrate, that the strength of the Argument is not weaken'd, though the right use of this excellent Notion be perverted, Men being not necessitated to improve it to the utmost advantage, though God has enabl'd them and exceedingly oblig'd them to doe it. I might also tell you, Pasenantius, that besides an ingrateful Perversness men have a wild Phantasie, which helps them when they endeavour to evade the suggestions of their better Intellect; and though they are not able to rub out of their Souls this well-fix'd Notion of a Deity, yet they may draw a false picture of the Divine Nature, and make bold to misinterpret the Declarations of God's Will, and so perswade themselves that his Commandments may be neglected without Sin in some cases; or phansie that there are fond Indulgences which God hath for some persons, into which number they will be sure to thrust themselves; and, it may be, suppose, when the sense of their guilt haunts them, that they may easily make amends for the offences of their Life by a Repentance at their Death. So foolishly cunning is Humane Nature to cheat it self.

Here Bentivolio making a Pause, Eugenius and Pasenantius [Page] gave him thanks for the patience with which he receiv'd the trouble of this Entercourse, and desir'd him if he pleas'd to proceed to his other Arguments. With all my heart, said Bentivolio, since I perceive you are not yet wearied, and went on after this manner.

The truth of the fore-mention'd Notion shines more brightly in my Mind, both when considering my own Existence I find there no small Arguments of its Divine Author, and also when I perceive my self placed so advantagiously in Being, that, as from a convenient station in a noble Theatre, I am able to contemplate the admirable Schemes of those Magnificent Works which the Divine Nature hath set round about me. When I consider the Greatness of the Universe, the Variety of its Excellent Parts, and the beautiful Order which appears in their accurate Connexi-I am forc'd to acknowledge an Almighty Skill: When I behold that innumerable Multitude of Illustrious Balls which shine round about me, see them rank'd in such fit distances, and consider their Regular Motions; whilst I take notice of that useful Vicissitude which returns so constantly in the seasons of the Year, the alternate succession of Night and Day; and find the Reason of every Appointment so great, that nothing could have either been contriv'd better at first, or can be alter'd yet, but it would be so much for the worse, that it would prove like the dislocation of a joynt: I cannot but behold the Omnipotent Wisdom of the great Creatour, except I should think my self blinded with too much Light, and am forc'd to conclude, that a Divine Power is the Author of this Excellent Machin, in which Infinite Wisdom is so visible; unless I should be so unworthy as not to allow that just acknowledgment to God, which all the World doth grant to the wit of every Artificer, who is alwayes magnified according to the Skill which he expresses in any curious Work.

When I see the Sun, that Glorious Prince of the Stars, by the help of his own Rayes, and think with my self what wonderful Effects are produc'd by his warm Influences; may I not as rationally make a Question whether I see it or [Page] no, as doubt that a God made it? Who chalk'd out the oblique Rode of the Zodiack, and taught him to withdraw so far in Winter as to give the over-heated Earth leave to cool it self; and yet made him come nearer in Summer, because then it wants his Presence to ripen its Fruits? Who commissionated the Moon to be a Deputy-Sun, and gave her Order to supply his place in the Night, and commanded her to step a little beyond the Sun's Walk to take away the Horrours of Darkness, and by a moist warmth to advance the Generation and Growth of Vegetable Beings? Who appointed them both to guide men in the reckoning of Time, not only to measure Solar Years by the Annual Motion of the Sun, but to calculate Lunar Months by the Phases of the Moon, and to tell Hours by the help of Diurnal and Nocturnal Dials? Who adorn'd the Heavens with those glistring Stars which dance so orderly above our Heads, and carrying about such multitudes of bright Torches make up the want of one Great Light with many Little ones? These tell poor Sailors where they are when they have lost their way; whilst they are visible, by themselves, and when they are hidden, by the Load-stone, which is order'd to correspond with the Poles, and so lets them know how far they have made their Voyage Northward or Southward, in which they cannot fail, the Axis of the Earth being directed to keep a perpetual Parallelism.

From hence I am transported into the Contemplation of the neighbouring Air, that transparent Vehicle of Light, destinated by the Benigne Creator for the large Aviary of all sorts of Birds, and where those which are Musical do continually sing their Maker's Praises. God hath made this the great Treasury which supplies all living Creatures with Vital Breath, and hung it up as a great Spunge to entertain the Vapours which are exhal'd by the Earth and Sea in Clouds, out of which they are squeez'd into Showres, and rain'd down upon such Places as could hardly be water'd with any other Buckets. He made this the [...] of those Winds which not only dissipate putrid Exhalations with a clenfing Fan, and check the violence of immoderate [Page] Heats with fresh Briezes, but attend seasonably in all Quarters, and with strong Blasts swell the Sails of deep-loaden Ships, and relieve the necessities of useful Mills, which without their aid would be becalm'd at Land; and which do not only grind our Corn, but winnow it first that it may be fit for Meal; which also draw our Water, saw our Wood, and blow our Fire.

Now I have nam'd Fire, how can I forbear to mention the Virtue which Almighty Goodness hath prudently bestow'd upon it for our Benefit? What rare Effects doth it produce in the common Kitchin, in the Chymist's Shop, and in the Miner's Fornace? In all which it dissolves, coagulates, concocts, and, in short, assists all Artists so many several wayes, that it may be truly call'd A Generall Servant to Mankind. If after the Fire I should speak of Water, how visible is Divinity upon the Sea to any that consider the vast Bounds of the deep Ocean, that see how it carries our Ships upon its smooth Back, and so is made a rare Instrument of universal Commerce, and advanceth the Profit and Pleasure of every Country by Correspondence with others which are extremely distant? It is a plentiful Nursery of delicate Fishes, and out of its inexhaustible Treasury of Waters sends forth useful Streams into the Earth through divers Holes which are bor'd deep at convenient Distances, and forceth them to climb up to the Tops of Mountains, not only that they may be able to run down again with ease, but also to carry themselves to such Heights afterward as mens Necessities require.

After this I view the neighbouring Earth, which checquers it self with the Sea to make one Globe of both. I esteem it no small occasion for Admiration to see that which is heavier fall under the lighter Water only in some places. How could it have been, but that the All-knowing Creator having priviledg'd some Spots, charg'd the Sea not to molest them with Water, lest there should be wanting a convenient Habitation for many sorts of living Creatures which cannot subsist but upon dry Ground? It is a great pleasure to me to see it emboss'd with goodly [Page] Mountains which by their Height defie the proud Flouds, and oppose the barrenness which seems to reproch their scorch'd Out-sides with their full Veins of rich Minerals, and the Quarries of noble Marble which they contain in their great Bellies. But this is nothing in comparison of that Admirable Position by which the Earth is made a pleasant Habitation, capable of all possible Advantages from Heat and Light: For its Axis keeping parallel to its self, and inclining in so fit a Proportion to a Plane going through the Centre of the Sun, frees those who dwell upon it from the tedious Darkness of too long Nights, and the trouble of over-hot Dayes. Sure the dull Earth was not so discreet as to make this Order, nor the rambling Atoms so lucky as to execute it in their fortuitous Concourse.

I should be in danger of losing my self, if I venture to lead you through those infinite Wonders which Divine Skill hath shewn in those different Orders of Being with which this small Globe is grac'd. God hath made the Earth an Archetypal Patern of a natural Embroidery border'd with Water-work; but it is so inimitably perfect, that the best Workmen have sought praise only by coming near it in some faint Resemblances. He hath made the Bottom (as all Artists use to employ their courser Stuff) because it is not seen, of Rubbish, common Earth, Clay, Sand, Coals or Stones. To raise plain Being to the order of growing Life, he hath adorn'd the Ground-work with green Grass. The colour being chosen with much Prudence, for it is so convenient to our Eyes, that they are not hurt with looking upon that which they must often see. Above these we may discern the most proper Artifice of Forest-Work, but not only done better to the Life, but more profitably for use then that in Arras: For the great Trees, appointed for other Designs then to grace the Picture, supply us with Timber, which is one of the chief Materials requisite to build stately Houses, magnificent Ships, and Sacred Temples. Whilst they stand, they have real Shades, which please more senses then the Eye; and when they are cut down, lest the Work should be defac'd, others by a natural [Page] Art are made to grow up in their room. Because Trees cannot remove from their places to fetch Provision, they are made with their Heads downward, and being fasten'd to the Earth they have their Mouths alwayes in their Meat; and though they cannot make themselves Cloths, they have no reason to complain, because God hath inclos'd them in Bark, and arm'd them against Injuries with Prickles, and taught the weaker Branches to clasp about stronger Boughs and the Trunks of more robust Trees, and so to support themselves by laying their feeble Arms upon Crutches. He hath beautified them also with broad Leaves, fair Blossoms, and delicious Fruits, and plac'd them to a great advantage of his Work among infinite Varieties of sweet-smelling Herbs and rare-colour'd Flowers, useful for Diet and Medicine, and mark'd with Signatures which give notice of their Virtues, and teach those who need them their particular Uses: and before they go from their places, which many of them can hold but for a Year, they leave Seeds which grow up and supply their Vacancies.

That this Divine piece might not want any proper Ornament, God hath beautifi'd it with such Imagery as is not to be found any where else; for by an excellent Disposition of rare parts visible in the Composition of all sorts of living Creatures, as by a pleasant admirableness of Experiment, God hath shewn there how many wayes they may be made, bred, fed, and taught to defend themselves. Motion also is there represented to the Beholder's Eye; for the Universal Parent having made Life to move, gave his Creatures leave to go whither they please, and hath also assisted their Motion with Sense, that the walking Animals might know where it was best to bestow themselves, and, as occasion requir'd, provide supplies necessary to maintain their Life. Thus he instructed Birds to make proper Nests for their Young, and to hide them in Bushes; and those which are destitute of these Accommodations he hath furnish'd with as proper securities, instructing them to lay their Young in warm Sand or in the clefts of Rocks, and order'd [Page] them to feed them there till they are able to work for their own Living. Whilst such Impotent things relieve their weakness with so much Discretion, it is a rare Document that they are taught by a Nature which is more wise then they. Amongst these Considerations I cannot forget the Earth's Fruitfulness, which being appointed for a general Magazine of Provisions, doth not only satisfie the Necessity of its Numerous Inhabitants, but support their Delight with supernumerary Additions: Indeed hereby shewing not so much its own inexhaustible Fecundity, as God's equal Liberality. Thus the World is made a most commodious Habitation furnish'd with all Necessaries, set off with all pleasant Ornaments, peopl'd with variety of noble Inhabitants, and, in short, is such a perfect Contrivance, that nothing could have been more specious for Beauty or fit for Use. Yet I do not wonder that many men are not much affected with the Glory of the Divine Works, because they have seen them long; for it is well known that Fools are more apt to be taken with the sight of things which happen seldom, then of others far more admirable which have been long before their Eyes. It is another piece of their Folly also, that when any new thing is shewn to them, they alwayes look over that which is most to be wonder'd at; of which none can make any doubt who doth remember what ill luck poor Zeuxis had when he expos'd that Incomparable Picture of his Centaures to the view of the dull Athenians.

If I had time, continued Bentivolio, to shew you the principal Jewel which God hath lock'd up in this fair Cabinet, whose outward Case is seen by many, its self but, by very few; it would not only perfect my Argument, but, as I think, make it impossible to doubt who was its Author. But since my Discourse hath been too prolix already, I will break it off here, not doubting but that if it hath been tedious to be heard, yet it is as difficult to be answer'd.

Do not you believe, said Eugenius with an obliging Air, that any in this Company can be tired with hearing, whilst [Page] you are willing to speak. We have time enough, and shall never think it capable of better improvement then by conversing with you; and since the Subject is Noble, pray do not wrong it by omitting any thing which, if it were not for your courteous regard of our Patience, you would say concerning it. I do not know, replied Bentivolio, how far your Civility may occasion your trouble, but respecting your Commands I will go on. That which I have ever look'd upon since I could distinguish one thing from another, as the most admirable Work of knowing Nature, is the most perfect of all living Creatures, a Man; whom as God hath made a rare Instrument of his own Happiness, so I cannot but think that he design'd him for an unanswerable Proof of the Divine Skill, and intended that he should alwayes have as near him as he is to himself a lively Demonstration of the God whom he is to adore. Here I know not which to admire most, the orderly Progress of his Wisdom in forming the Parts, or the rare Contexture of the Whole when it is finish'd. How would it transport you, Eugenius, if you could perceive the successive Methods of Generation by which the Embryo is fram'd in the Womb, as plainly as you can see the regular endeavours of prudent Bees, when they raise their waxen Cells, through Glassewindows made in the sides of their Hives? Would it not astonish you to discern busie Nature laying the first Designs of a Foetus in its warm Receptacle impregnated with the Prolifick Virtue of both Sexes; and having fill'd the Cell with a Crystalline Liquor, as a proper material to work upon, in the midst whereof the early bud of young Life first appears in a salient Motion, then for the inclosing thereof in a fit Mansion see her invelop it with a thin Membrane, and afterward observe how she draws from this Centre the various lines of Life which complete the whole Circumference, whilst she carefully stretcheth some small Fibres from one side of this narrow Work-house to another, not much unlike the manner of the subtle Spider, when she fastens the slight Beams of her pendulous House to the walls of the Room where she dwells; and when this rude Draught [Page] is to be brought towards a more perfect Form, to see how judiciously she selects one of the longest Threds, which being appointed for the back-bone she extends like the Keel of a Bark, raising from each side proportionable Ribs, and making them to meet in the middle at some small distance above it frames the Hull of this little Vessel; and having prepar'd so much room, to see with what care she begins to furnish it with agreeable Utensils, as the Heart, Lungs, Liver, and many others, which to keep safe she covers with the Thorax and Abdomen like the upper Decks? Designing a Head to these, and having provided a small Mass of pulpous substance for the Brain, she forms it into a round Tower for the principal Residence of the Soul, and afterwards walls the Acropolis with a Skull: having appointed the Inferiour parts for considerable services, she proportionably strengthens the Members with hard Bones, and, that they might not be wearied with the burthen which they are to carry, makes them insensible, and tiesthem together with Muscles entred into the bone upon both sides of every joynt, which are intended for Pullies of rare Motion not yet experimented: and that as occasion requires there may be a communication of Sense through all the parts, she unites the whole frame with Nerves, which take their Original from the Brain. Having bestow'd a small quantity of spirituous bloud upon the Heart as a stock to begin the Trade of life, she also gives it Ventricles to receive it, and convenient Doors through which it passes for the relief of its indigent Neighbours; and by a perpetual Motion through Arteries and Veins both preserves and increases it self, and walking its daily Rounds about the Body, bestows upon every part the same food by which it self is nourish'd, warming them all with a vital dew.

Whilst these things are doing, and one that warily observes stands by, and perceives how many dissimilar parts arise out of a little soft Glue, and sees them put together with an accurate symmetry without any visible Artist attending to perform these excellent Operations; what can he imagin but that a God is near, who says, Grow there a Bone, [Page] here a Vein; Let this be an Head, and that an Heart? It is also an evident testimony of the Divine Wisdom, when after a few Months the just configuration of all the Parts being finish'd, and they fenc'd with Skin, the Medal of a little Man appears swimming in watry Milk, that is, encompass'd with Nourishment, which now he needs to preserve his young life, and to augment the Body to a just proportion; where it also learns to suck before-hand, and to prepare it self betimes for the Course of its after-life, which is to suck still; the same sort of Nourishmentbeing provided in the Breasts of the Mother, that when the nine Months stock is spent or grown unfit for use, it may not want something to live upon when it comes into the World. When the Plastick virtue of the Soul hath discharg'd its duty, and the Embryo out-grows his lodging, Time having so matur'd its life, that it is ready to fall from the Tree like ripe fruit, that which was destin'd to live, is born; but that so feeble a thing as an Infant should so easily break its prison or open so many Doors, can be resolv'd into nothing but the never-failing Skill which ever attends upon all Divine Operations.

Since Eternal Wisdom does take so much pains in forming of a Creature, you will expect that when it appears, we should see something correspondent to the Divine care, and really we may. For if we consider the Organs of Sense which beautifie it externally, and the Faculties of the Soul with which it is accomplish'd within, we must confess that the vigorous spirit of warm bloud, or the Plastick power of a Rational Soul, which have been imploy'd in this Work, were only instruments to some nobler Agent: and that it is infinitely above the Ability of our nature to produce such an excellent effect of it self, is manifest in this, that by the repetition of most watchful observations we are not able to understand how it is done. When we consider the external Instruments of Sense, we find them put by an ineffable skill in most useful places and just numbers, and contriv'd with Accuracy of Proportion to their different Uses, which is that they might be Avenues by which the Soul may sally [Page] forth of its close Cittadel into the open Campania of the great World; by which means the Soul is completely fitted for a correspondence with all sensible Objects, and so is both enabled to administer to its own necessities, and made a rare Engine of Pleasure to it self, being accomplish'd for many excellent Operations.

By the Eye our Mind grows acquainted with Light and beauty, and through transparent Tunicles receives the delightful mixtures of Colours, the symmetry of well-cut Figures, with the variety of graceful Postures and Motion, which she represents to her self by a Convex glass made in an Oval form. In the Ear she lies Perdue making Observations of Noise, whilst all sorts of Sounds beat upon her Drum as they march through those hollow Caverns in which is plac'd the rarest Echo in the World. She useth the Nose not only as a Sluce to drein the Head, but hath made it also an In-let to the pleasure of sweet Odours. By the power of Feeling, which is spread over all the Body, she sits like an Arachne in the midst of her Loom, and is well aware of all Motions which are made in it, and is awaken'd by every new impulse to stand upon her Guard. She hath bestow'd the office of Taster upon the Palate; and because it is not fit that any hurtful thing should enter into the Stomach, she hath assisted it with three other Senses in the performance of its duty. Lest the stock of life should fail, Nature being at a continual expence to maintain it, she hath appointed two faithful Monitors, Hunger and Thirst, who in due seasons forget not to call for fresh supplies. In the Mouth, which is the first room where her Provisions are bestow'd, she hath appointed two rows of Teeth to rough-grind the Meat, that it might be the more easily digestable; and put an Epiglottis to cover the passage which leads to the Lungs, lest when we drink, the Liquor should mistake its way, and go into them. Prudent Nature knowing to what narrow limits of Duration we are destin'd, to prevent a general decay which Mortality threatens, hath commanded the Individuals to propagate their kind, and to make it possible, hath contriv'd a proper distinction [Page] of Sexes, and render'd the Obedience desirable by a love of Posterity and other sensible endearments.

It were too tedious to discourse of that amicable conjunction of Heat and Moisture, by which Life is preserv'd in the Body, like Light by Oil inflam'd in a bright lamp; or to detain you any longer in the Contemplation of other parts of the Body, and to speak of the Offices of the Stomach, Liver, Lungs, Diaphragm, Spleen, Gall, and Reins, and to shew how fitly every Vessel is plac'd for its use; because I design not to reade an Anatomy-Lecture. The wisdom which appears in the least member is so great, that the Dissection of a Finger or a Toe hath discourse enough in it to convert an Atheist, but that for his disingenuous obstinacy he is condemn'd to continue such as he is. Though I possibly have wrong'd my Argument by making no better an explication of Mysteries, which you cannot but perceive to be so great that they are no proper subject for an ordinary Eloquence; yet by that which I have discours'd you may imagine what those rare Anatomists would have said, who have often taken this excellent Machine in pieces, that they might more fully discover the Divine Artifice by which it is put together.

But having said thus much of the Organs of Sense which appear in the Body, I will also adde a short Discourse concerning the Nature of the Inward Faculties of the Soul, and so conclude this Argument. God in all his works doth usually perform more then that which ought to be esteem'd enough, that we might not be able to make the least pretence that he comes short in any thing. This is so manifest in those rare Powers which he hath bestow'd upon the Soul, that we need no further proof. The chief of these noble Faculties is our Understanding, by which the Soul both takes notice of it self, and so enjoys the great pleasure of a reflexion upon its own Being, and is admitted to the Privilege of knowing its own and the World's Creator, and honour'd with the Contemplation of all things, and, when it pleaseth, views their Properties, Repugnancies, Agreements, Symmetries, and Disproportions; by an active [Page] Reason discourseth it self into great perfections of Knowledge, and by a sagacious Collection of various Rules entertains it self with the Invention of profitable and delightful Arts. By Liberty of Will a man is made Master of his Actions, and put into an honourable capacity of offering to his Maker voluntary Sacrifices, and enabled by the choice of his Duties to please that God who values none but willing Obedience. That we might be well guided in the choice of fit means for the attainment of that last End which is the chief Good of our Souls, God hath written practical Rules on our Hearts, and set that tender Principle, Conscience, as a constant Spie upon our actions to attend us in all places, and hath made it so much his Care to hinder us from Sinning, that he hath constituted us Witnesses, Accusers, and Judges to our selves. God did not think it fit to make us immutable: yet lest we should fall into errour by too sudden resolutions, he made us able to Deliberate; and since usually we doe nothing so well but it may be mended, he gave us the power of Animadversion, that by reflecting upon our selves we might recal what we had mistaken by Second thoughts, and meliorate that which was not so well done at first by after-endeavours. We arrive at Knowledge but by degrees, and therefore ought not to forget what we have learn'd: in reference to this necessity God hath bestow'd upon us Memory, as a faithful Secretary, who lays up our Notions in safe Custody, and brings them forth as we have occasion to use them. By due improvement of these Faculties God hath enabled us to furnish our selves with store of useful Observations, and so make our selves possessours of Prudence, that great Directress of Humane affairs, by which we are taught to govern our selves in all conditions of Life, to respect Time, Place and Persons in our Deportment, and to keep a decorous Correspondence with all Circumstances of Action. I should adde to these the power of Imagination, which really is of such a strange Nature, that it is an hard matter to tell you what it is: only thus much I may say, that when the Soul is dispos'd to take pleasure in a free Air, she is carried by quick [Page] Phansie as in a light Chariot over the tops of highest Mountains, cuts the Clouds, wanders amongst the Stars, and traversing a course downwards on a sudden ranges through Forests, alights upon the Sea-shore, dives into the Abysses of the Ocean; and, not being satisfied with the various shapes of Real Beings, makes as many more Fantastical Forms of her own. The Imagination pleasing her self very much that she is able to lead the Mind such a wild Dance, till the Understanding wearied with her toying, commands her to return, and having got her home, fetters her restless Activity with the drowsiness of Sleep, which yet is able to hold her but a little while. Besides all these Gifts, to complete the Dowry God hath given a Power to the Spiritual part to move the Material, by which it is made a rare Engine of Spontaneous Motion and the noblest Automaton in the World, not only moving the whole Body at once, but directing the Spirits into what Muscles it pleaseth, puts only such parts into Motion as serve the present Design. How brave a faculty this is, appears in those prodigious Dances of a Lutenists fingers, which vary Harmony through so many Notes in a Minute, that the quickest Ear can scarce hearken so fast as he playes. To this I might adde another Excellent Product of this Power, which is Speech, by which the Soul puts Conceptions into Words, and makes her Apprehensions audible. By this we learn our selves hearing others speak, and teach others speaking our selves. By this when it is perfected into Eloquence we convince the Erroneous, reconcile the Obstinate to their Duties and allure the Afflicted from their oppressive Meditations. I cannot but take notice also how the Voice, by the help of those Natural Bellows the Lungs, and the Musical Larynx, fitted with Muscles to further its Modulation, enables us to entertain our selves and others with one of the best Recreations, Vocall Musick; which is advanc'd also by the Concent of others who sing the same Air in other wellagreeing Notes, especially being accompanied with an Organ, which Art having conform'd to the nature of Humane Voice, doth not only assist, but imitate us whilst we sing. [Page] He that is deaf to the Voice of Divine Wisdom, and doth not admire it whilst it expresseth it self so harmoniously, may well be wondred at himself for an Unparallel'd Stupidity.

The best of the old Philosophers, who were the Glory of their times, could not behold the curious structure of this noble Machine which I have describ'd, nor look upon the strange usefulness of its well-fitted Parts, without making Hymns and offering Hecatombs as their humble acknowledgment of the Unspeakable Wisdom of that All powerful Mind which compos'd it. How could they doe less? For, seeing all the Pieces, not of this, but all the Divine Works put into such exact order that all Wise men must needs approve it, perceiving the Method according to which they were contriv'd of so deep a reach that none but great Minds can fathom it, and observing the whole System to be so perfect that nothing can be desir'd towards its emendation, but that which is impossible; they justly concluded that it was the effect of no meaner a Cause then an Omnipotent and All-knowing Principle. But here I must again entreat you, most worthy Friends, continued Bentivolio, to pardon the tedious length of this Addition to my former Discourse, which I make no doubt but you will doe both of your own Goodness, and also considering that it is hardly possible to speak briefly of such a vast Subject.

It is easier for you to obtain our Thanks then our Pardon, replied Eugenius, since you have put an Obligation upon us by your Narrative of the Creation, and presented to our view those various pulchritudes which adorn the Nature of things; which for my own part I esteem a most Excellent Contemplation, and worthy of the expence not of a few Hours, but our whole Life. And so do I, said Pasenantius; and should easily grant that your Argument did prove the Existence of a God, because he made such a World, but that we are told by such as pretend to know very much, That it was not contriv'd by the Skill of any Artist, but was Eternally such as it is now; or if it did not alwayes exist in this Form, yet they say that there is no [Page] necessity to suppose that some God fram'd it, since it might be made by Nature; and some affirm very confidently that it was produc'd by a Fortuitous concourse of small Particles of Matter, which having mov'd up and down a good while in an infinite Space, did at last stumble upon this form of things: and they want not other Hypotheses beside this of which they make use to evade the force of your Argument: for without that Method which you so magnifie in the contrivance and production of living Creatures, they suppose that Men and Women sprung at first from the Earth of themselves.

I did expect some such Answers, replied Bentivolio, for I have often heard such things quoted by the Patrons of Atheism, when they have been put to streights for the defence of their absurd Opinion; but I never wonder'd at it: For since the acknowledgment of a Creator would bring them under Obligations to a Religious Observance of him, they endeavour to invent many things to undermine that Belief, and grant any thing which can be suppos'd, though never so vainly, if it do but seem useful to that Design. I think those Objections which you have mention'd as frivolous as the rest; and as they all come far short of a just Accompt of the World's Original, so some of them are extremely ridiculous. Your First Objectors pronounce the World Eternal, and say that it did alwayes exist in such a Form as appears to us now, and that there hath ever been a Sun and a Moon, a Sea and Earth, and that they were alwayes inhabited as they are at present, and that Men and Women and other living Creatures, having a Natural Power of Generation, did from Eternity propagate their kind; and by saying this they suppose they have sufficiently discharg'd themselves of a God. But how vainly they think so, and how weak this pretence is, will soon appear, if you will give me leave to shew you with what insupportable Absurdities it is clogg'd.

I might here take a just occasion to urge Atheists with the Unreasonableness of their Incredulity, since they give an Historical Faith to most ordinary Writers, and deny it to [Page] the most faith-worthy Book that ever was written; in which we have receiv'd a clear Accompt of the Beginning of the World, and where God is positively asserted to be the Creator of all things. But because your Sect, pretending only to Reason, useth to disparage such Arguments under the Name of Rumours, I shall endeavour to demonstrate otherwise how rational it is to believe that Report. The disacknowledgment of God as the First cause of Being, and the denial of him as the Creator of the Universe, do utterly bereave us of all Hope ever to arrive at any knowledge of Truth, which we both naturally desire with a strong Passion, and are fully assur'd that we can never attain it till we find out the First Cause of all things. For plunging our selves into the deep Study of Nature, and strictly examining every effect which we see, & following it home to its Cause, in the pursuit we over-take many Mediate Causes which divert our course awhile, and requite our labour in part by the knowledge which we receive of them; but upon Inquiry finding them to be only Effects of other Causes, we are forc'd into this Thought, That though the Chain of Causes and Effects may be drawn out into a long Series by many successive Links, yet there must be in the World some Great Cause of which there is no former, eternally existing of it self, from which all others derive their Beginning; and having found out this, we rest very well satisfied. So the Traveller being instructed by the purling water which runs along by him in a little chanel, that there is a Fountain from whence it springs, guides himself by the windings of the Stream which threds the Medows, and as by a Clue leads him to the Rock out of which it bubbles, and there he sits down and drinks. This Hypothesis of a First Cause is a Principle so necessary to Contemplation, that all Philosophers have look'd upon an infinite Series of Causes as an intricate Labyrinth of [...] out of which there is no Egress, and have avoided it with the same wary care which they would take not to fall into a bottomless Pit. Some also of them have said, whom it is not easie to confute, That if they should admit this absurd supposal of the World's [Page] Eternity, they would be forc'd to grant that there are more Infinites then one, and that one of them may be greater then another, or that one of them may be a Part of another, and yet equal to the Whole; which are Assertions hard to be swallow'd or digested by a rational Belief. If this World had no Beginning, you can assign no Time in the Duration of it but an Infinite number of years went before it; one Infinite number finish'd a hundred years since must needs be shorter then that to which another Century is added, and so one Infinite is bigger then another: or if you say that they are equal, because both are Infinite; then the first being but a part of the second, it will follow that a Part is equal to the Whole; and we must be content to grant too that there have pass'd as many Years as Hours in this feign'd succession: For Infinite Years having pass'd, the number of Hours, though there be some thousands of them in one Year, cannot exceed them, for it is but Infinite. If these things contain an inexplicable Darkness, then this Notion of an Infinite Succession of Generations, which is brought in to take off the Dependence of the World from a First Cause, signifies no more but this, That Atheists desiring to reject a great Truth under pretence that it is hard to be Believ'd, are able to find nothing to avoid it but an Hypothesis which cannot be Understood.

I confess, said Eugenius, I am not well able to dive into mysterious Arguments, but I have thought sometimes as I have walk'd upon the Banks of a River, that if the World had been Eternal, those great Hills which I have seen pleasantly situated upon it would have been worn away before this time with the constant beating of mighty Waters, and that their high Tops would have been levell'd by the undermining Streams. And when I see those dreadful Rocks which stand in the Sea, and raising their Heads above the Waves threaten the fearful Sailours to dash their Ships in pieces if they come near them, I am apt to think that if they had been plac'd there from Eternity, the rough Waves would have wash'd them quite away long ago: For though Stones do grow, yet it is easie to observe that what the Sea [Page] devours in a Year is not to be repair'd in an Age, and that growing more greedy after it hath swallow'd a Part, it doth with more facility prey upon the Whole. But I have not said this to interrupt you, added Eugenius to Bentivolio, and therefore I desire you to proceed. It is no Interruption of my Discourse, but, as I think, a Confirmation of the Truth which I defend, replied Bentivolio: however I will goon; and as I think that which hath been said sufficient to prove that the World did not eternally subsist in this order which is now visible; so I think that the other Objections which are gather'd together to cloud this Truth may as easily be blown away.

Your Second Disputers possibly doubting the Truth of the former Assertion, and being willing to find out some other Subterfuge, have affirm'd that Nature made all things. These seem to have had such an eager desire to say something, that they resolv'd to speak, though what they said was as ill directed to the purpose as the Speech of the blind Senator to the Turbat. The truth is, the Objection is so foolish that it scarce deserves to be confuted; but because some Atheists play so low, I think it not amiss to shew in a few words that those who use this Argument either do not care what they say, or know not what they mean. For by Nature they would signifie either a Dull Principle, which having neither Reason nor Sense, hath brought forth all things, and dispos'd them in so good order that no Art can correct it; which is an absurd Imagination, as will appear by and by: or else by Nature they mean a knowing Power, which having made the World, and well understanding the distinct Properties of all things, assign'd them convenient stations according to the Direction of an excellent Wisdom; and so they confess a God, only they will not call him by that Name.

If this answer satisfie not, we must ask them whether by Nature they mean Particular or Generall Nature. If they say that some Particular Nature made all the rest; which is it? That of Men or Beasts, Sun or Moon? If any of these be quoted, the Doubt remains still; for we shall ask [Page] who made that: which will be hard to answer, except they say, That things made one another by turns. If they say, It was General Nature; that is nothing but all the Particulars which we put together in our Conception, or, if you will, the Universe: And then the sense of the Objection will be, That the World made it self, and so was both before and after it self. Or if by Nature they understand some other substance distinct from created Beings diffus'd through the Universe, which doth sustain all things by a mighty Power, and direct them to their respective ends with an unerring Knowledge; they grant that there is a God, but they know not what they say.

Others, which think themselves more Ingenious, to mend the matter, have made a Conjecture which they esteem very plausible, and imagine that the World was probably sometimes adorn'd with this form of Being in which we behold it at present, and afterwards possibly fell from it into a shapeless Chaos, and was resolv'd into innumerable multitudes of Atoms, which fluctuating for many years, and justling one another, thrust things into that Order which they now have; taking it for granted that Matter and Motion were sufficiently able to produce the World without any knowing Directour. But the insufficiency of this device discovers it self in that it doth shamefully beg those things which ought to be prov'd as Foundations for what is asserted, and they superstruct upon it such an heavy Fabrick of wild Consequences, that it is not able to sustain them. They talk of little Particles of divided Matter, by whose various contextures all things are suppos'd to be made, to such as allow not that Matter can exist at all without a God. They take it also for granted that this Matter is mov'd too without the acknowledgment of a Divine Motour, to them who can believe no such thing, because they know that Matter is a stupid Principle and of it self unactive; but they supposing that it doth exist of it self, might very easily bestow an eternal Motion upon it. Hoping to obtain of us a belief of these fictions, with a growing presumption they precariously imagine that all things were made up by the [Page] conjunction of these Particles as things pre-existent to their being, and that the most perfect of living Creatures, Men and Women, are but heaps of fine Atoms thrown together: When as by the most strict observance of the Generation of Animals which are bred continually, it cannot be perceiv'd that any are produc'd by the commixture of such antecedent Miscibles; daily experience witnessing that their bodies are form'd out of an Homogeneous Principle, and do exist before those Epicurean Atoms or Aristotelean Elements. But if we grant that there was Matter and Motion, and that Bodies are made by the jumbling of these Atoms, and that the composition of various Forms is nothing else but the connexion of loose Particles; yet it is most absurd to think that this great Machine, the Universe, consisting of so many excellent Parts, could have been fram'd by unguided Motion.

For the Atoms mov'd in the infinite Space, which is suppos'd, either in Parallel Lines, or Obliquely. If they march'd on directly, they could never meet to compose so many bodies by their Union. The Inventors of this Notion perceiving this inconvenience, affirm them to decline a little, that so by their interfering Motion the jagg'd Particles might catch hold of one another. And they are also forc'd to say that they decline variously; for if all declin'd one way, none would meet. But though we grant that the rambling Atoms take different courses in their Motions of Declination, and so may possibly meet the sooner, and also suppose that whilst they wander up and down without a guide they may sometimes shew us by a few rude Compositions that they had united, and form'd themselves into inconsiderable lumps of different sizes and Figures; yet to believe that so many varieties of such noble Works as I have before recited, should rise out of Matter by a blind scuffle of indiscerning Principles, is both an Absurd Phancy, and the height of foolish Credulity. Things of Nature are better then those of Art, and yet this can doe nothing but by the application of an industrious skill; what then but Madness can make us think that Nature is Irrational? When was any rare thing done by Chance? What though Apelles struck [Page] the Image of Foame upon his Table by an angry cast of his Pencil? could he with such another, nay a thousand such rude throws, have form'd a Bucephalus or a Stratonica? If we could see these lawless Atoms meet by accident in the form of a Tree, and grow into an Organ, the branches shaping themselves into tunable Pipes, and varying Notes according to bigness and length, the upper part doing the duty of a Sound-board, and the lower fram'd into a pair of Bellows, which fill'd and mov'd with wind give us the pleasure to hear excellent Airs; we should be apt to think that Chance is no contemptible Principle, and we should abate our estimation of Knowledge; such an Instrument equalling and very much exceeding those which being made with great care must be play'd upon by one who understands Musick as well as he that fram'd it. This also would be more admirable then those Instruments, which being contriv'd with much pains to play as it were a few lessons of themselves, are then help'd with a wheel fill'd with Pins orderly plac'd with an Artificial Skill and regular supplies of Wind. I suppose we may chance to see an Organ rise out of the Ground after the fore-mention'd manner, when we shall happen to hear twenty Mad-men singing together, all their wild Notes falling of themselves into one Harmonious sound. These are the only Voices which will fit such an Instrument.

But if it be too much to expect that a Plant should grow so Musically, why do not these numerous Atoms conspire together after their fortuitous manner, some to make an heap of Letters, others Paper, some a Press, and all to place themselves as well as Printers use to do, and put out some Book, which men seeing might cease to magnifie their own Industry? But the Atoms are grown sullen: for though they have done these and greater Matters of old, (for they have produc'd Men and Women) yet they will doe so no more; or it may be they were tir'd long ago, and when they began to be weary, by chance form'd the Sexes which were not known before, that Men and Women might be made without their help. If the Model of the [Page] Universe had been fram'd by Chance, it is rational to think that instead of those beautiful contrivances and lovely Symmetries which appear in the Works of All-knowing Nature, we should have seen the World fill'd with mis-shapen Animals, as Men with three Feet, and Beasts with five, and many other such sights ugly by reason of Disproportion. But now Monsters are rare, we see only a few whose understandings are so distorted, that seeing the World peopled with such well-compos'd inhabitants, perversly imagine that formerly there were such as I have nam'd and worse, but that they being not well able to defend themselves, were destroy'd by others who did not like them.

If these things did not cast a sufficient disparagement upon this Principle, yet the permanency of the well-order'd World for so many Ages would discharge it from any such mean Dependence as the fortuitous concatenation of Atoms; those little bodies would not have been able so long to hold together by their forked tails; they are not so fast tied in their present configurations that they cannot get loose; neither are they so constantly repercuss'd when they offer to move out of their places, that for fear of blows from their Neighbours they dare not stir and fetch their usual walks. They may remove at their pleasure; for all things being mingled with a generally-dispread vacuity, those which are contiguous to emptiness may move, and then the next to them in order, and so the whole Nation of Atoms change their posture, if nothing else do stop their course, and hinder them from leaving those bodies which are made up only by an aggregation of Particles.

It is true, we see there are solid Bodies in the World as well as fluid; but we can imagine no better reason of their Solidity, then the united Rest of those contiguous parts whereof they do consist: and since some Bodies are harder then others, those which have greater firmness may easily justle the weaker out of their places, and clashing continually in as great a variety of contrary Motions as there are cross lines upon a Globe, if some Potent God did not interpose, the Forms of Matter by the dissolution of their Parts [Page] would be continually alter'd, as Wrinkles are upon the face of water by a ruffling Wind. The Nature of things being thus constituted, can we imagine that the Permanency of the World should be resolv'd into no other Principle then the fore-mention'd Hypothesis; or that Chance is the glue which hath united its parts so long, and lock'd the Sun and Moon in their whirle-pools? We may as rationally suppose that Astronomers have made a league with these wandring Atoms, that for some certain time they should not desert their stations, hired some to watch others, or at least have agreed with them that they should appear in set places and postures at appointed seasons, and make good their Predictions: how else could they foretell the Eclipses of the Sun and Moon many years before-hand? By which we may perceive that, though such as say the World did exist of it self, do conformably to their own Opinion affirm that it is its own preserver, and hangs together by the power of its own Nature, not of God, and subsists without the help of any Extrinsecal Principle, yet they have no firm ground for their Assertion; but it is very rational to say, that he who made Motion, and continues it still because it is useful, hath given it Laws, & doth so regulate it whilst it rebounds from one thing to another, that the World is no more disturb'd from persevering in that Rest which enables it to resist those Motions which would change its Form, then the Sea is permitted to overflow the whole Earth. Yes, yes; If that Omnipresent Goodness which is spread through the Creation did not sustain the whole, it would fall in pieces; for all things knocking rudely against one another must needs break themselves, as blind-men arm'd with bows and arrows and shooting at Rovers would kill one another. If the Government of the World were permitted to blind Chance, or the turbulent humours of Degenerate men, it is not to be imagin'd how it should be tolerably habitable. The wheels of Humane affairs would soon be taken off, or broken, if created Beings were not guided by an [...] Power, which both directs them in the Road, and stops their extravagant Motions as it pleaseth, and so preserves [Page] the great Chariot of the World from being overturn'd. The wisest of men have thought it more rational to suppose that a Ship without a Pilot may live at Sea in a tempest when it is toss'd with waves among Rocks, then that Mankind, which is often miss-led with dangerous Errours, and is usually hurried with violent Passions, should not quickly bring the World to a miserable end by mad practices, if there were not a God who, to preserve the Order which he hath constituted, keeps up those Banks, which if they were once broken would drown the World with a Deluge of inexpressible Calamity. As God is the Founder of Order, so prudent men in all Ages have look'd upon Religion, which is a just Observance of him, as one of the chief Principles by which the Happiness of the World is supported, and which being destroy'd would necessarily infer the ruine of all civil Societies: They have esteem'd it that sacred Knot, which being cut in pieces lets loose Disorder, accompanied with Contempt of Law and subversion of Right, and follow'd with common Destruction.

I cannot but wonder that some who pretend to Philosophy have thought that excellent Order, which is manifest in the Regular Motions of the Celestial Orbs and the Vicisitudes of Seasons, which are admirable by reason of those Advantages which they produce, may be resolv'd into the disposal of an undiscerning Principle, because the Sea ebbs and flows at set times, and because they observe that Agues have Periodical Fits. Those that argue after this manner seem to challenge God at his own weapons; and we may guesse at their Success by their Folly. Is it fit to be quoted as an Argument against him, that he hath made that great Body of Navigable Waters, and subjected it to the influences of the Moon, which at certain seasons doth make constant Tides, which are not more useful to Merchants, and so to all men, by Importing and Exporting Materials of Trade, then they are applicable to the Proof of a Deity, whose Skill by such an Excellent Work is clearly demonstrated? Or, if we must think that there is no God, because one who is sick of a Quartan Ague is troubled with Periodical [Page] Fits, why may we not as well say that there is no God, because two Armies do sometimes make a Truce and cease fighting? No, you say that is done by the Appointment of humane Discretion. Well, but is it not in the power of Divine Prudence to appoint a neighbouring Enomy to infest us at set times? If a Disease be a conflict of our Nature with that which infests us, it is a Courtesie that we are not put to the trouble of fighting continually for our lives, but have time allotted to recruit our spent Forces, and are taught in those Intervalls to provide against the next approch of our Enemy. Is it an Argument against God, that he hath made a creature which cannot fight alwayes without weariness? Besides, that the Paroxysms are exactly constant in their returns, is false; for they change in time and operation according to the variety of many Accidents, and return oftner and stay longer, as the Body in which they lodge is differently indispos'd.

The Objection which you cited last of all is so extravagant, that no Fable is more incredible, and we may justly wonder what should bring it into any mans mind. You would have said, if you had explain'd your self a little further, that our Grand-mother Earth cast out of her bowels Bags like Wombs, (I think you might more properly have said Secundines) and these breaking by degrees, Children came forth at last, who were nourish'd by a kind of Milky Juice till they became great Boys and Girles, and so made a shift to live upon herbs, and, when they could catch them, upon their fellow-Animals. The consideration of this Poetical phancy assures us how those who disown a God, are distress'd for want of ability to give any tolerable account of the Production of living Creatures; and withall shews us the Disingenuity of [...], who not believing a Truth so naturally plain, admit things which are not only very improbable, but highly absurd; and indeed are well content that any thing should be impos'd upon them, though never so unlikely, if it do but absolve them from the belief of a Deity. How else could it be possible that they should reject the most credible story of the Creation, [Page] and believe that men grew out of the ground like Mushromes; or that Stars did sow the Earth with a Celestial Sperm, which afterwards grew up into Men and Women; or, rather then fail, that at first Stones were transubstantiated into Rational Creatures, being cast over the shoulders of Deucalion and Pyrrha; or, at least, that Prometheus made them of Clay, and enliven'd them with Fire which he stole from Heaven; or possibly, that long ago Men were Ants, and were afterward transformed by AEacus? These Fictions are as passable as your Wind Eggs.

The disingenuity of Atheists will be more manifest, if we consider how unwilling they are to allow an Eternity to God, and yet bestow it upon such a contemptible thing as Matter, and whose Notion they know to be clogg'd with inexplicable difficulties; and obstinately deny the Infinity of a Divine Being, and yet grant it both to Space, and also to the Succession of Ages; and affirm that, because Matter and Motion are in the World, therefore there is nothing else; or that there is no God, because an account may be given of some of his Works by Matter and Motion; and grant that Wood, Stones, Nails and Tools, may make themselves, and, which is somewhat an easier Task, build an House without an Architect; and so rather then acknowledge the World to be the Effect of a First Cause, assert it to be its own Builder, House, and Inhabitant. Those who form their Speeches by these Rules, need not make any scruple to say that a Watch may make it self, and winding it self up by Chance move so regularly as to shew the Day of the Month, the Hour of the Day, the Age of the Moon, and the Time of the Tide. Who but a Fool could ever think that the Eye was not made to see, the Ear to hear, or the Hands to take hold of things, but that each of them being accidentally fitted for such purposes, we apply them accordingly? Such as talk at this rate, whilst they bid others hearken to the voice of Nature, do certainly stop their own Ears against it; and may truly be said not to argue from the Dictates of Reason, but rather, being at a loss, to cast Lots what they shall say next: and we can no more [Page] reasonably expect satisfaction from their discourses, then hope to reade our Destiny in the first place which accidentally opens in Virgil or Homer.

Is this all the Courtesie that we are to expect from Philosophy, to be levell'd with the ignorance of the rude Vulgar, who wonder at the brass or gaze upon the gilded wood of a noble Sphere, & brutishly neglect the rare Motions of it, and take no notice of his Art who made it such an Excellent Machine? Or are we grown so perverse, that we confess that Art is now in the World, but deny that there was any at the first; and say that great Skill is manifested in the imitation of Nature's Works, but that there was none in the Designation of the Original; and so equal the Casts of senseless Chance to the contrivances of the best Skill, and esteem blind men as able to give a judgment of Colours as those who have the clearest sight?

Those who can digest the fore-mention'd Absurdities of which the Atheistical Hypothesis is undoubtedly guilty, may safely swallow Iron, and not only with ease deny that there is a God, but without any difficulty believe what they will. But it is rational to think, that God will have satisfaction from those unworthy Persons who obscure the Glory of his Divinity with such mis-reports; especially since he hath both made them his Creatures, given them leave to contemplate his Works themselves, and commanded them to reveal their Excellency to others.

I could not but suppose, replied Pasenantius, that you would endeavour to fortifie your Opinion with probable Arguments, and embellish the Notion of a Deity with all specious Allegations, and therefore expected that you would also load the contrary Opinion with all imaginable Absurdities. But we are told by others, that your Hypothesis is not free from considerable Objections: For if a God made the World, as you say, he seems to them not to have been Good, because he made it no better; for many things are but of little use, and some very hurtful.

Is this the formidable Difficulty which threatens this great Article of Faith? said Bentivolio smiling: then I perceive [Page] that the number of our Enemies which are yet unconquer'd is but small, and that their strength is less. They seem to march confidently; but in my mind they are arm'd no better then those ridiculous Caulomucetes in Lunia, who are reported to have cover'd themselves with Mushromeshields, and to have carried Spears which were only long blades of Asparagus. It is no wonder that such as endeavour to grasp Immensity with a Finite understanding, and level God's Wisdom with their own Apprehensions, do ask many ridiculous questions concerning the Divine Operations; and, besides those which you have nam'd, demand with what Tools he made the World, because they themselves cannot work without them; and bid us tell them in what Moulds he cast the Celestial Orbs, because they imploy such utensils when they make Pistol-bullets. Whilst they complain in the behalf of many things created, of some because they are not very good in themselves, and of some because they are hurtful to others; really, Pasenantius, I believe it is a very hard matter for these Objectours to say what would have pleas'd them: I am apt to think they desire they know not what: some things they grant to be very Excellent, but they would have had all others equal to them. The folly of this desire is manifest if we apply their wish to any particular Phaenomenon. All confess the Sun to be a most noble Being: but will any one that is wise therefore think it fit that every thing should be a Sun? The Humane Body is a rare Machine: but is it then a blemish upon the Creation, that Frogs have not the same parts and figure? Certainly if these men were to give directions for the Design of a Magnificent Picture, they would order it to be drawn without any shadows; and if they were to reform the Laws of Harmony, Half-Notes would be in danger of banishment out of all Composition. It is not freedom from Envy, but want of Art, to make all the Members of a living creature Eyes. These curious people consider not, that such a Frame as the World is must consist of many Parts, and that they have a sufficient use, though one is not equal to another, whilst they help to constitute such a rare [Page] System, and grace it with the delightful variety of Beauty by reason of the different degrees of Being; so that it is only a defect of Knowledge which makes them think that this World can be mended: And we plainly see, that the better which they phansie, if it were made by such Rules which they seem to approve, must of necessity be worse; and that they would deserve the same praise for undertaking to make an alteration, which he merited, who pretending to out-doe all the Pictures which had ever been made of Horses, drew one with hairs upon the lower eye-lid.

There is nothing which you can name as likely to be undervalu'd for its meanness, but a sufficient use may be assign'd to preserve it from contempt. What is more in danger of Disregard then the loose particles of Sand which lie upon the Sea-shore, or Gravel which is trod upon in Highwayes? Or what can be thought of less use then Hairs, which are despis'd as Excrescencies of Nature? Yet doth not the Mariner thank God for those Sands, whilst they ballast his Ship? and is not the Traveller glad of that contemptible Gravel for making his way more firm? and are not these Philosophers well pleas'd with it in their Gardens, when they see how convenient it is to beautifie their Walks? And those inconsiderable Hairs which seem not only superfluous but prejudicial, do not they warm the cold brain with a natural Peruke, keep sweat from falling upon the delicate Instrument of our Sight, being plac'd prudently upon the Eye-brows; and prove besides that they were not made in vain, since by a seasonable appearance in the Face they give a very useful notice of a different Sex, when the age of a Man begins to be more dangerous to Women, if they were not so assured with whom they converse?

Whereas you say some things are hurtful; if you understand your own words, you must mean that they are not good for all uses: I shall soon let you see how much you are mistaken in this Phancy. To instance only in one or two things: Will you esteem ill-sented Weeds and venemous Plants mischievous, because they are not good for ordinary food? It is unreasonable; they were not appointed [Page] for any such end: For the same cause you may as well find fault with Fire and Stones. But if you apply them in medicine, you will perceive that they are singularly beneficial. This may be said also of Poisonous Animals; that they might not hurt us we are guarded with Discretion, and some of them are [...] own Antidotes, as is seen in the Oil of Scorpions, and the useful Triacle which is made of Vipers. So that we have no great reason to complain much of that harmfulness which by prudent care we may avoid, and whose cure doth grow so near to it. But to end this conference, Pasenantius, said Bentivolio, I think that you and I should suspect rather that we are unskilful, then that things are useless, when we know not to what purposes they are design'd; and that it is more ingenuous to improve our Understanding by making Experiments, then idlely to endeavour to find a Fault where there is none but our Ignorance.

Thus, said Nicomachus, did Bentivolio conclude his Discourse, which Eugenius entertain'd with great delight: Autautus heard it with a kind of Indifference, because it seem'd to carry a good shadow of Probability: But Pasenantius, according to his obstinate humour, would not believe it to be true, though he was not able to confute it. It grew something late, and therefore Eugenius desir'd Pasenantius and Autautus to stay all night. Pasenantius excus'd himself, pretending that some important business urg'd him to wait upon Antitheus that evening. Autautus accepted the invitation. When Pasenantius was gone, Eugenius desir'd his Guests to leave off their Philosophy for a while, and to refresh themselves with a short Supper, which was now ready. They walk'd in the Garden till it was set upon the Table. After Supper they took leave of each other for a night; And because it is now late, added Nicomachus, if you please, let us doe so too. The Company having exprest the great content which they took in Bentivolio's Discourses, and having thank'd Nicomachus for making the Rehearsal, Theonoe and Irene conducted Urania to her Repose, and Sympathus accompanied Nicomachus to his Chamber.

[Page] The next day as they were walking all together in the Shades of that pleasant Grove which joyns to Theander's Gardens, and diverted themselves with various Entertainments, they sometimes exprest a Resentment of Alethion's condition, and reproch'd Antitheus, and sometimes complain'd of the absence of Bentivolio and Amyntor. Panaretus seeing that they were so much the more griev'd, because they saw this loss ready to be completed with the departure of their remaining Companions, endeavour'd to oppose their disturbance thus: Since you know, said he, that we are so appointed in this World, that our Felicities are often interrupted, let us not be troubled at any thing which happens, as if we had not foreseen it; neither let us deprive our selves of that Happiness which we may enjoy, by neglecting to improve the advantage of our present Conversation; and by no means let us antedate the Disquiet which will attend our mutual Absence, by allowing Melancholy to seize on us aforehand. And if you think it is a sin in us to leave you, it is just that Nicomachus should suffer the first punishment of it, since he is come to call us away. If that will give you any satisfaction, replied Nicomachus, I will chearfully undergo what such merciful Judges shall please to appoint. I think, said Theonoe, we had best take it for granted that it is a Sin, without disputing the Case; and since Nicomachus is so willing to make amends for doing us this suppos'd injury, if it were not a presumption for me to offer at the pronouncing of his Sentence, I would condemn him to the trouble of perfecting the relation of Bentivolio's Discourses in Theriagene. You have form'd his [...] much to our advantage, said Irene; and as by yesterday's experience we perceive of how faithful a Memory he is Master, we are well assur'd that he is able to discharge this Task. Yes, said Urania, and, if I might take the boldness to speak in all our Names, I should freely declare that Nicomachus shall not only by this means expiate his Fault, but that his Patience will be so highly meritorious that it shall oblige us all. Though I did easily imagine, replied Nicomachus, considering the just Temper of those who were to appoint [Page] what I should suffer, that I should not be condemn'd to any thing Intolerable; yet I did not expect this kind of Penance, having endur'd it once already, and then discover'd so much of Imperfection, that I thought, if it were only to save your selves from the troublesome exercise of your own Pity, you would not be willing to see me suffer after that manner any more: Therefore I must entreat you to alter my Punishment, lest you afflict your selves, and also become further Witnesses of the Wrongs which you force me to commit against Bentivolio. Do not you think to escape the Law with such Pleas, answer'd Urania; you can commit no Fault against my Brother by failing to recite what he did say for want of Memory; or, if you did, you are able to supply that defect by the Excellency of your Wit: and I am apt to think that you have in several Passages conceal'd his Infirmity, pretending to have receiv'd from him what was your own. I am oblig'd to you for his sake; but, since you promis'd Obedience when you made us your Judges, submit to your Censure, and be assur'd as to the Apprehension which you have for us, that all the Affliction which we shall endure by way of Sympathy will be only to enjoy a great Pleasure whilst we hear you discourse. I should not, replied Nicomachus, make any more Objections against my Duty, (for such I esteem whatsoever you are pleas'd to command me) but that besides what I have told you already, I can remember nothing but the story of Anaxanacton, which Eugenius, who had but an impersect notice of it, requested Bentivolio to relate to him: and since you are acquainted with it already, I [...] that I am fairly excus'd from the Rehearsal. Do not hope to save your self thus, answer'd Theonoe, nor believe that any Ingenuous Persons can be wearied with a Story which is fill'd with the greatest Accidents that ever happen'd in the World, though they should hear it often. As no other can equal it in the Importance of the Matter, so I make no doubt but that in Bentivolio's Narrative it is accommodated to a very pleasing Method. I see I gain nothing, said Nicomachus, but loss of Time by the Delay of my Obedience; I might have perform'd a good [Page] part of my Task if I had begun sooner, and therefore I will make no more Excuses. He proceeded thus.

As Bentivolio and Eugenius were walking one day in a Summer-Gallery, which was built after the manner of the Lycaeum where Aristotle convers'd with his Peripateticks, Eugenius having heard Bentivolio in several Discourses make an honourable mention of Anaxanacton, and being not very well acquainted with his story, desir'd Bentivolio to give him a fuller Information concerning the Life of that most Excellent Person. I would doe it with all my heart, said Bentivolio, if my Power were correspondent to my Desire of your Satisfaction. If Anaxanacton would please to bestow upon me a Volto divino, (a favour which he is reported to have done the Prince of Edessa, when he pitied the disability of the Painter whom he sent to take his Picture) it would be easie for me to perform this Task by shewing you his fair Image. Whether it be true or no that the Glory which ray'd from Anaxanacton's Face dazell'd the foremention'd Painter, I do not know; but I am sure there are none who have seriously contemplated his Incomparable Perfections, that can think they have a sufficient Skill to describe his just Character. Some things in his Life are so great that they are too big for the Capacity of ordinary Apprehensions, and those Heroical Pieces which do fill it up are so many, that it is difficult to remember them all: But since I have had the Happiness to see some Memoirs of his Life written by his Friends, who knew him by intimate Converse from the time of his publick Actions till his Death, I shall be able to make a Relation by which you will perceive that you never heard such things spoken of any other Person. But because it will be too long, added Bentivolio, to walk till I can finish this Report, we will sit down. Hereupon the Company took their Seats, and Bentivolio began thus.

The History of ANAXANACTON.

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I must first acquaint you with the manner of his Birth, which possibly will awake your Admiration, when I tell you that his Mother was a Virgin; it being but fit that he who was Lord of Nature, should be born out of its Ordinary Course. This is something strange, I confess, said Eugenius; for it is a thing which hath no parallel Example. Yes, it is strange, replied Bentivolio, but not at all incredible to you, Eugenius, or any else who acknowledgeth a God. How easily can he who fram'd all things out of Nothing, make the Womb of a Virgin pregnant without the Contact of two prolifick Sexes? or, if Conception be accomplish'd according to the more common Hypothesis, it is not unreasonable to suppose that he who appointed such rare effects to be produc'd in a way so unlikely, that none are able to give a rational accompt of what they know to be done by it, can as easily doe it by some other. This Truth was sufficiently justified to all the World. Who should doubt of it? Jews or Gentiles? The Mother was assur'd of it by an Angel, and told how it should be brought to pass, lest her Modesty should afterwards have taken offence at such a strange Accident. Her Country-men the Jews had no Reasons to disbelieve that a Man might be born of a Virgin, who knew by Revelation that the first Woman was made of [...] Rib, and whose Fathers saw Aaron's Rod long after it was cut from the Tree both Blossom and bear Almonds; who were told by the Omnipotent God, that the Messiah, whom they had for many years expected, should be the Son of a Virgin; and were further assur'd that Anaxanacton was he by a Quire of Angels, who, to doe Honour to him as soon as he was born, celebrated his Incarnation with holy Carols, and being favour'd of God by an early Information to understand the great Concernments of his Nativity, did not only adore one whom they were commanded to receive as their Prince, but did charitably make known to Men the Happiness which was befallen them by this Divine Offspring [Page] of the Virgin-Mother. The Gentiles could not rationally doubt of this great Truth, for a very considerable part of them who inhabited the Eastern World, by an Instrument suitable to their way of Life had notice of his Birth; for whilst they were observing the face of the Heavens, by the peculiar Rayes of a new Star devoted to this holy Use they were directed to find him that was so strangely born. As the Divine Benignity did thus take care to let them know the way to that Excellent Person, in whose Appearance all the World was deeply concern'd, so this general notice being given them by such extraordinary means, oblig'd them to believe what was told them particularly concerning the manner of his Birth.

Thus by this first Intelligence given to simple Shepheards and the learned Magi God made Anaxanacton known betimes to the weakest and wisest of Men: and yet, lest any Doubts should remain in the minds of the scrupulous World concerning this point, Anaxanacton took away all difficulties from their Belief, exceeding the Wonder of his Nativity by the Miracles which he perform'd after he was born, especially after his Death; and left none but the Malicious so stupid, as that they were not able to conclude that he who could revive the dead with his Word, and raise himself out of a Grave after he had been buried three dayes, might easily begin his Life in the Womb of a Virgin. But since I must discourse to you of that afterwards, I desire you at present only to think with your self whether, since the Heavens were at this time adorn'd with new Luminaries, and the Celestial Inhabitants came down in visible shapes, and express'd the Nobleness of their Ingenuity, congratulating the Prosperity of Men with the sweetest of Harmonies, an Honour never before equall'd was not done to the Nativity of this great Person, and that they were not high Presignifications of the Divine Quality and Excellent Actions of this mighty Prince, and evidences of his Heavenly Extract infinitely more illustrious then those poor Instances which most would have admir'd as indubitable Presages, that is, if he had been born smiling, if his [Page] Incarnation had been attended with a Dance of Swans, if Bees had hiv'd themselves in his Lips, or an Halcyon made her nest in his Cradle. I find as much Reason to believe, as before I had to wonder, said Eugenius; only I desire you would let me know who was that Virgin-Mother, for being honour'd with such an Extraordinary Favour, I cannot but suppose she was some very rare Person. She was, replied Bentivolio; but her Excellency consisted in an humble Piety and unspotted Chastity. It's true, she was lineally deriv'd from a Royal Family: but that Relation was weaken'd by so many Descents, that it was not much more conspicuous at such a distance then the Distinction of Waters which proceed from several Rivulets when they are blended in the Sea; neither did she challenge any greater Honour from that Original then any poor man may claim as being descended from Noah, nor God make any other use of the Pedigree then to verifie his own Predictions. But this is no wonder; for God having design'd to glorifie Humility by the Incarnation of his Son, and to disparage those vain Estimations which are bottom'd upon High Parentage, Noble Titles and Vast Possessions, he sent him into the World devested of these Ornaments, and obscur'd his truer Greatness with the Meanness of a poor Estate; though indeed that was appointed as a Foil of his after-Glory, which was shut up in this Cloud like the Sun-beams in Curtains of Crystal. For, besides the fore-mention'd Adorations which were pay'd him by Angels, and the Lustre which was added to his Birth by a new-made Star, Almighty God at his Baptism own'd him for his Son by a Voice sounding from Heaven equally loud with Thunder, (which he repeated twice afterward) and commanded the World to obey him as their Universal Lord, the Holy Spirit descending from the Celestial Regions, and resting upon him as the true Lover of Souls, in the Form of a Dove.

What was the meaning of this Solemnity? said Eugenius. I will tell you, answer'd Bentivolio; but to make you understand this Mystery more fully, I must acquaint you with a piece of an ancient Story. When Mankind apostatiz'd from [Page] their Creator, and were afraid of being eternally undone with the Execution of the Punishment which was conditionally threatn'd, the God of Mercy being unwilling that the Folly of his Creatures should be their Ruine, took compassion of their Miseries, and declar'd that he would not pursue his Right to their Destruction; and to support their Life by Hope, he promis'd in due time to send one who should make up the Unhappy Breach, assure his Good-will, and give Men a full knowledge of the Happiness to which they were restor'd. After several Ages had past, in which it pleas'd God to connive at the Sins of the foolish World, for the sake of his Promise, he sent Anaxanacton, born after the manner which I have before describ'd; who when he came did soon approve himself to be that Benign Saviour whom the common Father of the Creation had design'd to undertake the Restauration of the laps'd World.

I beseech you, said Eugenius, tell us how Anaxanacton verified that great Title; for as the Appellation is magnificent, so our best Concernments seem to be included in it. You shall understand this presently, answer'd Bentivolio: When that Divine Person, who existed eternally in the Bosom of his Almighty Father, was pleas'd to appear upon this poor Globe for the Accomplishment of the fore-mention'd Promises, to doe an unspeakable Honour to our forlorn Nature, he cloth'd himself with Humane Flesh, and united that Life to Immortality which was condemn'd to die for Disobedience. When Divinity was thus embodied, he which dwelt before in the Splendors of inaccessible Light, descended and became visible in the lower Regions, and those who had the Happiness to behold him were struck with the Brightness of his Divine Rayes, by which he was as clearly reveal'd as the frailty of Mortal Eyes could bear; and they perceiv'd that God had now fram'd for himself an Earthen Tabernacle, and disdain'd not to converse familiarly with Men, having veil'd the Majesty of his Glorious Presence in a Body like their own.

Here Eugenius interposing told Bentivolio that this seem'd more strange then the first piece of his Story, and that it [Page] was more difficult to believe that God should become a Man, then that a Virgin should be a Mother. I did suppose, replied Bentivolio, that you would wonder at the Mystical sense of my last words, neither would I have you think that I am able to give you a full Explication of so deep a Verity: But I must tell you, that though God hath made Religion Venerable by the Incomprehensiblenesse of some pieces of it, yet no Article of our Creed is Incredible because we do not perfectly understand every Point; it being a rational Satisfaction to our Minds that we believe only what God hath said, and our Faith is as well secur'd in these Instances as our Knowledge is in many things which we take for granted, though we are not able to give an exact account of them to a Curious Enquirer. Who can explain the nature of Time, and resolve all the Doubts which arise from the consideration of Place? Who can shew us the Original Springs of Motion? Why should any man stumble at the Mystical Union of God with Humanity, when he considers the inexplicable Connexion of a Soul with a Body, or the strange Adhesion of Matter to Matter? Since we know not how our Soul doth at pleasure move so distinctly the various parts of this rare Machine our Body, why should we be offended that God, having told us many easie Truths which we are to believe, and given us many plain Precepts whose Obedience is necessary, should also command us to give credit to some higher Articles, where our Duty is humble Faith and devout Admiration?

I am very well satisfied with this Answer, said Eugenius, neither do I desire rudely to uncover what God hath been pleas'd to hide; but I beseech you to go on, and let us know what this Divine Person was pleas'd to reveal concerning the Design of his Incarnation. I will, replied Bentivolio. The first good news which he publish'd was, That the Merciful Creator was willing to forgive the World that great Debt which they were not able to pay, and that the most Good God, who had been ingratefully abus'd, had of his own benign Disposition sent an Offer of Pardon, and to [Page] shew men the Reality of his Good will had made the Terms of Reconciliation easie; and that they might come to treat he had appointed Anaxanacton to be a Mediator between Him and Them, who to assure them of his best Assistance told them that he would negotiate the business of their Peace, and both intercede for them with Almighty God, and, since the Divine Authority was notoriously affronted by Mens Transgressions, he would out of his Love to Humanity offer himself as an Expiatory Sacrifice for their Offences, and so prevent their deserv'd Ruine, and as far as it was possible repair the Divine Honour, by putting the highest disparagement upon Sin, whilst he declar'd to all the World that he thought it better that the Lord of Life should die, then such a base thing as Disobedience should not be condemn'd, endeavouring by this means to destroy it, having us'd such a cogent Motive to reduce Sinners to their due Obedience.

This was a noble Undertaking (said Eugenius,) and as I am astonish'd at the Rehearsal of such a strange Affection, so I am surpriz'd with an extraordinary Joy, because I understand by this Relation to whom I am oblig'd for my Happiness. I did ever make my humble Prayers to God as a most Merciful Power, but I knew not till now which way he would express his Benignity. However you have not yet said, continued Eugenius, how far the Divine Goodness was pleas'd to accept this Intercession for the benefit of Sinners. I will tell you, said Bentivolio: This most worthy Mediator obtain'd that Men should neither be denied the Grace of Repentance, nor the Forgiveness of their Sins upon their penitent Return to their Duty. This was a high Favour, said Eugenius, and the Condescension as great as Men could desire. It is most just that Sinners should repent, for it is most Irrational to sin; all Disobedience being rooted in Folly and Ingratitude: but that God would pardon disingenuous persons upon their Repentance, and not inflict Punishment upon such as challeng'd him to doe it, is so rare an Expression of the Divine Clemency, that it was worthy of the Mediation of God's Son to obtain it. [Page] But since we have troubled you so far, said Eugenius, continuing his Discourse to Bentivolio, I pray you let us understand what Orders Anaxanacton commanded his Subjects to observe, and which he made the Conditions of their Hope, and the Trials of their sincere Submission. I will satisfie your demand, replied Bentivolio; and whilst I do so, I must let you know that Anaxanacton's Institutions are innobled with such a comprehensive Prudence, that they infinitely excell the best Rules which were ever written by the most famous Law-givers. There is no Capacity for the improvement whereof Mankind needs Advice, which he hath not accommodated with an Infallible Guidance. It being the principal Concernment of Rational Creatures to worship their God in such a Mode as is acceptable to the Divine Nature, he hath left us an incomparable Draught of Religion, by which he hath supplied the Defects of all that were before it, and hath made this so absolutely perfect, that it is not capable of Melioration by any successive Thoughts. It is well known how poor a thing the Pagan Superstition was in the best Pieces of it, and how base in the worst. It pitied Anaxanacton, the true Lover of Humane Souls, to see them adore some things, for which, as being beneficial to Men, they were oblig'd only to give thanks to him which made them Good; and to see them not only prostrate themselves before others worse then themselves, but to make Gods of those Creatures which are thrust into the lowest rank of Being; and in many Nations both to offer Prayers and Eucharists to the Names of Men, who were so infamous for bold Wickednesse that they had justified the highest sorts of Villany with barbarous practices, and also to worship malicious Spirits, not only common Enemies to our Nature, but which chiefly express'd their Hatred to it by making that Religion in which they were acknowledg'd the greatest Misery of their Worshippers, both whilst they commanded them to offer their own bloud to appease their devillish wrath, and expos'd them to mutual scorn by obscene Rites, having given them order to celebrate their Festivals with wild Cursitations of naked Women, and immodest [Page] Dances of Lascivious persons, and having made their more recluse Mysteries the exercise of all Unnatural Lusts, that is, forc'd Mankind to honour them by doing the greatest Dishonour which was possible to it self. All the Compensation which they receiv'd for these base submissions being only a Mockery of vain Promises deliver'd by abstruse Oracles: and yet they were grown so stupid that they did not think themselves much deluded, because the Falshood was covered with ambiguous Phrases; and they comforted themselves when they were cheated, that they were able to defend their Idol, that is, had so much wit as to construe the Delusion in the contriv'd sense, which was design'd as a cover to their God's Ignorance, and an Instrument of their Abuse.

Anaxanacton utterly abolish'd this rude Heathenism, and deliver'd Humanity from such execrable Observations: and having consider'd also another sort of Religion us'd in one part of the World, which though it was free from such detestable Customs, yet perceiving it obscur'd with Shadows, defective in some necessary Rules, redundant in the Observation of things which are neither good nor bad in their own Natures; that the main sense of its most useful Precepts was corrupted with false Glosses, and the whole oeconomy so clogg'd with External Rites that it was intolerable to the greatest lovers of Ceremonies that ever were in the World, who at last could not but complain of the Number and Weight of unprofitable Ordinances, being pain'd with Circumcision, exhausted with costly Sacrifices, wearied with long Journeys, troubled with nice Distinctions of Meats, and distracted with curious Modes of bodily Worship; out of his deep commiseration of their sad Estate he dismiss'd this unuseful trouble, and appointed a most proper Service, commanding Men to offer themselves to God a Reasonable Sacrifice in stead of Bulls and Goats, to make Oblations not of the bloud of dead Beasts, but the obedient Faith of Living Persons, to adore him with the noblest Affections of their Souls, and to lay upon his Altar the Humility of a Resign'd Will, to make a Holy Mind his Temple, [Page] and to embellish it with rais'd Apprehemsions of his Divine Nature, and deep Resentments of his Omnipresent Goodness, and in this sacred Oratory to offer up daily Prayers and thankful Acknowledgments, an Incense most acceptable, being presented by such as he also taught to devote the Series of their whole Life to the Divine Honour. Thus Anaxanacton having laid aside those meaner Duties which bad men could perform as well as others, and by which they usually endeavour'd to make a Compensation for their Vices, he pluck'd up that Thorny Hedge, which being planted at first only to secure the Jews from the Heathens Sins, was made use of now to exclude all their Neighbours from their Charity; and form'd his Gospel into a Rational Worship, in which having instructed Men to serve God with natural expresses of an Ingenuous Simplicity, he broke that heavy yoke which not only tired Humane Nature with the Portage of an excessive Weight, but pinch'd it also with a disagreeable Form. That which Anaxanacton put into the room of it is so light and well-fitted to our Necks, that Good men take no less pleasure in the bearing of it then a Porter would feel in a convenient Load of Jewels put upon his back with this condition, that if he carry them home they shall be his own.

For now Men find themselves not only satisfied by the wise Counsels of Anaxanacton in reference to their Divine Affairs, but also rarely directed in order to their Civil Negotiations; he having shew'd them by a most compendious, yet very plain, Method, how to secure and advance their private and publick Interests. His Injunctions require the Observation of an exact Righteousness, and he hath made the greatest Charity an indispensable Law to his Subjects. He hath exalted Justice to the highest pitch, for he made mens own Expectations of what they would have done to themselves the only Measure of what they should doe to others in the same Cases. He made the Bounds of Charity so large, that no miserable Person is excluded from the benefit of it. He hath charg'd those who pretend to his Discipline never to hope for that favour with him which they [Page] do not [...] to others. And lest the practice of this Divine Vertue should be disturb'd with the Injuries which he knew would await it in the conversation of disingenuous people, he forbad them all Revenge except the noblest sort of it, Forgiveness. He guarded the Chastity of Single life with strict Precepts, and permitted not the Honour of Marriage to be sullied with Polygamy, nor defeated with peevish Divorces. In short, he did so fully comprehend all the Offices of Humane Life in the Brevity of his wise Rules, that the Christian Church was the only Example which the World could shew of an excellent Society of men: It being impossible that by any other Principles there should be such benign Governours, such obedient Subjects, or so loving Neighbours. None are so powerfully restrain'd from an unjust Invasion of the Rights of others as his Servants, who are commanded upon many occasions to contemn that which they may lawfully call their own. No such care is taken by any other Law-giver of the Reputation upon which Men set so high a value as by Him, for he hath secur'd their Good Names among all his Disciples, which are not false to their Profession, both against open Reproches and secret Calumny. Indeed the Rules of his Politie are so excellently fram'd, that if they were inviolably observ'd, all Orders of Men would contribute to the general Advantages of Humane Society; the Wisdom of God, which seems to be obscur'd in the Unequal Conditions of Men, would be made conspicuous; and that universal Peace, which is now only wish'd, would then be enjoy'd, and secur'd against Intestine Sedition and Forein War.

You will easily imagine, proceeded Bentivolio, that Anaxanacton having made his Subjects truly Religious to their God, and very amicable to all their Relatives, he did not leave them destitute of any particular Accomplishment belonging to the perfection of a private Capacity. He did so plainly teach men to know themselves, and so strictly to regulate the Exorbitancy of their Natural Appetites, that they must wilfully neglect his Directions if they be not highly Prudent, severely Temperate, and truly Modest. [Page] He hath made a strong Defence against the [...] of Vainglory, having taught them no more to regard the trivial Applauses of the World then men value the jingling noise of Childrens Rattles. He hath set them at liberty from the Oppression of anxious Cares, by directing them to place their Treasure in Celestial Hopes, and as to other matters to imitate the thoughtless life of Birds and Flowers. Whilst they entertain their Minds with noble Enquiries, they are rewarded for their hearty endeavours with the possession of Divine Wisdom; and when they do contemplate those noble Victories which by Obedience to Holy Rules they have obtain'd over their sensual Appetites, they please themselves in the Peace which they have made with themselves, and rejoyce in the Testimony of a good Conscience which results from the consideration of a well-govern'd Life; and, to conclude this part of my Story, they bestow as much of their time as they can borrow from the preparation of their Souls for an Immortal Happiness, upon such worthy Actions as express the power of their generous Principles, by which the common Interest of Mankind is serv'd, and which deservedly reflect upon their Authors an honourable Reputation. And now by this which I have briefly reported you may perceive, said Bentivolio, that this Great Physician of Souls came not to palliate, but cure, the diseases of Humane Nature; not to cover, but heal, the Infirmities of the Degenerate World; his Doctrines being the Models of such an exalted Vertue, that they make those who entertain them with a sincere Obedience possessours of such Accomplishments as are scarce talk'd of in other Books.

I must confess, replied Eugenius, you have set before us a fair Draught of very noble Institutions: and though I cannot but perceive that they are accommodated to the universal Good of Mankind, agreeable to all Places, and at no Time unseasonable; yet they do so far exceed the strict Rigour of Vulgar Laws, and are so far rais'd above the pitch of Humane Customs, that I wonder they were ever entertain'd in [...] World. You will not wonder much, said Bentivolio, if [Page] you will have the Patience to know with what potent Motives Anaxanacton perswaded their Reception. He made his own Life a just Example of his Rules, demonstrated that he brought his Doctrine from Heaven by the Miracles which he perform'd, promis'd an Eternal Happiness as the Reward of such as would undertake to follow his Footsteeps; and being barbarously murther'd by a vile Generation who were upbraided with his Vertues, he appear'd again in Life within three dayes, and after a while before a great Multitude of Spectatours ascended into the Celestial Regions, to take possession of Immortal Glory in his own and their names. But these things are so considerable (said Bentivolio, making a kind of Interruption to himself) that I must crave leave to discourse them in more words.

The most prudent Anaxanacton knowing that the Example of Eminent Persons hath a mighty Influence upon all Beholders, and that those Precepts are seldom regarded which are disparag'd by the contradictory Practice of such as give them, did therefore prudently make his own Conversation an exact Resemblance of his unparallel'd Rules: Insomuch that whilst he liv'd, Goodness seem'd to have descended from her Heavenly Mansion, and became visible to Mortal Eyes, and by the Lustres of Divinity, which was now Incarnate, they saw Piety re-inthron'd, Righteousness restor'd, Charity glorified, and all the parts of a Holy Life vindicated from the Contempt which was put upon it by the Rudeness of that base Generation with whom he convers'd. And the truth is, Eugenius, he was so lively a Pourtraiture of the highest Vertue, that he out-shin'd the most Illustrious Heroes that are nam'd in History; and their Actions were so far short of his both in distinction of Quality, and the Number of such as were Excellent, that they appear at the first view to have been only some little things done by men of petty Tempers, when they are put into Comparison with the rare Products of his noble Spirit. He despis'd that poor Glory which many of those so magnified Heroes made the only end of all their Actions. [Page] Anaxanacton being a true Lover of God, and having a perfect knowledge of his Infinite Wisdom, depended intirely upon his pleasure, and referr'd his whole Undertaking to his Honour, never relishing that delight which low Souls take in their own Self-will, nor admitting those vain Applauses by which arrogant persons nourish their Pride. He trampled upon Sensual Pleasures: the dull allurements of Fleshly Lust were not able to take any hold of him, who came to express an Angelical Life in a Humane Body; neither could the strongest Tentations make the least breach in his Deportment, which was to be the Standard of unspotted Purity. He was so carefully Just, that he was never accus'd of doing the least Wrong; neither indeed would he ever engage himself in those Affairs of worldly life which usually administer plausible suspicions of Unrighteousness, and of which they are commonly occasions. Covetous Desires could find no Harbour in that Divine Breast, which knew the Contemptibleness of those Trifles by which ordinary Mortals are first blinded and then taken Captives, and for which they stupidly admire their Thraldom. Ambition could find nothing to tempt him whom she perceiv'd to devote his whole Life to the Glory of the Eternal Father. You will easily imagine that he had no great Apprehension of those things which vulgar Opinion hath render'd formidable: he contemn'd the despicableness of Poverty; he seem'd not to feel the pain of Fasting; he took in good part the abuses of ingrateful Relatives; he did not much trouble himself to wipe off the slurs of false Accusations which were fram'd to obscure the Lustre of his Sanctity with Imputations of unjust Freedom, and to lessen the Glory of his Miraculous Actions with the pretence of Magical Assistances. As he perpetually contemn'd those worldly Interests which make men unwilling to think of Mortality, so with a most serene Patience be accosted Death, though it met him attended with all unhandsome Circumstances: for after a most opprobrious Trial he was condemn'd to be Crucified between two Thieves; and yet, as if he had been unconcern'd in his own Case, he neither [Page] attempted any Rescue, which could easily have been made, from those who guarded him, nor undertook the defence of his Cause where an Answer was as easie, his Accusers being destitute of any Testimony against him except their own Malice, and the Judge so satisfied concerning his Innocence, that he was forc'd to absolve him before he condemn'd him, and declar'd that he pronounc'd the Sentence against him and his own Conscience both at once. But Anaxanacton, as before he esteem'd it a small matter to be harmless unless he was also beneficial, when he could doe no more service to the World by his Life, he willingly laid it down to become, as I told you before, a Propitiatory Sacrifice not only for his Friends, but his Enemies, not excepting his Murtherers; and, mingling his Prayers with his Bloud, besought his Father that his Death might be a means of Eternal Life to those who kill'd him.

Whilst Bentivolio spoke these words, said Nicomachus, I observ'd the Tears run down the cheeks of Eugenius; who, after he had setled his Passion, proceeded thus, turning to Bentivolio: I must confess that I never heard of any other in whom Innocence, Charity and Prudence were so united, whom Fortitude and all the proper Qualities of a Generous Spirit did so innoble; and I cannot but think that those who convers'd with him entertain'd the highest thoughts of his Divine Person, and gave all Reverence to his Heavenly Doctrine: but I must entreat you to let us know what other Assurance he gave that he was sent from God. I was going to shew you, replied Bentivolio, that his Example was not more Venerable then the Proofs by which he asserted his Authority were unquestionable. As soon as he began to discover himself to the World, he was publickly honour'd with the Descent of the Holy Spirit, of which I told you before, and as he, being accompanied with some of his Friends, went up one day to a Mountain well known in Palestine, which as I remember is call'd Tabor, he was transfigured into a Celestial Form; his Body was so incircl'd with splendid Rayes, that his Vestment shin'd, and Moses and Elias, one the great Minister of the Law, the other the [Page] most famous of the Prophets, came down from their Ethereal Habitations to doe Homage to him; and, as they went away, leaving the World to the Conduct of that better Gospel which he was to promulgate, a Voice from Heaven now the second time confirm'd his Commission, and requir'd Mankind to obey him as their only Master. Thus nobly was Anaxanacton recommended to the World when he made his first Entries upon a publick life; and as he prosecuted the Execution of his holy Office, he was alwayes accompanied with a Divine Presence, which put a Majesty into his Discourses far above any thing which his Hearers could observe in their own authentick Doctors; all his Speeches justified themselves and the Speaker: Their Rabbies, notwithstanding the deadly hatred which they had for his Person, could not but admire the extraordinary Wisdom which shin'd from his Soul whilst he spoke, and which they could no more imitate then a Novice in Letters can equal the Eloquence of Cicero.

The Devil, that grand Patron of Envy, had soon taken notice of this Excellent Person, and was unspeakably vex'd to see Humane Nature rais'd to such a strange height, and he was much afraid that he should no longer be able to keep under those whom he had till now too successefully endeavour'd to depress; however, resolving to try his fortune, he presently challeng'd Anaxanacton to a single Combat in a lonesome Wilderness, where he hoped to discourage him with the horrours of Solitude, to affright him with the neighbourhood of Wild Beasts, and to weaken him with the defect of those ordinary Supplies by which our bodily life is supported, and attempted with all his Arts to bring him down from that sacred Rock in which he saw his strength was plac'd, viz. His Hope in God. But when he found him above the Tentation of Sensual Relishes, not capable of being entangl'd with promises of Riches, nor subject to the feebleness of an over-weening Phancie, he flung down his Arms & fled, to his shame perceiving that he had been more bold then wise, & was infinitely perplex'd since by a most undesirable Experiment he was assur'd that he [Page] was to expect now another - ghefs Antagonist then the first Adam; and encreas'd his Torments with the Fears which he entertain'd, and by which he too truly presag'd the loss of his Usurp'd Dominion. For this Victory was but a prelude to Anaxanacton's future Successes, who had frequent occasions to renew his Quarrel with this sort of Adversaries by reason of the constant Residence of Asmodeus and his Complices in the Country where Anaxanacton was born, which they had in a great measure subdued to their Obedience, and where they gave diligent Attendance lest they should be dispossess'd by this potent Prince. Some of those cruel practices by which they express'd their malicious Power gave a fair opportunity to Anaxanacton to make him self known: For that great Abaddon, and those desperate Legions his Fellow-devils, having receiv'd a permission to inflict some sort of Punishments upon apostate Humanity, took a base pleasure in afflicting the Bodies of Men and Women with painful Diseases, in disturbing their Understandings by indisposing their Brains, and rendring them ridiculous and troublesome to their Neighbours by extravagant Deportments.

This merciful Prince well knowing the unreasonable Malice of these damn'd Spirits, (for they tormented those whom they had made to sin) and being fairly invited to shew the Authority which was given to him for quite contrary uses, as the rightful Lord of the World he commanded these impudent Vassals to be gone, to leave off this Devilish Trade, and cease in festing those places which the Saviour of Mankind had chosen for his abode. The muttering Fiends obey'd, and trembling at the sight of their Judge, entreated him, that besides this dismission he would not adde to their present or accelerate their future Torments.

Anaxanacton, to shew that he came not into the World only as the Devil's Enemy, but the general Friend of Mankind, express'd his affectionate Assistance in reference to all their Necessities, and verified his sacred Office by a constant performance of beneficial Miracles; sometimes feeding maany thousands of hungry people who travell'd far to seek [Page] the Cure of their Diseases, whom whilst he heal'd and nourish'd, he did at once in two Instances shew both his God-like Pity and Divine Power. His Patients (shall I call them, or his Guests?) could not but say, If this be not He, it is in vain to expect any other Saviour; for, when he comes, will he be able to doe more then multiply our Bread with his Word, and to diminish our Pains without any other Medicine? But, as if the curing of the Sick were not a sufficient Demonstration of his Divinity, he rais'd the Dead also, and indeed gave so many satisfactions to Men, that they had no more sorts of Proofs to demand. Which way shall Omnipotent Wisdom give Testimony to the Truth which his Messengers deliver, if Miracles be no Assurance? And what Wonders would content us, if we think it is but a small matter to create Food, to restore Health, to return Life, only with speaking of a Word? And though the last instance of his Divine Power was liable to be question'd by those who, being carelesly Incredulous or wilfully Malicious, might pretend to think that no strange thing was perform'd, since they were not assur'd that those Persons were dead whom he was reported to have made to live the second time, he justified this and all his former Miracles, as lesser things, by one so great that it is beyond all Reasonable exception: For when his inveterate Enemies had nail'd him to a Cross, (which they were permitted to accomplish, not for the Satisfaction of their own Cruelty, but for the Reason which I fore-mention'd, and for which Villany they were severely punish'd) his Death was accompanied with wonderful Accidents; for the Veil of the Jewish Temple, which guarded the most Holy place from common Eyes, was rent from the Top to the Bottom, and shew'd both that the hidden meaning of the Mosaick Discipline was now reveal'd, and that a free Access into God's Presence was allow'd to Mankind by the Death of this great Mediator, who by this Oblation enter'd into the true Heavens as a fore-runner for all good Men. The Earth quak'd, the Rocks were broke in pieces, the Tombs open'd, the Dead came forth of their graves; signifying plainly that the Lord [Page] of Life was Crucified, by whose bloud the Dead should be restor'd to Life. The Sun put on a Robe of Darkness by an Eclipse naturally impossible, and the whole Heavens in just sympathy vested themselves with Sables; whilst observing Astronomers, who knew that this Defect of Light was not caus'd by the ordinary Interposition of the Moon, concluded that the most noble Luminary suffer'd in Mystical Sympathy with some great Affliction which either Nature or its Author at that time endur'd. And after they had thus taken away the Life which they unjustly hated, and made sure, as they thought, of his dead Body by putting their chief Governour's Seal upon his Tomb-stone, and set a guard of Souldiers to watch his Corps, he rose out of his Coffin, as he promis'd, the third day, roll'd away the Stone which was the Door of his Prison, and went forth without asking leave of Pilate's Goalers, and left his Ministers the good Angels to fright his Keepers from their vain employment, and to assure his Victory over Death to his old Friends, who he knew would not fail to perform what further Obsequies belong'd to his Funeral; to some of which he himself presently appear'd alive, both to requite the Constancy of their Love, and to strengthen the Weakness of their Faith. But judging those few not Witnesses enough of so Important an Action, nor one Visit a sufficient Proof of so great an Accident, he shew'd himself to his Apostles many times, and once made himself visible to five hundred Spectatours, who had no only leave to touch him and to talk with him, but he continued his Converse as long as his being upon Earth was needful to confirm the Belief of his Disciples. Then having other Affairs to negotiate for them in Heaven, he ascended in their sight, to receive that Glory which was the due Reward of his humble Obedience, and to teach his Followers to aspire after his Presence in those Celestial Regions, where he assur'd them that a place should be provided for all that were obedient to his Counsel.

I must confess now, said Eugenius, you have given such a satisfactory Accompt of this Generous Prince, that instead [Page] of the Doubts which I entertain'd at the beginning of your Discourse, I am surpriz'd with an Admiration of the whole Story, and I think it not more Extraordinary in any part, then Rational in the Contexture of the whole; and the assurance which is produc'd in my Mind concerning the Truth of this Relation, makes me suppose that some strange things happen'd upon Earth after Anaxanacton's Ascent into Heaven; and but that I have been more then sufficiently troublesome already, I should willingly understand by your means what success his Gospel had in the World. If you had not made this demand, replied Bentivolio, I should have perform'd what you desire, this being a Part of my Story, in which the Accidents are so considerable, that they are very well worth your Knowledge, and bear such an important Relation to the Whole, that they are a clear Demonstration of its Truth. Anaxanacton having at his departure commanded his Servants to stay at Hierusalem, (then one of the most noble Cities in the World) and there to await his further Orders concerning their future Actions, after a few dayes, when they were all Assembled in one large Room, accompanied with many worthy Persons who were true Lovers of this good Prince, Anaxanacton, according to the Promise which he made at his Translation, sent a divine Spirit, who descending with a noise much like the blustring of a violent Wind, appear'd in a cloven form of Fiery Tongues, and resting upon them, presently expounded the Mystery of this [...] Appearance by inspiring them with Ability to speak divers Languages, and so gave them power to teach all Nations in their own Tongues that Holy Gospel which concern'd all the World to know, being the Method of their Eternal Happiness. They being thus appointed, begun presently to execute the Office to which they were deputed by their Master, and having dispers'd themselves into many Kingdoms, they related the Story of Anaxanacton, publish'd the Gospel which he had made a Catholick Law, & gave them the true meaning of every Precept in plain Interpretations, making known the Promises whose Truth he seal'd with his Bloud; and, [Page] besides the venerable Sanctity of their Lives, verified their Authority, as their Master had done before them, with divine Works: They vanquish'd Devils, silenc'd Oracles, reproch'd Idols, reprov'd Vice, and commanded Men in Anaxanacton's name to amend their Lives, and threatn'd the Disobedient with Eternal Misery if they continu'd in their Impenitence. The Converted World receiv'd their Message with a sincere chearfulness; and in a short time a great part of Asia, Europe, and Africk, submitted themselves to the Discipline of Anaxanacton, call'd themselves by his name, chang'd their Religion, abandon'd their Gods, and despis'd all other Interests but His Gospel, and laid down their Lives as Witnesses of their true Faith.

The greatness of this sudden Victory is more admirable, if you consider that the Truth of this Divine Revelation did not only gain Credit with the Common sort of People, but master'd the Reason of most learn'd Philosophers, overcame the Policy of gravest Senatours, conquer'd the Spirit of the most valiant Commanders, out-witted the Cunning of subtle Conjurers, and making Proselytes to it self in all Climates, convinc'd the Pagan Emperour who then rul'd the World by such loud and magnificent Reports, that he would have inroll'd Anaxanacton among his Country Gods; which though it was hindred by Anaxanacton, who would not be rank'd with such contemptible Rivals, and oppos'd by his Ministers of State for politick Reasons, yet within a small compass of Years that Empire which gave Laws to all the World submitted it self to his Government, and the greatest Kings esteem'd it their chief Glory to be Subjects of Anaxanacton: and they testified the truth of their Estimations by building magnificent Temples for the more convenient Reception of his Worshippers, bestowing upon his Ministers great Revenues, offering up their daily Prayers to God in his great Name, celebrating his Love to the World with grateful Hymns, consecrating much time to the Remembrance of the more observable Parts of his Life, and making such honourable Commemorations of his Death and Resurrection as were [Page] suitable to the Mystical Import of those noble Accidents; thinking, and that truly, that it was but a just Gratitude to doe all they could to make the Name of Anaxanacton the greatest thing that ever was talk'd of in the World. Though I must tell you, continued Bentivolio, that this was not a more proper expression of deserv'd Love in men then a necessary piece of Divine Providence: for though Anaxanacton was veil'd awhile with the contemptibleness of a Low estate; yet it was not fit that the Obedience of his Humility should be unrewarded, nor the Greatness of his Glory long obscur'd: For he was that Prince who not long after the Creation and immediately upon the Apostasy was promis'd as the Redeemer of Mankind, was the Hope of the Patriarchs, the Theme of the Prophets, the Fulness of the Law, the Substance of all Shadows, the Summe of the Gospel, the true Teacher of Wisdom, the Planter of Holy Discipline, the Glory of the Jews, the Morning-Star of the Gentiles, the Joy of Good Angels, the Terrour of Devils, the Lord of both Worlds, the Heir of all things, the Head of the Church; and, to end my Story, that Divine Person in whom the Faith, Love, Hope and Thoughts of all wise and good men did rest satisfied; and for whose more glorious Appearance, which he promis'd at his departure, all good Spirits in Heaven and Earth do continually pray. After Bentivolio had discours'd so far, he took a small Book out of his Pocket written in Greek by four of Anaxanacton's Friends, and gave it to Eugenius, both as a Verification of his own Report, and that by the perusal of it Eugenius might more fully inform himself in the incomparable History of so rare a Person.

Bentivolio holding his peace, Eugenius and all the Company gave him thanks; only Antigraphus, who came in a little after he had begun to discourse, did it not so heartily as the rest, having possess'd his Mind with Prejudice against many parts of the Relation, which he had formerly heard, and alwayes oppos'd. As they walk'd in the Gallery, for they had left their Seats, Eugenius perceiving some disturbance in Antigraphus his Countenance, having civilly express'd his [Page] conjectures, ask'd him the Reason of his Dissatisfaction. — Whilst Nicomachus pronounc'd these words, a Gentleman came into the Walk, and having saluted the Company in the name of Theosebius, he deliver'd a Letter from Bentivolio to Urania, and another to Panaretus, wherein he entreated him and Nicomachus to make haste to Phronesium; and another to Sympathus from the Prince of Theoprepia, in which he commanded him to invite Theonoe and Irene to come to his Court, and desired them to conduct the Lady Urania thither also with all Respect due to a Person of her Quality. This news was welcome to them all: to the Gentlemen, because they were going to a place where they were sure to enjoy the best Company in the World; and to the Ladies, because contrary to their Fears they should not be left behind; especially to Urania, who did very passionately desire to see Bentivolio. Whilst they were expressing their mutual Resentments of their common Felicity, one of Theonoe's Servants call'd them in to Dinner. When the Cloth was taken away, Urania began to call to mind that Nicomachus had not quite discharg'd his Task, being interrupted by reading the Letters which they receiv'd from Theosebius, and therefore desired leave of the Company that he might resume it. They consented, and Nicomachus was voted to his Chair again by an unanimous voice of the whole Company, and, Theonoe having given order that none should interrupt them, Nicomachus proceeded after this manner.

Though I have sufficiently declar'd the Imperfection of my Wit in offering at the Recital of such a noble Story, yet since I sin only because I would be obedient, I will briefly give you the last part of that Discourse; especially because I esteem that which was then said to be very pertinent to the Vindication of Anaxanacton's Honour from the foolish Cavils of some Pretenders to Wit, who take it for a great piece of Ability to find faults where there are none, and think they deserve Applause, when they merit only Scorn, for saucily deriding those things which they ought humbly to adore. Antigraphus, as I was going to have told you, being desired by Eugenius to express his Mind, addressing [Page] himself to Bentivolio, began thus: It's true, I am not satisfied with your Discourse: Though you have adorn'd the History of Anaxanacton with plausible Colours, yet I cannot but think that many of them may [...] be rubb'd off. I will not trouble you with a punctual Enumeration of all my Doubts, only I shall crave your pardon to touch upon some things which most offend me. What you have said concerning Anaxanacton's Birth, his Miraculous Actions, his Resurrection and Ascension, is utterly destitute of any known Parallel, and methinks it requires a vast measure of Credulity to make men believe a Report so strangely incredible. For my own part, I desire to be told how I may assure my self that those parts of your Story are true. That Notion which you put upon the Death of Anaxanacton, whose bloud was shed, as you say, as an Expiation for the Sins of the World, and that he offered himself upon the Cross as a Propitiatory Sacrifice, seems to be clogg'd with so much unreasonableness, that I cannot but disbelieve it. I look upon his Crucifixion as a means both wholly unnecessary and altogether useless, and so very unfitly applied to any such purposes. You make use indeed of various Expressions to magnifie the advantage of his Death, and say the same thing in different words; yet in my mind it fits none of them. Sometimes you fansy his Sufferings as a placatory Oblation, and so make his Cross an Instrument of Atonement between an angry God and trembling Offenders. But with what probability can this be affirm'd? For can he truly be said to be Reconcil'd, who not only was never angry, but whose Divine Nature is utterly incapable of such a low Passion? Sometimes you explain the same point by the Notion of Redemption, and would have us look upon the Life of Anaxanacton as a Price paid down for the reinfranchising of inslav'd Men. I confess I wonder at this as much as the other; for to whom should this Price be paid? To God? How can that be, since you say that he gave this Anaxanacton, his dear Son, as a Ransome for Men, and so make him the Purchaser? Which cannot be admitted neither; for to what purpose should he give him, unless it [Page] were to buy what was his own? Men could neither give nor sell themselves from God; if they did, the Deed was Invalid, because he can never lose his Right by any foolish Act of his Creatures. They could not be taken from him by force, because he is Omnipotent. If he receiv'd a Price for them, it seems he did not Redeem, but Sell, them. The Price you speak of could not be paid to the Devil; for God only, whose Law was violated, had Right to take Punishment of his offending Subjects; and if the Devil had any hand in the Torment, it was but of an Executioner deputed by God. Besides all this, Anaxanacton could not be truly said to have bought Men, for he himself, as I have heard, affirm'd that God gave him freely that part of Mankind in which he claims a peculiar Interest.

The Sense which you would express by using the word Satisfaction is liable to as great Difficulties. If God would not forgive sinners till he had receiv'd Satisfaction, he lessen'd his Goodness, which you say is Infinite. Or if he would needs have Satisfaction, yet why should the most Innocent Anaxanacton be expos'd to scornful Tortures in the stead of such as were notoriously guilty? Although that Generous Prince was so good-natur'd as to offer it, yet it was contrary to God's Justice to receive such a Cruel Compensation; and it seems to have been too excessive an Anger conceiv'd against the Sins of the World, which could not be appeas'd without a Sacrifice of Humane Bloud, the Use whereof you did but now condemn in the Heathen Religion. What Satisfaction was due I do not know, but it seems to follow from your own Principles, that Anaxanacton could not pay it, for you acknowledge him to be a God: and if you think to take off this Inconvenience by laying it upon his Humane Nature, I must tell you that it could not make Satisfaction for the Defects of others, because all that it could doe was but its own just Duty.

I am confirm'd in this Opinion of Anaxanacton's Death, proceeded Antigraphus, because I perceive but very small Effects which it hath produc'd towards the Melioration of the World since he left it. If he had deliver'd the World [Page] from Ignorance by his Gospel, and redeem'd it, as you say he did, from Sin by his Death; how comes it to pass that many Nations are not acquainted with his Laws, and that most of those Countries which have receiv'd that knowledge are as Wicked as those which have not? Some of them complain of Anaxanacton's Discipline as a heavy Yoke, and pretend that their Disobedience is necessitated, because his Commands are so strict that they cannot be observ'd. Whether this be true or no, I know not; but that they are not obey'd is but too evident by their contrary practices. We see also that the World is vex'd with those Afflictions which you call the Punishments of Sin; as Painful Diseases, Devouring Plagues, Bloudy Wars, Intolerable Famine, Implacable Death, and Dissentions Irreconcilable entertain'd by those who, though they glory in the Pretense of being Anaxanacton's Disciples, yet having torn off his known Badge, Mutual Love, and despis'd his gentle Spirit, all the World perceives that they have nothing but his bare Name; and that they have so confounded his Doctrine by quarrelsome Controversies, that they themselves can scarce tell what it is. I doubt concerning the Truth of that Relation which you made of the Success which he had for a while; and if I should grant it to be true, yet I must tell you that it did scarce equal what hath accompanied the Designs of those whom you call Impostors, some of which have gotten Victory over a great part of Anaxanacton's Dominions, as is known by the Story of Mahomet.

Bentivolio perceiving that Antigraphus had made an end, replied in these words: Though there are many things in Christian Religion (for that is but another Name of Anaxanacton's Discipline) so Mystical that their full Sense is above the reach of our Apprehension; yet nothing can justly be esteem'd unreasonable because we are not able to fathom it, since we know that Inferiour Beings cannot adequately comprehend Superiour. Though it is very common with foolish men to quarrel with those Methods by which God prosecutes the Design of their Happiness, and to cavil at those Notions wherein the most important Truths are [Page] contain'd; yet I think those which you have impugn'd so agreeable to right Reason, and that no Instrument could have been more prudently contriv'd to promote the Salvation of Mankind then the Death of Anaxanacton; and that it was not unsuccessefully applied to serve this most noble Design, and that the Effects which were produc'd by it were never equall'd by any other Invention, is the first thing that I will endeavour to shew you, and adde to what I have said already concerning this Matter answers to all your Objections, and afterward I will satisfie you as to the Truth of the whole Story of Anaxanacton.

When Man came first into Being, he was God's Creature, and so oblig'd by the strongest ties to acknowledge him for his Soveraign Rector, He who made all things having an indubitable Right to give them Laws. The universal Creator according to his Divine Prudence inscrib'd natural Rules upon Mens Hearts, so making them in part Laws to themselves, and superadded some Positive Commands as further significations of his Will. He knowing that he had to doe with considerative Natures, not only engag'd them to observe his Laws by the good Condition into which he put them; but added another strong preservative against Disobedience, by annexing to his Commands Punishments conditionally threatn'd: Which was a rare Expression of the Divine Goodness, for God did so take care that the false Hopes of Impunity might not bring into the World first Sin and then Ruine. But rash Men, slighting their Duty notwithstanding these Obligations to the contrary, rendred themselves obnoxious to the Punishment of an Ingrateful Rebellion; and it was then just with God, who is the Lord of Punishment, to inflict the Mulcts which were due upon the contempt of his Precepts. But he considering that it was a thing worthy of the benign Creator rather to repair his work by an Afterprovision of his Wisdom, then to desert it to that Ruine which was the effect of its own Folly, determin'd to restore the degenerate World, and upon Terms which were fit for him to propound to admit Offenders to the benefit of Reconcil'd [Page] Favour. The Sins of the World being an unspeakable Affront to his just Authority, and an open Scorn put upon his most excellent Laws, he saw it was reasonable that Men ought not to be pardon'd but in a way by which the Divine Honour might be repair'd, his Government acknowledg'd, the Righteousness of his Injunctions vindicated, Obedience restor'd to its due Estimation, Rebellion condemn'd and put to the highest disgrace, and Offenders by the assurance of Forgiveness perswaded to return to their Duty, and so that base thing, Sin, be rooted out of the World.

Now, Antigraphus, if you will give me leave to use a few words more, continued Bentivolio, I will demonstrate to you that these noble Designs could not have been accomplish'd any way so well as by the Obedient Life and Holy Death of Anaxanacton. You must know that he came into the World at such a time when Wickedness had advanc'd it self to a height scarce parallel'd in any Age: and when that Nation which did most of all others pretend, and had the greatest reasons to be Examples of Vertue, had not only dishonour'd it by Vicious Practices, but had slurr'd their Rules with such false Expositions, that they had represented the Observation of their genuine Sense as unnecessary; Anaxanacton appear'd upon this Stage as the Champion of Obedience, and by an unspotted Conversation made a publick Defiance to the prevalence of Vice, subdued the Power of bad Example, and reveal'd a dear Regard of the Divine Will when all the World slighted it, overcame the Temptations of Sin, and condemn'd those Customs which by a continu'd repetition of wicked Actions do propagate hurtful Examples; and having given all sorts of men a full knowledge of their Duties by his Excellent Discourses, and shewn the way to the most noble degree of Vertue, of which (as I told you before) his own Life was the Beautiful Image, he reprov'd the disobedient World with such Authority, that he amaz'd the most Obstinate, and perfectly reclaim'd the Ingenuous, who wanting good Information sinn'd only of Ignorance, but now reform'd themselves willingly since they knew the danger of their Errours.

[Page] Anaxanacton having proceeded so far, his Life was improv'd to the utmost Justification of the Supreme Lawgiver, and now he laid it down, that by his Death he might make a further Reparation of the Divine Honour, and a fuller Expression of his Charity to Humane Nature. His Death was a common Penance of Mankind, in which Divine Justice made the Sins of the World to meet as in an Expiatory Suffering, which his Love made him chearfully endure, having voluntarily put himself into the place of Sinners; and he was not unwilling to bear such shameful Torments as were ever look'd upon as the Punishments of Sin, and the visible Effects of God's Displeasure. Thus his Cross became a publick Vindication of the Divine Justice to which all the World was obnoxious, and it was a great Augmentation of that Disparagement which he had cast upon Sin by his Holy Life: For none could receive the true knowledge of this wonderful Action, and remain so stupid as to think still that Disobedience is a Trifle which was thus expiated, or so unreasonable as not to conclude, that the Wound was of a most deadly concernment which could not be cured but by a Balsam made of such precious Bloud. How can any man think that it is a cheap thing to sin, when the dearest Son of God was buffeted, crown'd with Thorns, and then nail'd to a Cross for it? The Saviour of the World had reason to expect that when some men saw, and others heard, that the hard Rocks clove and the dull Earth trembled at his Death, and that the dead came out of their Graves, that they would awake out of their deadly slumbers, and not only think of relenting a little, but melting themselves into an ingenuous Sorrow for their former Enormities, now begin a new Life, according to his Directions who died for them, and by his Death shew'd them not only the depth of his true Affection, but made it the greatest endearment of Obedience; letting them see that it was so necessary to their Happiness, that it is neither possible nor fit that they should be sav'd without it.

Thus was Sin [...] by Anaxanacton's Death; and [Page] when he had discharg'd this Office, Men could not doubt of being pardon'd through his Mediation, for he told them that his Death was a Propitiatory Sacrifice offer'd in the name of Sinners, and that his Bloud was shed as a Federal Rite by which (according to the known Custom of the Eastern World, who by Bloud did usually ratifie their Leagues of Friendship) he confirm'd the Promise of Pardon which he had formerly made in the name of his Father, and seal'd his Gospel, which was a Covenant of Love, and contain'd the Grant of our Peace, in stead of the bloud of Beasts with his own.

But that I may end this part of my Discourse, let me tell you also that the Death of Anaxanacton did both naturally augment the pitifulness of our General High-Priest, who by the Experience of Afflictions learn'd to compassionate his suffering Friends; Anaxanacton also made it a rare Example of that Patience which he knew his Followers would need, to support them against those Affronts which he foresaw would be put upon them by such as, having no love for Vertue themselves, would hate it in others, and being more in number would be alwayes able to doe them mischief, and be instigated to persecute them with more rage by their own Vices, which were perpetually condemn'd by their excellent Lives. Thus also Anaxanacton gave his Friends a fair encouragement to suffer chearfully, seeing their true Lover to have led them the way, and being assured that neither Shame, Pain or Death could obstruct their Happiness, all of them being hallow'd by the Patience, and overcome by the Faith of their Victorious Prince.

As by this which I have said concerning the rare Use which was made of Anaxanacton's Death, you may easily perceive that it was so far from being Impertinent, that it demonstrates not only the greatest Love, but an equal Wisdom in the Designation of it to the fore-mention'd Purposes; so you will see that the great Import of his Death is not improperly express'd in those Notions which you dislike, if you will have the Patience to understand the true meaning of those common [...] Reconciliation, Redemption [Page] and Satisfaction, when they are applied to this Affair.

Reconciliation must be explain'd according to the Notion of Displeasure of which God is capable. He is then said to be Angry when he Punisheth; and as it is natural for men to be afraid when they have transgress'd the Law of their Supreme King, so it is just with him to be angry at their Offences, that is, to punish the Offenders: and he may very well be said to be Reconcil'd, when he doth not lay their Sins to their charge; and to receive them into that Favour which they forfeited, when he doth not inflict the Punishment which was deserv'd. Thus the Notion of Reconciliation is very proper, and not at all the less intelligible, though God is not a passionate Being; and the Effect of our Saviour's Mediation is equally valuable. For whilst the Sinner is liable to an unspeakable Torment, his condition is as miserable as if he who is provok'd to inflict it were subject to wrathful Affections, since he knows how to doe it with a serene Justice; and the Courtesie of the Intercessor is infinitely obliging, notwithstanding the indisturb'd temper of the Divine Nature, because he saves the Offendor from a dreadful Punishment: and since the unpassionate King would have inflicted it without the foremention'd Interposition, he which is pardon'd need not scruple to say that his God is reconcil'd to him by the Death of Anaxanacton.

You will also be satisfied as to the Notion of Redemption, if you consider what is meant by that word when it is us'd in this matter: For it signifies that Anaxanacton by his Death restor'd Mankind to Liberty, that benefit which poor Slaves receive when they are deliver'd from a miserable captivity by the payment of a summe of Money. We were enslav'd to the Devil, who had tempted us from our Allegiance to God, and perswading us to follow his Counsels and the Conduct of our own Lawless Appetites had put upon us by degrees the Shackles of Habitual Sin, and expos'd us to the danger of Eternal Death. How unmercifully this Tyrant us'd his Captives by the exercise of his usurp'd Power, whilst they languish'd under the fear of Revenge [Page] to be taken upon them by God from whom they revolted, I told you before. Now though no Price was paid to the Devil, for none was due; yet since Men were freed from his intolerable yoke, and sav'd from the Miseries which they endur'd, and the further dangers which were justly consequent to their Obedience to the Devil, (for they were willing Slaves, and though they were abus'd by him, yet they deserv'd to be punish'd severely as voluntary Fugitives from a most Gracious Soveraign,) God may very well be said to be their Redeemer, and Anaxanacton to have paid a Price for them; since it pleas'd the Father that his dear Son should be their Deliverer, and since Anaxanacton was not unwilling to submit to hard Terms for their Recovery.

The propriety of this Expression and the fitness of this Means of our Liberty will be yet further apparent, if you will take notice that the Bonds which tied us in Slavery were our own Wills engag'd to a course of Disobedience by the prevalence of fleshly Tentations; and whilst the Enemy of our Souls gave us leave to enjoy the Pleasures of Sin, he made us believe that he lov'd us more then God, though by indulging to us our Lusts he did us no other favour but to kill us with sweet Poison, and mix'd Delusion with our Ruine, over which also he and his malicious Associates devillishly insulted. That we might be reclaim'd from such pernicious Folly, the Eternal Father and his dear Son made an unparallel'd Demonstration of amazing Love, to shame us out of our continuance in that dishonourable Vassallage wherein we foolishly serv'd our own and our Creator's Enemy. For Anaxanacton came and perswaded the unhappy Rebels to return to their Loyalty, and died upon a Cross before their faces to procure their Pardon; after which they saw their Fetters fall off, repented of their rebellious Folly, return'd to their lawful Prince, and could not but look upon him that made them as their Redeemer, since he had perswaded them into Liberty by such a charming Argument: and they call'd Anaxanacton's Bloud the Price of their Redemption, because it was such a potent [Page] means of their Recovery. Indeed Anaxanacton, not doubting but this would be the happy consequent of his undertaking, told his Friends as he was going to the Cross, that when he should be lifted up there, and had thence made manifest his own and his Father's ardent affections to our Restauration, he should draw Sinners up to him; that is, impress such a deep Sense of grateful Love upon their Souls, that they would now willingly obey one who had after such an obliging manner attempted their Freedom. They needed now no other Argument to disengage their Minds from the power of their false Apprehensions, when they saw themselves invited to the Service of their good God, and to abandon the Tyrant who kill'd them, at the perswasions of one who to shew how truly he lov'd them died for them.

Besides all this, I could tell you, Antigraphus, that Anaxanacton might properly enough be call'd a Redeemer, that is, a Restorer of happy Liberty, for another great Reason; which is, because he did not only out-wit that cunning Serpent by his Prudence, but overcame that strong Enemy by his Power, and rescu'd captive Humanity, and punish'd him for the wrong which he had done in seducing his Father's Subjects from their Obedience; which was all the Price due to him for the Slaves whom he first took unjustly, and then us'd villanously. This is a plain Answer to all those little Cavils which you made against the Notion of Redemption; and if it satisfie not, you must be forc'd to stay till Metaphorical Expressions be cur'd of their old lameness, and so grow able to doe that which they never did yet, that is, to run upon four Feet.

The Method of your Demands requires now that I take out your other scruple concerning the Satisfaction which God is said to have receiv'd in the Death of Anaxanacton. This Doubt is founded upon a Defect of Knowledge. It was most fit that the Supreme Lord being wrong'd should appoint his own Satisfaction; and since he made choice of the obedient Death of his dear Son, why should he not accept it as a Propitiation for Sinners, and give leave to Anaxanacton [Page] to nail their Bond to his Cross, he having pay'd what was demanded by the Universal Creditor? Whereas you phansie it is a Diminution of the Divine Goodness not to pardon the Sins of the World without such a strange kind of Compensation; I must tell you that it was not fit that so high a thing as God's Authority, which was denied, should have no Reparation, nor that Men should be tempted to Sin by perpetual Impunity; so since the Eternal Father, willing to condescend to fit Terms of Reconciliation, was careful to find out what we could not have thought on, or, if we had, durst not have propounded it, spar'd not his own Son, but gave him to suffer so many Reproches and so much Torment for our sakes, he testified more love, and endear'd himself more to us, then if he had contriv'd our Salvation, as you suppose he might, some other way.

Whereas you Object, that though God might expect Satisfaction, yet it was unworthy of him to take it of Anaxanacton after such a cruel fashion; I desire you to consider a little better, and you will see that it was no Injustice in the Supreme Lord to accept the Payment of the Debt which Sinners ow'd when it was offer'd by Anaxanacton. It is a common thing for us to give our Money to those to whom we our selves owe nothing, to pay the Debts of others; and sometimes, though but seldom, an Innocent Person hath offer'd his Life to expiate anothers Default: and this Action of Anaxanacton is more justifiable, since his matchless Charity is not only celebrated throughout all the World with Immortal Praises, but he also procur'd by his Death the greatest benefits which were ever bestow'd upon Mankind, and improv'd his Sufferings to his own unspeakable Advantage, whilst his most just Father, who could not permit such a charitable Obedience to want the greatest Reward, crown'd his humble Patience with an universal Soveraignty, and made him, who for a while was the lowest of Servants, the Lord of all things. By which you cannot but perceive that there is no Reason to parallel the cruel Customs of the Pagan Superstition, in which sometimes Men, sometimes Virgins, were slain against their wills to no purpose, but to gratifie the [Page] Malice of Devils, with the Voluntary Oblation which Anaxanacton made of his own Life, which both proceeded from a most noble Principle, and was glorified with a happy Conclusion.

Though you pretend also that Anaxanacton's Oblation could not benefit others, because whatsoever he did was a just Duty to his Father; I must tell you that though after Anaxanacton was born a Man, he ow'd all possible Obedience to his Divine Father in his own name, yet his Performances may very rationally be suppos'd capable of reflecting Advantage upon others, since he was not necessarily Incarnate, but Voluntarily assum'd our Nature on purpose to doe Honour to God.

This is enough, said Eugenius turning himself to Bentivolio, to justifie the Reasonableness of Anaxanacton's Death to all Ingenuous Persons; but I beseech you, for Antigraphus his full Satisfaction, to let us see by the Effects which it produc'd that all this was not labour in vain; for notwithstanding your former Discourse he fears not to say that the World receiv'd little benefit by it. I remember very well what he said, replied Bentivolio; and since your Patience is not yet spent, I will shew you the Falshood of this Calumny, for so I must call it. There are but two things considerable in Sin, the Unreasonableness of enormous Actions, and the Punishment to which Sinners are obnoxious; and it is easie to convince any rational Person by that which I told you in the former part of this Discourse, that Anaxanacton did what was fit for Him, that is, the best Person in the World, to doe to remove them both. He re-inforc'd the Commands of Obedience to Almighty God by his Divine Precepts; he reveal'd the danger of a wicked Life, and declar'd that Holiness, i.e. Wisdom and Goodness, is an Immoveable Bound-stone which God hath set between a happy and a miserable Estate. To prevent Despair he assur'd Delinquents of their Pardon upon Repentance, having offer'd himself as a Propitiatory Sacrifice: which was a Notion so early known and so universally spread through the World, that there was none which understood not the [Page] meaning of that most obliging Action. He made his Commands so plain, that they did not only condemn the Dissolute, but reproch all false Pretenders. To prevent the hopes of sluggish Endeavours, he declar'd the Invalidity of the greatest Knowledge which doth not transform those who possesse it into the Image of Truth. He assur'd all false Believers, that the Faith which doth not subdue their Sins will never be able to chase away their Fears. He put all possible Disgrace upon Hypocrisie, having mark'd it with the brand of the most odious Wickedness. He hath undone all vain Expectations by linking all his Promises with Conditional Precepts. He hath confirm'd the terrible Sentence which is pronounc'd by an Evil Conscience, that Sinners might find no Refuge but in true Repentance. He hath condemn'd all External shews of Piety and Vertue which are destitute of interiour Correspondencies. He told all Good men that they must look upon the Permission of Tentations not as Excuses of Sin, but as Continuations of their Trial, and commanded them never to think of being crown'd hereafter except they overcome now; and to encourage them to endeavour heartily, he hath assur'd them of his never-failing Assistances.

This is enough, continu'd Bentivolio, to demonstrate the fulness of his Prudent care; and, if you remember what I told you before concerning the vast Extent of his great Conquest, you will have no reason to think his Attempt ineffectual: neither can you frame any Excuse to salve the Ingratitude of those who remain'd disobedient to the mighty Reasons of such incomparable Love, but their own extreme Carelesness, and base neglect of Consideration: For no blame can be laid upon him, who had done such wonders that they were sufficient to make the most stupid to mind their most Important Interest. After so much endeavour I cannot imagine what Exception you can frame against Anaxanacton's Method but this, that he did not offer violence to the Liberty of mens Wills, and make them Vertuous whether they would or no; which are words incapable of any reasonable Sense. If Anaxanacton had put a [Page] Necessity upon men to embrace his Discipline, he had cross'd his own Design, which was, by a clear Proposal of a Glorious Immortality to excite free Agents to engage their Choice in a constant use of holy Means to obtain so noble an End. Also the Divine Temper of Soul in which all his Disciples find themselves unspeakably happy is such a rais'd Disposition, that it is impossible to be reach'd by those who debase themselves by voluntary Sin: And the Peace of Conscience and Hopes of a blessed Immortality which Anaxanacton grants as an Antepast of their future Happiness to his Faithful Servants, are only the Results of a good Life, which is grounded upon a firm Choice and constant Resolution of being Obedient to his Rules.

I know well that the World hath long since degenerated from the noble Example of the first Converts, and that the rare Vertues of the Primitive times are scarce any where to be found in our dayes; but we must take heed of accusing Anaxanacton for our own faults. When he commanded men to acknowledge his Gospel, and told them that it was the only Security of their best Interest; yet he let them know that it would doe them no good except they entertain'd it with a very sincere Observance of those Directions which are contain'd in it. But as he is altogether to be excus'd, we are so much the more worthy of blame, both because we neglect the Encouragement which is offer'd by such gallant Examples, and because we may make an Imitation of their illustrious Vertues at a far cheaper rate then they could set us Copies.

This which I have said concerning the Continuance of Sin doth also demonstrate the Justice of those Punishments which you think ought not to afflict the World since Anaxanacton undertook its Restauration. He deliver'd his true Disciples from the danger of Eternal Death, which is the chief Punishment of Sin; and made those less Inconveniences which they meet and patiently entertain upon their way to encrease their more welcome Reception into their Everlasting Home: and as those others, Antigraphus, who will not be redeem'd must needs continue Slaves, so [Page] being Slaves it is but fit that they should carry their chains. But who are they in whose Punishments you do particularly concern your self? The Jewish Nation, to whom Anaxanacton made the first offers of Redemption? There is no reason but they should be punish'd, both because, notwithstanding the strong Motives by which they were long perswaded to an Emendation of their Lives, they grew so extremely wicked, that one of their chief Historians thought that if God had not destroy'd them by the Romans, the Earth would have swallow'd them; and because they did barbarously reject the Terms of Pardon which in a most obliging way were propounded by Anaxanacton. As they shew'd themselves incorrigible by continuing wicked after he had for many years in vain attempted their Reformation; so it is not only a just but a very proper Affliction with which they are punish'd, being not utterly destroy'd, but dispers'd into most Kingdoms of the World, where they live [...], that they might every where remain as an evident Testimony of God's Displeasure against ingrateful Apostates, and be a lasting witness of Anaxanacton's veracity, who told them before that this Misery would befall them if they persever'd, as they did, in Disobedience.

As your Objection includes the rest of the World, I must tell you that there is no reason but they should be punish'd too. Anaxanacton came not to disoblige men from the Law of Nature, but to superadde endearments to its Observance; and since other Nations follow'd the bad Example of the obstinate Jews, it is most just that they should be their Parallels in suffering. You must needs justifie Anaxanacton as altogether unaccessory to their Calamities, except you would have him become a Patron of Sin, and indeed desire him to nourish with his Bloud that curs'd Root which grew too fast of its self.

Well, well, said Antigraphus, let the Reasons of mens Degeneracy be what they will, you confess the World remains Wicked, so that the Proofs of Anaxanacton's success must be fetch'd from that Age in which he liv'd. Yes, replied Bentivolio, but much more from those which follow'd his [Page] Death, in which they were so considerable in themselves, but especially if you take notice of the unparallel'd Method by which his Affairs prosper'd, that there is no more cause to put him into a mean Comparison with the most successeful Impostor, then there is reason to equal the Follies of Mahomet's contemptible Alcoran with the wisdom of his most excellent Gospel. It is a peculiar Glory by which the Discipline of Anaxanacton is recommended to the World, that it was neither introduc'd at first, nor establish'd afterwards, by those ordinary means of Policy or Force. His Person was of such little consideration in regard of Worldly extract, that he was a Demonstration of the highest Worth invelop'd with the lowest Humility: His holy Doctrine was opposite to receiv'd Customs: his grave Converse was not set off with a plausible Fashion, but express'd such Manners as were scorn'd by the Modish World: He neither flatter'd great Princes, nor humour'd the mean Appetites of the fleshly Vulgar: he perswaded not Obedience to his Rules with the arts of Humane Rhetorick: His Followers were discourag'd by Secular Powers, their Number lessen'd by cruel Deaths, for which Sufferings they could hope for no Compensation in this World. And though the Pagan Superstition was encourag'd by the Favour of many Princes, supported by strong Armies, defended by learned Philosophers, asserted by Eloquent Oratours, further'd by the Devices of cunning Magicians, and cried up by the universal Suffrage of all Nations; yet by a Divine Power which fell upon it from the Life and Gospel of Anaxanacton, and the mighty Spirit which assisted his Servants, the Idolatrous Worship with all its pompous Ceremonies melted away as the Snow doth before a warm Sun; whilst Anaxanacton's Subjects wearied the Malice of their Tormentors with an unconquerable Patience, and by the generous Testimony which they gave to Truth, reconcil'd their mortal Enemies to the belief of that which they persecuted, and to a most sincere Love of those whom but a little before they perfectly hated.

If Mahomet had made use of no other Means to serve his [Page] Design, his Name would long since have been forgotten in the World: but as his Religion (in which he craftily made an honourable mention of Anaxanacton) is contemptible in it self, being a kind of Cento made up of Rites stollen partly from the Jews, partly from the Pagans, and some borrow'd from the Christians; he fill'd it with ridiculous Fables, absurd Stories, perswades Obedience with obscene Promises, and expresseth a base Condescension humoring the lowest sort of Life, the worst of Men willingly observing his foolish Orders, whilst they pleas'd themselves in hope to be admitted at last into a brave Seraglio for their Heaven, and instead of Paradise to be put into a Gynaeceum.

Yet the subtil Lunatick perceiv'd that this would not effect what he aim'd at without the use of Arms, and therefore as soon as he had multiplied his Disciples to a competent Number by fraudulent Arts, he betook himself to Force, and so order'd his way to make Proselytes, that those whom he endeavour'd to perswade to his Religion saw that they must either die or be Mahometans. Which is enough to shew the lowness of the way by which that cheating Arabian made his Attempts upon the World in comparison of the Celestial Method by which Anaxanacton's successes were obtain'd. But since he became Master of his Designs by politick Stratagems and force of Arms, and extended his Victories to the distress of Anaxanacton's People, lest you should think this a sufficient Reason for venerable thoughts of that Impostor, I must tell you that you may as well think honourably of the Devil, and conclude that the Worship which was given to him in former dayes was Rational, because he is a Cunning and Powerful Being. I must also let you know that that Fatal Accident, his unhappy Invasion of Christendom, is a Permission of the Divine Providence, of which we may easily give an Accompt. For as it was but fit that the degenerate Jews having revolted from the Ingenuous Simplicity of their Ancestors should be punish'd by the Romans, especially since they rejected and murther'd the promis'd Messiab, who came [Page] after he had been long expected according to many Divine Predictions; so it was just that false Christians should be chastis'd by the insolent Turk for Apostatizing from the true Faith and sincere Obedience of the Primitive times: and I heartily pray that the growing Sins of the Western Europe may not make way for his further Progress into these parts of the World.

Because you question'd, as I remember, (added Bentivolio, still addressing himself to Antigraphus) the whole Story whereupon all that I have said is grounded, it is necessary, as a Period to this Discourse, to assert the Credibility of that Holy Book in which it is written. Before I attempt that, possibly it were not amiss if I should crave leave to ask you the Reasons for which you doubt of it, and to desire you to say what would assure you of its Truth if your demands were answer'd. But because that would extend this present Entercourse beyond the bounds of that Time and Patience which this worthy Company can allow, I will give you a short Accompt why I believe that Story to be true, and if you be satisfied with my Arguments, I shall save you the labour of propounding any more Scruples. This History is verified by all the Evidence of which such a Truth is capable. For when Matters are question'd whose Truth depends not upon a Demonstration fetch'd from the Nature of the things themselves, which makes it self manifest to all men upon the first view, we must seek for Proof in good Testimony; and we have sufficient witness to prove that there was such a Person as Anaxanacton, and that the Narrative of his Life written by his Friends is a true History. It is absurd to expect that our Saviour should be born, live, die, rise again, and ascend into Heaven in every Age; neither is it necessary that God should repeat his Miraculous Testimonies continually, having done it very often, and convey'd the notice of those Assurances to posterity by the Records of Eye and Ear-witnesses. If this be not a sufficient Evidence, future Ages can never hope for any Proof of what was done in former dayes. Since this sort of Demonstration is all that ought to be demanded, [Page] I shall give you that Satisfaction in which you ought to acquiesce, by shewing that all which I have said was done in the Presence of unexceptionable Witnesses.

In the Books of such as were his mortal Adversaries, and therefore willing to have buried any thing which might keep his Remembrance alive in the World, we find the mention of his Name, and have receiv'd from some of them a Description of his Person. None of them denies that he was famous for Miraculous Actions; and when they desir'd to lessen the great Reputation which they reflected upon him, they endeavour'd it not by affirming that he perform'd no such Works, but by transferring the Effects which were really produc'd to less-worthy Causes; not daring to call them Impostures, but either Magical Actions, or things deriv'd from Astral Influences, and which had been equall'd by others. They have recorded the Manner of his Death, the Time and Place of his Suffering, have told us the name of the Judge that condemn'd him, and under what Roman Emperour: they have acknowledg'd the vast Numbers of his Followers, and grant that after his Death the World was fill'd with an Honourable Estimation of his Person, and express'd the fear which they had lest his Doctrine should prevail upon the Faith of the whole Roman Empire; and therefore made severe Edicts, and inflicted cruel Punishments not only upon the Principal Converts, but innumerable Multitudes of all sorts of People, to stop its Growth. They confess'd the Innocent Manners of his Disciples, and bore witness to the constancy of their Loyalty to Anaxanacton. They have let us know how punctually his Prophecie was fulfill'd in the Destruction of that People which first rejected him, the Ruine of their Temple and City, notwithstanding the Endeavours of some Emperours who desired to have hinder'd its Accomplishment, both by preventing the Dissolution, and attempting the Restauration of those famous Structures. In short, some of them have also acknowledg'd that the Holy Bible, which did more fully relate these things, and in particular give notice that when Anaxanacton was born, a [Page] God descended from Heaven to restore the World to Happiness, is a most Venerable Book.

This Testimony is not inconsiderable, because we have it from those who, besides this one courtesie, which they never intended as an Expression of any Good will, did no other service to Anaxanacton. But that which his Friends say in defence of his Honour and their own Faith is much more valid, and against which his Enemies will never be able to find any thing rationally to oppose. The Evidence which is given for the Truth of this Famous History is made of a Series of Witnesses, which running through sixteen Centuries hath preserv'd the Records, and asserted the Truth of the Divine Life, most charitable Death, and stupendious Resurrection of Anaxanacton by a successive Attestation. Those who first committed his Life to writing were Eyewitnesses of what they reported, or intimate Companions of such as had convers'd with him till his Ascension. As the Assurance of this Truth confirm'd by such a clear Evidence was the ground of their proper Faith, and the only Reason which can be suppos'd to have made them willing to be publishers of it; so it is absurd to think that others would have receiv'd them with Faith, if the Apostles had not been able by some Infallible Proofs to demonstrate that they witness'd what they knew to be true. It is beyond the power of my Phancie to imagine what should induce the first Divulgers of the Gospel to publish such strange news, but that they were throughly convinc'd both that it was true, & that the knowledge of it was so necessary to the Salvation of men that they could not conceal it but with a very great uncharitableness. Those who frame Lies propound to themselves some Advantage by Falshood, and since that is so unlovely in its own nature that it is abhorr'd of all the World, when they make use of it they are forc'd to adorn it with borrow'd colours, that by them they may impose upon the credulous and attain their End.

All Judges do ever esteem it as a rational Assurance of the Goodness of an Evidence, when the Witnesses give Testimony without hoping for any oblique Advantage to [Page] themselves from the Issue of the Cause. What Design could the plain Apostles serve if they had endeavour'd to cheat the World with this Story, which was so odious to the Incredulous Jews and so unwelcome to the Idolatrous Gentiles, that in an ordinary way it was applicable to no pur. pose but to procure the Scorn and Hatred of those to whom they told it? If it had not been a Truth, it was easie for those who heard it to discover its Falshood; for that which they related was done in one of the most illustrious Cities of the World. If the Apostles of Anaxanacton could have so far debas'd themselves as to divulge false news, yet it is unreasonable to think that they should offer to doe it for the advancement of their Master's Religion, which of all things doth most abhor a Lie. I know very well that vain Persons use to tell false Stories to make their Auditors laugh at their ridiculous Inventions, and that suborn'd Witnesses will sell their Oaths for Money, especially when they have so fram'd their Depositions that the Falshood is hard to be discover'd; and some Messengers will carry news which is not true, in hopes of receiving a Reward before it can be known to be false: but were any men ever heard of, who were so greatly in love with Death, and so passionately desirous of shameful Torments, that they madly threw away their Lives for that which they knew to be a Lie? It is well enough known that Anaxanacton's Friends died attesting this Story, and were put to death for no other reason but because they would not disown it. Pray tell me, good Antigraphus, in what Book did you ever reade of one, much less many thousands, who embrac'd a real Cross for his sake who was only crucified in a Romance? It is easily observable out of the Books of Anaxanacton's Enemies yet extant, that when his Disciples were convented before Secular Powers, they were not accus'd for telling of Lies, or punish'd for Fraudulent dealing, but onely censur'd for publishing a New Doctrine, which was entertained so readily and spred so far, that they were afraid it would subvert their Pagan Religion; which indeed it did not with standing all they could doe to support it.

[Page] This is enough to justifie the Veracity of those who first preached the Gospel; and it is as easie to vindicate the Prudence of those who first gave credit to their Report. As the Primitive Evangelists believed because they saw Anaxanacton's Divine Actions, and were Eye-witnesses of his Resurrection; so those who heard them tell this News had all good reason to believe them, not only because they heard them relate such strange things with a steady Confidence amongst those who dwelt near the place where they were done, and because they perceiv'd all the fair signs of Honesty in their Conversations, but also saw them doe many such things themselves as they affirm'd their Master to have done. How could any wise Spectators but think that Anaxanacton was a Divine Person, when they saw his Servants doe Miracles only with the mention of his Name? As they could not think that was impossible which they saw done, except they thought themselves not bound to believe their own Eyes; so they could not but believe that which was reported, being made credible by such convincing Evidences of its Truth, except they abandon'd their Reason.

If the Apostles would have put tricks upon the World, we know that many of their first Converts cannot be look'd upon as Subjects capable of Delusion, being men of great Parts, rare Learning, inquisitive Tempers, unconcern'd as to any thing but Truth, engag'd to oppose what was told them, it being contrary both to the Opinions which they profess'd, and the Laws of the Places where they liv'd. Those who consider what they say, cannot affirm of the rest, who were not of so great Abilities, that they at least might be impos'd upon; because the A postles devis'd no cunning Fables, nor us'd any subtile Arts, but made a plain Narrative of Anaxanacton's Life, Death and Resurrection, justified their Commission to be Divine by the frequent performance of beneficial Miracles, commanded men in their Master's name to receive his Gospel, and were answer'd with chearful Obedience; those who believ'd, had so great an Assurance in their Minds of the reasonableness [Page] of their Faith, that all the Arts of Idolatrous Priests and Terrours of enrag'd Princes could not shake it. And can any man think that they would thus strangely subject themselves to the Authority of one that was acknowledg'd to have died upon a Cross, and then been buried, but that they were assured he was also risen again, and both happy himself, and able to exalt others to that Paradise to which he ascended?

Thus the first Age entertain'd the Discipline of Anaxanacton, and with a careful Fidelity transmitted it to that which succeeded. As that which went before would have hiss'd such strange News out of the World if it had not been apparently true, so the next could not but give credit to it as a Report whose undoubted Truth was generally known. The first Believers preserv'd the Authentick Records of Anaxanacton's Story, and deliver'd Transcripts of them to so many, that the common Evidence of their Faith was universally spred, and all Corruption prevented, because for some hundreds of Years they had the Original writings, and Copies were taken by so many Persons, that none could make a Variation but he was liable to a quick Discovery. By the Power of this Divine Verity they converted many of their most mortal Enemies among the Jews, insomuch that those who had a hand in Anaxanacton's Death repented of the Murther which they committed upon such a Divine Person, and testified the truth of their Repentance by venturing their Lives in his Service. He was pleas'd to assure his Ascension to one of his zealous Adversaries, by appearing to him with a Heavenly Glory, and shew'd him the folly of endeavouring to destroy that Church whose Prince was Lord of Heaven and Earth: who after he had recover'd the astonishment into which he was struck by the Celestial Vision, he tore the Commission which he had receiv'd to disserve Anaxanacton, and made Reparation for the wrong which he had done, by the constant Zeal wherewith he promoted the Faith of his Gospel throughout his whole Life, and then perfected his Love with Martyrdom.

When the Heathens doubted of the Truth of this holy [Page] Story, the Servants of Anaxanacton referr'd them to their own Annals, and added Miraculous Proofs in so many Places, that their Adversaries had nothing left to oppose them, being sufficiently vex'd to see such an unparallel'd Attempt succeed in a way which the World never knew before; and wonder'd that a few mean men agreeing in one plain Story should have such a potent Influence upon all Kingdoms where they travell'd, one single Person, and sometimes two, converting a whole Nation to that manner of life which was contrary to the general Inclination of Mankind, to that Doctrine which contradicted their receiv'd Principles, and that Religion which overthrew the Worship which they had deriv'd from many Ancestors, and was confirm'd by Penal Laws, and which expos'd such as receiv'd it first to Scorn, and then to Torments. It encreased their Admiration to see them voluntarily offer themselves to suffer in proof of what they said; but much more when they perceiv'd the undaunted Courage with which they endur'd the greatest pains, and then Death. How could it but amaze the Heathens, when they saw poor men, whom they despis'd, challenge their Gods before the Faces of those who ador'd them, and make them confess themselves to be Devils? They could not but wonder at the strange Alteration which was wrought upon their Companions Tempers, who were so chang'd in their Manners that they could scarce know them to be the same men. Christian Religion accomplishing that Emendation upon Humane Life which Moral Philosophy had in vain attempted, except in a very few Instances; it being unable to make its Precepts obey'd for want of sufficient Motives, that is, could not promise Eternal Rewards to Vertue, nor dissuade Vice effectually, having no Authority to threaten Disobedience with endless Torments.

All beholders were rap'd into Admiration when they saw these things; and many enquiring into the Reason of such rare Accidents, found sufficient cause to conclude that they were the Effects of a Divine Power which accompanied the Apostles: and they justly esteem'd them Infallible Proofs [Page] of the Truth of the Holy Story, knowing that Falshood is unable to equal such Products.

But, O God! said Bentivolio, making a passionate Apostrophe, what a stupid Incredulity hath seiz'd upon this leaden Age, which doth not give Faith to that Divine History which is come safe to our hands, being preserv'd in a Holy Book not blemish'd with one material Variation, and honour'd with the concurring Testimony of the best men who liv'd in all the Ages since it was written! What a strange Lethargy is this which hath so fatally benumb'd our Wills, that we cannot be perswaded to think that there is as much reason to believe that the Four Evangelists have given us the true History of our Saviour, as that Julius Caesar wrote his Commentaries? We pretend to doubt whether the noble Physician penn'd the Acts of the Apostles, and yet make no question but Homer wrote the Iliads, and that the AEneids are the Works of Virgil.

But since there is no Comparison between the reason of that credulous Respect which is given to the fore-mention'd Authors, and the validity of that Evidence which I have produc'd for Anaxanacton's Gospel; I will tell you (added Bentivolio, now addressing himself to Eugenius) the cause of this strange Infidelity. Some fall into it by a lazy neglect of the consideration of those Arguments which would make them give credit to this Story; and many are unwilling to believe it, because their Faith would disturb the Pleasures of their Sensual Life. These, though they never heard of any Counter-witnesse produc'd to disprove this Truth, (for there is none) and though they are not able to frame a rational ground of Doubt, yet they endeavour to look upon it as a Fiction, because it crosseth their Adherence to a base Interest. The Dissatisfactions which they pretend to the Holy Gospel arise not at all from the Defect of those Reasons by which its truth is asserted, but from the too-much Evidence which against their Wills they find there of the necessity of a Holy Life, and too strong proofs of the miserable estate of those unworthy Souls, who being favour'd with the Knowledge of its Precepts, do not answer it with sincere Obedience.

[Page] It were too long to trouble you with the Enumeration of all those Devices which they contrive to avoid the power of this important Verity. Sometimes they pretend that the Doctrines reveal'd are contrary to Reason, making God's Understanding no bigger then their own; and pronounce those things absurd which they would not have had reveal'd; and endeavour that the Gospel might be thought a Fable, though they cannot imagine at what time it should be feign'd, by whom, or for what purpose; and deny that it was confirm'd by Miracles, though they cannot but acknowledge that if it was entertain'd upon any other Accompt, it was the greatest wonder in the World. But these men will not let it be possible for God to assure his Creatures of Truth; for he hath done so much that they cannot tell what more to ask, only when they are urg'd with it, they require saucily that he should repeat it.

But that you may more plainly see that this perverse Incredulity, which is the great Fault of the present Age, ariseth not from the want of any Credibility in the Object, or Defect of clear Evidence in the manner of proposal, I must acquaint you that many who convers'd with Anaxanacton when he liv'd upon Earth, did not entertain his Gospel with that Faith which was due to his visible Authority. The Proofs which he gave were Sufficient, but not Compulsive. It was highly convincing to all Persons who were capable of Consideration, that he not only perform'd such Miracles as are undeniable Testimonies of a Divine Power, but such as they pretended that men ought to take them for a satisfactory Assurance, and also verified those Antique Predictions which concluded him to be what he said he was: yet they wrought no Effect upon such as were indispos'd by the Love of Sin to acknowledge one sent from God, who was a severe Reprover of their Vicious Conversation. Anaxanacton observing the reason of this Unbelief, told this sort of Persons, that though one who was dead should return from the other World, yet he would not be able to perswade them that there is a Hell where such as they were are punish'd. Since we know this, why [Page] should we be astonish'd at the most obstinate Incredulity? If the Jews gave not credit to their Eyes, why may not the Gentiles disbelieve their Ears?

Besides this, we cannot but take notice of a Customary Perversness in some Tempers, who when they have prepossess'd themselves with false Opinions, will not suffer them by any Arguments to be dislodg'd, and to prevent the Possibility of a contrary Perswasion, resolve against the use of such means as would quickly give them an Assurance of their Errour.

Therefore to conclude this long Discourse, since the Ingenuous part of the World did not only at first receive the Discipline of Anaxanacton upon the fore-mention'd Principles, and have continued their Obedience to it for sixteen hundred Years, and have supported the Truth of it with unanswerable Arguments, there is no doubt but the Glory of it will flourish till Reason be extinguish'd. We must be content though wilful Infidels are justly permitted to an Atheistical Scepticism, by which they are enabled to disbelieve any thing. Since it shews more handsomely to deny Principles then to reject Conclusions which follow from Premisses once granted, they have ventur'd to strike boldly at the Roots of Faith; but with such a blind Insolence, that for my own part, I profess that if it were reasonable to believe the Pythagorean Metempsychosis, I should suppose that the Souls of the most dull Brutes do transmigrate out of their own into Humane Bodies. This Hypothesis would very well salve this strange Phaenomenon. But since we know that whilst men neglect to improve their better Faculties, and indulge to themselves the vicious Pleasures of a Sensual life, they naturally sink themselves into an unspeakable Sottishness, and reject what they ought to believe, though they have no Counter-evidence equal to the Demonstration of Truth, because it is irreconcileable to that which they have resolv'd to love, we need go no further to seek a Reason of this stupid Unbelief.

Thus, said Nicomachus, did Bentivolio conclude the noble [Page] History of Anaxanacton. And now I must repeat my Entreaty, and desire your Goodness to excuse the Dishonour which my weakness hath forc'd me to cast upon Bentivolio, or rather upon Anaxanacton, whose Divine Life I have very imperfectly related. If you will not pardon me, yet I shall confess the Justice of what Sentence soever you pronounce against me, because I have made your Patience also to suffer part of the fore-mention'd wrong, whilst you have attended so long to my broken Rehearsal of the best Story in the World. The Company perceiving that Nicomachus had finish'd the Recital [...] Bentivolio's Discourses, Theonoe gave him thanks, and so did all the rest; and after they had supp'd and spent a part of the Night in pertinent Reflexions upon many pieces of the former Narration, they retir'd to their several Chambers, where they rested with the greater tranquillity, because the next day was appointed for their Journey towards Phronesium.

When the Sun was up, Theonoe and Irene went to Urania's Appartiment, and understanding that she walk'd in her Chamber, they went in, to let her know that all things were ready for their Journey. They came down into the Dining-room, where they found Panaretus, Sympathus and Nicomachus, who had stay'd there a while in expectation of the Ladies. Theonoe had given order to prepare a large Coach which would hold them all, that so travelling together in one moveable House they might enjoy the Pleasure of mutual Conversation upon the Rode. They resolv'd to go through Philadelphia, which was not much about, and at the Request of Sympathus they took the way which lies near the green Banks of Calliroe, which is a fair River alwayes full of clear water, being supplied by a rich stream which descended from the famous Spring Agathorrhyton. They reach'd that night to a beautiful House situated upon the River, which belong'd to Sympathus, where they were so conveniently lodg'd and generously entertain'd, that they could not but perceive a rare concurrence of a great Prudence with an equal Love in the completeness of their Welcome.

[Page] Sympathus durst not entreat any longer stay here, because he knew they were passionately expected at Phronesium. The next day about Noon they arriv'd at Kepanactus, intending to stay there an hour or two; but before they came within two furlongs of the House, they were surpriz'd with an unexpected Encounter of many Friends. For it being made known that Bentivolio intended to meet his Sister upon the way, the Prince of Theriagene would needs accompany him: the Princesse Agape, understanding that Urania was that day expected, desired leave of the Queen to go and meet her, and took with [...] Philandra, Agatha and Polysemna. Misopseudes, Amyntor, and some other Gentlemen of Quality belonging to Theosebius and Alethion, rode along with them. It is not an easie Task to relate the variety of those pleasant Passions which were express'd at this happy Encounter. Bentivolio saluted Urania with that great Affection which he thought due to her, not only as his Sister, but as Urania; whilst she embrac'd him both as the best of Brothers, and one of the most excellent Persons in the World. Panaretus and Bentivolio entertain'd each other as one Soul would do it self if it were possible that it should animate two Bodies. The Prince of Theriagene express'd that civility to Urania which shew'd his highest Respect to her own Worth, and withall demonstrated a great sense of the Obligations which he had receiv'd from her Brother. The Princesse Agape took Urania into her Arms, and gave her many kisses with such an excessive kindness, that it would have fill'd the Beholders with wonder, if they had not known before how much that Vertuous Lady deserv'd to be lov'd, and also remembred the intimate Friendship which the Princesse had contracted with her. She saluted Theonoe and Irene with such an endearing tenderness, that they perceiv'd themselves not to have a small share in the Happiness of this delightful Meeting. When the rest of the Company had reveal'd their Joy in all decent Expresses according to the variety of their Relations, the Prince of Theriagene and the Princesse of Theoprepia took Urania and the two Sisters, which were her Fellow-travellers, [Page] into their Coach, and were accompanied with the whole Troop of their Friends to Kepanactus. After Dinner, which was ready as soon as they came into the House, Agape entreated the Prince Alethion to engage the Company to hasten toward Phronesium, knowing that the King and the Queen were possess'd with a passionate Expectation of their Arrival.

In a few hours they came to the City, and after they had enter'd the Palace, Theosebius and Phronesia receiv'd Urania and Panaretus with such a chearful Air and an obliging manner, that they made not only an infallible Confirmation, but an unexpressible Addition to their former Love. I cannot put the just Description of this strange Encounter into fit Language, because my Phancie is not able to supply my Mind with a full Representation of such extraordinary Passages: only I can say thus much, that as the going away of these excellent Persons was a languid Image of the sad parting of dying Friends; so this Return, which was more acceptable because little expected, was a lively Resemblance of those unspeakable Endearments with which old Friends will receive one another at the Resurrection.

But Joy being at this time resolv'd to break through all its banks, made a second Tide at full Sea. For, whilst this noble Company was at Supper, one of Theosebes his Servants told the King that a Gentleman call'd Philalethes was alighted from his Horse, and desir'd him to give notice of it to the Prince of Theriagene. Philalethes had accompanied Alethion in his Journey to the borders of Theoprepia, but then return'd at the King's Command to deliver a Message to Eugenius, and to serve his Affairs in Theriagene: And the Company being acquainted with the Importance of his Negotiation, and having often taken notice of the Apprehensions which Alethion had entertain'd for him, this News was very welcome to them all; but Alethion and Misopseudes found themselves so particularly concern'd in it, that after Philalethes came in, and had perform'd that civil Respect which was due to so great a Presence, the Prince of Theriagene took him into his Arms with many Expressions of [Page] Affection, and having with much unwillingness releas'd him from those tender Embraces, his Brother receiv'd him with such significations of Love mix'd with Raptures of Joy that are not easie to be represented. After they had finish'd their Endearments, and settled themselves in that Deportment which was a necessary Observance of those Persons of Condition who were present, they took part of their gallant Supper; the whole Company entertaining themselves not only that Night, but many Dayes after, with those unexpressible Satisfactions which were produc'd by this happy Encounter.

The pleasure which Theosebes took in the agreeable Conversation of so many Friends, did not make him forget the condition of the Prince of Theriagene: and though he perceiv'd Alethion to take so much content in the place where he was, that he seem'd to forget he was banish'd; yet he knew that this was no Excuse for the wickedness of his Subjects, who deny'd him leave to dwell in his own Kingdom; and resolving by God's assistance to vindicate his Wrongs, and to put him into possession of his Father's Throne, he was confirm'd in his purpose by Letters from his Agent in Theriagene, which gave him Intelligence that Antitheus intended to invade Theoprepia. Whereupon he sent for Amerimnus, the chief Bishop of Theoprepia, (whose advice he alwayes ask'd in Civil as well as Religious Affairs) for his Chancellour, and Lysander the General of his Army, and acquainted them with his thoughts. They approving his Design; Which way shall we endeavour to prosecute it? said Theosebes. If you please, replied Lysander, you may summon the Deputies of the several Provinces of Theoprepia to meet at Phronesium, and when they are come, let my Lord Chancellour give them notice of your Princely Intentions: they do so truly hate the name of Antitheus, and honour the person of Alethion, that I am very confident they will be willing to contribute their best assistance towards the Restauration of the Prince of Theriagene. What think you, my Lords? said Theosebes to the Archbishop and the Chancellour. They both replying that they were of Lysander's [Page] mind, the King approv'd their Advice, and accordingly gave order to the Chancellour to dispatch Letters to the four Divisions of Theoprepia, to require them to send their Commissioners within four dayes to the Senate-house at Phronesium, to consult concerning some important Affairs of State. The obedient Theoprepians made appearance at the time appointed; and when they were met, the King, attended with Amerininus, Lysander, and his chief Ministers of State, went to the Senate-house; and being much pleas'd with the chearful sight of so many loving Subjects, after he had given them an hearty welcome to Phronesium, he congratulated the Happiness of the Meeting in a short Speech, and then commanded the Chancellour to let them understand the reasons of their Convention.

The Chancellour's name was Calliphon; and Theosebes did fully demonstrate that he understood well what sort of Persons are fit to serve Kings, when he made choice of him for one of his principal States-men. It is true, the Concerns of his Place were great, but his known Wisdom and perfect Fidelity were not inferiour to them. The highest Trust which one man can put in another is, to take his Counsel: But this is greater in Kings, because their Affairs, to which Counsel is apply'd, are more important then ordinary matters, and the danger more considerable, if those who give Advice have a greater regard to their own benefit then to his advantage that asketh it.

Calliphon was Secret by the temper of his nature, and so Faithful in the discharge of his Trust, that he never set any oblique ends of his own contradistinct to his Master's Interest, but in all his Proposals aim'd directly at the King's Honour and the People's Happiness. His Integrity was equall'd with a rare Wisdom: for Calliphon being naturally of a quick Phancy, had improv'd the goodness of his Wit into Prudence by Experience, and perfected it with vast Accessions by continual Industry. Being incited to all possible Acquists by a passionate Love which he had for Knowledge, he endeavour'd to understand the natural Connexions and proper Consequences of all things, and not to guide [Page] his Actions by the uncertain Rule of unexamin'd Opinions or general Sentences. He gave evident proof of his early Discretion by the Vertuous management of his younger Age, and the prudent Government of his Family; and shewed the greatness of his Understanding by the proper Language and strong Reasons for which his Discourses were alwayes admired when he had occasion to speak in the Senate.

He was design'd to the Study of State-Affairs by his wise Father Pithologus, who was a Privy-Counsellour to Phronimus: And when other Gallants trifled away their time in vain pleasures, he accustom'd Calliphon to reade Books of Policy, Records of Treaties, and other Memoirs of the most famous States-men; and being much pleas'd with those Improvements which he perceiv'd him to make in this way, he acquainted him with that Intelligence which he receiv'd from Forein parts, and made him understand the private Reasons of the chief Transactions of State. By which means he arriv'd at a clear Knowledge of all things which might concern his Place; such as the Rules of Government, the Nature of Justice and Equity, the Laws of Commerce and War, the wayes of Preserving and Increasing the King's Revenue, the Duties of all publick Offices, the Disposition of his Country-men, the Conveniences and Inconveniences which might arise to them from their Neighbours: In short, he had as much understanding of Persons and Things as can be attain'd by a long Study of Men and Books. And now having the advantage of Years, and the benefit of a firm Memory, in which he had registred the Consequences of the most considerable Actions observ'd by himself, to which he had also added the Experiments of others, he was able to give proper Advice in any business which could fall under Deliberation.

Having given you a short Character of this excellent Person, I will set down his Speech. He is reported to have deliver'd himself in such words as these;

Gentlemen, You will wonder at the occasion of this Assembly, when I tell you that the Wickedness which hath given us cause to meet is so extraordinarily strange, that it [Page] transcends the worst Examples which have been produc'd in our memory. We are in danger of an Invasion from Theriagene, only because we have perform'd the just Rights of Hospitality, (whose sacred Laws are involably observ'd by all the World) not to a common Ally, but to the most Excellent Prince Alethion, who hath not only oblig'd us with the Assistance of his Arms, but hath made us owe the Life of our King to the generous Adventure of his own Person at the Battel in Theromachia. He is depriv'd of his Kingdom by a rebellious party of his Subjects upon this false Pretence, that when his Father was alive he kept a treasonable Correspondence with his Confederates in Theoprepia.

Here Calliphon made a short pause, seeing the whole Senate rap'd into a passionate Admiration of this strange News. When they had settled themselves again, he went on thus;

As there needs no witness to convince us of the falseness of this insolent Calumny, besides the Knowledge which we have of our own Innocence; so we are sufficiently assured of the reason why this horrid Accusation was forg'd by the ill use which hath been made of it: And we are fully inform'd by whose traitorous endeavour it was fram'd, since we understand that Antitheus hath usurp'd the Kingdom. It is not needful by many words to let you know our King's Opinion concerning this matter, or to use many Arguments to perswade you to follow his Advice. As Phronimus our late King of Glorious Memory thought Anaxagathus worthy of his Friendship, so Theosebes thinks it unworthy of him to desert his Son, who hath demonstrated his high Regard to our Interest when we needed his help, or to slight an Ancient League, which was once beneficial to us, in a time when the distrest condition of our Confederate doth sollicit us to observe it. For the performance of that which Justice requires and Gratitude commands, Theosebes thinks it is but a small matter to protect the Person of Alethion in his Country, except we also assert his Right with our Swords: And since we cannot requite the Love of Anaxagathus by restoring to him that Life which he hath lost by the fraud of Traitors, we will endeavour to repossess [Page] his Son of his Kingdom, and by the destruction of his Enemies make him live again in Alethion, and let Theriagene know that they were not more willing to assist us against malicious Foreiners, then we are able to deliver them from the Oppression of their own misguided Arms.

You are not ignorant with what dishonourable Aspersions our Constitutions have been represented to the ignorant World. It is true, we had an opportunity in the late War with the Theomachians to let them know how falsly they imagine, that humble Innocence and charitable Patience do so enervate mens spirits, that true Christians are an easie prey to such as have a mind to seize upon them; they having found the contrary by their own experience. Though our Religion hath taught us that no Policy is comparable to Innocence, and assured us that an Obligation put upon our Neighbours by a constant Beneficence is one of the strongest Fortresses in the World; yet we have made them understand that we have so much prudent Courage also to defend the Fort which Vertue hath rais'd, that it will alwayes be very hard for the Injurious to make good their bold Attempts upon the peaceable Theoprepians. They will not say in future times that Religion hath made us Cowardly Fools, since we have given them sufficient reason to believe that, though our Patience set us above the low desires of Revenge for private wrongs, yet we ought not to expose our publick Concerns, which are dearer to us then our Lives, to the cruelty of the Unjust. It is necessary that we should let these insolent people of Theriagene know, that the Humility and Justice which will not permit us to arrogate any thing wrongfully to our selves, doth not make us willing to be enslav'd by others, and that we can defend our selves against those whom we do not despise. They will perceive by our present Undertaking, that we think it as necessary to protect our selves against the Violence of lawless Persons, as to resist a dangerous Incursion of wild Beasts with our Arms, or to prevent the calamity of an Inundation threatned by swelling waters with strong Banks.

[Page] This also is a proper season in which we may shew that the Theoprepian Principles are not terminated with our private Accommodations, but that they are extended to promote the Interests of others: And that we do not bound that Neighbourhood which our great Lord hath obliged us to love with the narrow limits of our own Country, but are willing to enlarge our careful Charity, if it were possible, to the vast compass of the Universe. Whereas our Enemies think that we are pitifully enfeebled by an Abstemious Mode of Life, we will convince them of their Errour, and shew them that we do not only preserve a good Health, but have also obtain'd a firm Hardiness by the Rules of Temperance; and give them a clear Evidence, that the Courage wherewith we now assist a most just Cause, arising from a true Faith in God, a due Contempt of the World, and certain Hope of Immortal Life, doth far exceed that common Valour which depends only upon the strength of a natural Temper, is nourish'd with high Diet, and blown up with the desire of Spoils, or expectation of Triumph, after Victory.

This is enough, Gentlemen, to shew you the reasonableness of Theosebes his noble Resolution. The way by which he intends to endeavour the accomplishment of his Design, is, to lead an Army into Theriagene; by which means we shall carry to them those Fears which they hope to bring hither, and possibly make them repent of their malicious Purposes before they have power to put them in Execution, and by God's help seasonably extinguish that Fire which they have kindled in Theriagene with a purpose to inflame Theoprepia. It is well known how Hannibal distrest the Romans, when he transported his Souldiers into Italy; and that Agathocles shew'd a great skill in Military Affairs by fighting the Carthaginians in Africk, when he could scarce defend his own City against their Fleet which lay before it in the Port of Syracuse. Though our Case is in no respect so necessitous, yet by this means we may hope speedily to prevent the Trouble which is prepared for us.

We need not fear that this undertaking will be liable to suspicion among our Neighbour - Kingdoms; for the [Page] Treason of Antitheus and his Faction is so notorious, that they must needs justifie the Assistance which we give to the wrong'd Alethion, and so unanimously condemn the Theriagenians, that whatsoever misery shall happen to them, they will not have this comfort left, that they shall be thought unworthy of what they suffer; all concluding that they ought to undergo the Extremity of Punishment, who have done what they could to deserve it. We are also fairly invited to this Action by the Generous Example of those noble Strangers, Bentivolio and his Brother, who lately sojourning in these parts, and having notice of these unhappy Accident's, have resolv'd not to return to their own Country till they see Alethion repossest of his Dominions.

I need not tell you that our contest is with inconsiderable Adversaries; but if I should speak after the manner of other Orators, I might say that we are in greater danger of not obtaining much glory in the Conquest, then of meeting any great difficulty in the Combat. We are to encounter Beasts enfeebled with Luxury, who are so unable to fight, that they can scarce carry Arms: And indeed their number is so small in comparison of those who hate their abominable Conspiracy, that I look upon our Journey rather as a Visit made to Alethion's Friends, then a War undertaken against his Enemies. Having said thus much, it is fit I should conclude. It were impertinent to trouble you with a long Oration, for I am not such a Stranger to the temper of the Theoprepians, that I can think many words needful to perswade them to an Engagement which is both full of Justice and Honour.

When Calliphon had done speaking, Sympathus, who was one of the Commissioners for Philanthropia, took this Opportunity to express the Affection which he had long before entertain'd for the Prince of Theriagene, and in a short Speech declar'd his high Approbation of the King's Design, professing that, in his Opinion, the Arguments which the Chancellour had us'd to signifie how necessary it was, gave so much satisfaction, that he thought more could not be reasonably desired.

[Page] After him Charistion, Amyntor, Pasiphilus, Euphron, Calodoxus and Aristander signified their concurrence in the same Opinion with Sympathus. Then the undertaking was approv'd by a general suffrage of the whole Assembly, who also voted that the Conduct of this Affair should be left entirely to the wisdom of Theosebes. The King gave them thanks for the unanimous chearfulness with which they entertain'd his Proposal, and told them that he thought it requisite to list only ten thousand men, whom he himself intended to lead; adding, that he made no doubt but by this number, with God's blessing and the Assistance of Alethion's Friends, he should be able in a short time to reduce those who were most unjustly his Enemies to their due Obedience; and then dismist the Assembly.

Theosebes return'd to his Palace, and acquainted Alethion, who was then with Bentivolio, and the rest of his Companions, with the good Affections of the Theoprepians. Whereupon the Prince of Theriagene having exprest his thankful Resentment of such an obliging Favour, his friends also with just Praises extoll'd the Generous King of Theoprepia and his worthy Subjects: And as they entertain'd a great joy in the hopes of Alethion's Restauration, so they pleas'd themselves not a little whilst they perceiv'd that they should not be deny'd the Honour of being Instruments in the Accomplishment of it.

Here it may possibly be expected that I should let my Reader know how this noble Company spent their time, till by the prudent Industry of Lysander the Army could be put into an Equipage fit for a March. It would be too long to give an account of those various Diversions with which they were entertain'd by the most courteous Prince Theosebes. I will only relate a short Story, which he desir'd the learned Bishop Amerimnus to tell them, as they sate one day in a pleasant Summer-house which adorn'd the Garden at Kepanactus. It happened that as Philalethes was acquainting his Prince with the condition in which he left Theriagene, and telling him who were the chief Persons in favour at Polistherium, among many others he named Hieromimus; [Page] whereupon Amerimnus smil'd: which Bentivolio perceiving, assoon as Philalethes had ended his Discourse, he ask'd the good Bishop the reason of that Pleasantness which he had observ'd him to express upon the mention of [...]. Theosebes imagining the cause of it, and knowing that the Story of Hierominus would be an acceptable Recreation to the Company, prevented Amerimnus in his Reply, and desir'd him to give them a short Character of that vain Person, and to let them understand how ridiculously he had behav'd himself not long before in Theoprepia. I am very willing to perform any service, reply'd Amerimnus, by which I may shew my Obedience to your Commands; and since you have made it my Duty to report the Extravagancies of Hieromimus to this excellent Company, I will let them know what I have understood by Letters from several friends of mine who knew his Family, what I learn'd from the confession of Thelgomenus one of his Disciples, but of late undeceiv'd by Alethologus, and by some Discourse which I had with Misoplanus, who did so discover the Impostures of this Jugler, that he made him asham'd to stay in Theoprepia.

Hieromimus was born in the greater Apateonia. His Grandfather's name was Simmagus, a man so passionately ambitious of being look'd upon as an extraordinary Person, that he offer'd a summe of Money to Almighty God to sell him a Miraculous Power; but being rejected with such a direful Reproof as was due to his wicked Impudence, he bought of the Devil a Magical skill, by which he was enabled to perform many things beyond the Ability of Vulgar Wits, and attain'd so great a Reputation among the common People, that they chang'd his name to Pammegas. Simmagus being puft up with their vain applauses, blasphemously assum'd to himself the Title and Worship of God, and boasted also that his immodest companion Helena was a She-Deity. He continued his impious course for some years, till at last he was met by one of Anaxanacton's Servants, who, as Simmagus was riding in the Air to the amazement of many beholders, melted his waxen Chariot, by pronouncing his Master's name, made him fall down and break his neck upon the ground.

[Page] His Son Moralazon, not deterr'd with his dreadful Fate, follow'd his Father's Example: and having heard that in former times, when God sent great Prophets and holy Apostles to make known his Divine Pleasure to the World, he bestow'd upon them a power to speak and doe things Extraordinary, by which men being assured that they came from God, gave them an honourable Reception due to such Messengers; Moralazon being of an arrogant disposition, did earnestly desire to make the World believe that he himself was a Prophet, but of an higher Rank then any who were sent before him. He thought himself not unprovided of rare News to deliver, having fansied some strange Opinions, of which he was so passionately enamoured, that he perswaded himself that it did more concern the World to know them then any Doctrine which they had formerly receiv'd. He fail'd of his Expectation, for he died a little after he had begun his Work.

But his Son Hieromimus, being well acquainted with his Father's intentions, and pretending that he inherited his Prophetical Spirit, resolv'd to carry on the Design: and remembring (for he had been told) that true Prophets by conversation with Angels, or by reason of the glory of Divine Illapses, did many times suffer strange Ecstasies; he thought with himself how he might counterfeit this Sacred Passion, and made use of divers Arts to super-induce upon himself and others an Enthusiastical Fury; and being well instructed in his Father's Opinions, divulg'd, or, as he said, brought from Heaven a new way of going thither, and boasted that he was sent to reform the World by a new Discipline. He talk'd often of a mystical Divinity, and promis'd to spiritualize all former Knowledge; though indeed he did only subvert true Reason with wild Fancies, and allegorize venerable Histories into a sublime Nothing.

Before he began to put his foolish thoughts into practice, he perceiv'd that it was very hard to carry on such a new business with a sufficient plausibleness without the assistance of some cunning Associates; and having consider'd [Page] which of his Acquaintance were fittest to be trusted with this great Secret, he observ'd that Davigeor, Jackleid, and Jamnail were complexion'd much like himself, and so of a humour which would easily be taken with his Proposals. He told them that it was reveal'd to him by the Angel Hithladeus that he should be the King of the new Jerusalem, and that he had shewed him by a new Exposition of the old Prophecies, that though they were fulfill'd literally in Anaxanacton, yet they were to receive a Mystical Completion in him, and that he was design'd by God to chuse Princes to rule under him in all Nations, and to send Prophets to convert the whole World to his Obedience. These Proselytes hoping for no mean Offices in his Utopian Kingdom, gave him infinite thanks for communicating to them so sublime an Affair, and with all humble willingness offered their utmost service to one whom God had design'd to such high Honour.

Though this piece of his Plot succeeded according to his desire, yet Hieromimus thought that he wanted still more help, and therefore made choice of three other Assistants; Loxias, who had a great faculty of speaking what neither he nor any else did understand, whom he appointed to amuse his Hearers with rais'd Nonsense; Phlegon, who was very useful for his hot zele; and Pandacryon, who could weep when he pleas'd. With some small rewards and great promises he engag'd also in his service Astriatrus and Taumaturgus: they were fit for his purpose, both of them professing Chiromancy and Physiognomy; Astriatrus pretending also that he could make Horoscopes, and knew how to divine by the Stars. Hieromimus contented himself with these, having chang'd the resolution which he once took up, for he intended a while in imitation of the number of Anaxanacton's Apostles to make his Followers Twelve; only he added to them two She-Secretaries, Pannychis and Quintilla, not indiscreetly: for one of them being Epileptical, and the other troubled with the Hysterical Passion, they pretended the gift of Raptures: and these, besides other uses, serv'd him when he travell'd for Lacquayes. They affirm'd themselves to be [Page] Cousin-Germans, and call'd themselves the Daughters, one of Colpia, the other of Velleda.

Hieromimus designing not only to out-doe all the Prophets, but to equal and excell their holy Master Anaxanacton, and having entertain'd a fancy that he was like that incomparable Prince in some Personal Resemblances, he had procur'd a Copy, which was long ago pretended to have been taken of him by one call'd Lentulus, and endeavoured by Art to make up what was wanting in Nature for the completion of a Comparison both abominable and ridiculous. He had Hair of a Chesnut colour, long, but not thick, after the manner of the Jewish Nazarites, parted in the middle, and a little curling; his upper garment was so fram'd, that it seem'd to be a seamless Coat. Davigeor, looking upon this garb as unbecoming his Dignity, perswaded him to wear a Doublet of Crimson Sattin. Jackleid, thinking he did not use Ceremonies correspondent to his Majesty, advis'd him to be serv'd in Plate, and to give him leave to provide a gilt Chair, in which he might sit as on a Royal Throne, whilst his Servants made humble Addresses to him upon their knees, and ador'd him as the King of the New Jerusalem.

His affairs being thus order'd, he commanded his She-Lacquayes to attend him in a Journey which he was to take from Apateonia towards Phronesium in Theoprepia. Jamnail provided him an Asse, which Hieromimus appointed to be brought without Bridle or Saddle, and begun his journey before the Sun was up, because he intended to finish it in one day. This fore-cast was necessary, for he had four and twenty miles to ride, and it being Winter, the weather was foul and the way very bad. Pannychis and Quintilla assisted him with Torches; but when they had gone about a quarter of a mile, he commanded them to cast away those poor external Lights, making them believe that one far more glorious should presently shine forth upon them from within, and shew them their way. The Lacquayes obediently put out their Tapers; but as they went on it was so dark that they quickly lost their way, and knock'd their [Page] Heads against Trees, stumbled at great Stones, and sometimes tumbled into Ditches, the Promise of Hieromimus being unable to enlighten the Air. However, being arm'd with a blind Confidence, they went on till they came to a narrow Bridge, which the poor Beast, for want of Enthusiastical eyes to make him see in the dark, miss'd, and threw the false Prophet into Water, Mud and Impatience. Pannychis and Quintilla ventur'd in after him; and when they had with much difficulty pull'd him out and squeez'd him, Pannychis told them, that she had a Revelation that they ought not to go any further till the Day should dawn. Hieromimus having pay'd dear for his bold Errour was content to be mutually exhorted, especially because they could not get out the Asse, which was laid fast in the Mire. When the Light began to appear, the Asse had strugled her self out, and as she was going to graze, Quintilla catch'd her by the Ears, and the Rider having gotten upon her back, they began to march again: but as they went along, the Asse being not held in with any Bridle, did by often going out of the Road create so much trouble to both the Lacquayes in reducing her, that they were forc'd to tie their Garters together to make a Curb for the unruly Beast. When they had scarce gone half their way, the faint Asse, being much wearied with the heavy load of this fat Baalam, stood still. Hieromimus having no spurs, she would not answer the dull blows of his unarm'd heels: whereupon Quintilla went to the next hedge, and having pluck'd off a sprig of thorn whipp'd her on. The angry Asse being inrag'd with the pain which she receiv'd from these sharp prickles, did frequently shake her Rider with rude Kicking, and at last the soft Prophet was so gall'd with the hard back of his lean Steed, that he was forc'd to tell his Lacquayes, that it was their duty to take off their Peticoats and lay them under him for a Saddle.

In this mad guise [...] arriv'd at last in a Village not far from Phronesium, well known to most of this Company, and which will be for ever famous by reason of his being there; his two impious Attendants blasphemously singing Hosanna's to him, as he past through the Streets to [Page] his Lodging, which was taken up for him before by Jamnail, and whither his Complices resorted to him.

The Company having laugh'd a while at this ridiculous mode of Travel, Amerimnus went on thus: The first trick which he shew'd after his Arrival was a Device invented long ago by one Psaphon. He had a Cage full of Parrots, which he had taught to speak, and accustom'd to pronounce these words, Hear Hieromimus. These he convey'd privately into a Wood by Loxias, whom he order'd to let them flie among the trees, and return unseen. The Parrots being glad to have escap'd their Prison repeated the Syllables, which they had well learn'd, with a loud chearfulness. The Neighbourhood wondring at this strange Voice of Birds, inquir'd who this Hieromimus was. A holy Prophet, said Davigeor, whom God hath sent amongst you to give you the last warning of Repentance. Whilst some exprest a wonder at the advice of Birds speaking with an Articulate Voice, Astriatrus, Phlegon, Thaumaturgus, and the rest of Hieromimus his Agents, according to the Instructions which they had receiv'd from him, endeavour'd to support and augment the great estimation which this Accident had begun to lodge in the minds of some weak people, and told them, not without signs of deep Veneration, that Hieromimus was a Divine Person, design'd by God for the Paraclete long since promis'd, consubstantiated with the Deity, and descended lineally by the Mother's side from the holy Achamoth, beloved of God above all men; and that the Dignity of his transcendent nature did many times reveal it self by most glorious Irradiations, his Face shining with such illustrious beams, that they were not able to look upon him.

Sometimes they extoll'd his Divine Knowledge, affirming him to have attain'd a rare Wisdom which was never before imparted to any created Being: Which he receiv'd not by Education, by improvement of Reason, by reading of Books, by Observation, or any ordinary way by which common men attain their Skill, but by Revelation; God having so far favour'd him, that he should not be at the trouble of collecting Knowledge by rational Discourses, [Page] but shew'd him all things after an intuitive manner in Ecstatick Dreams and Prophetick Visions. And they boldly affirm'd that God did sometimes transport him into the Celestial Regions, where he saw Anonomasta and Hyper-Urania, heard the voice of deep Silence, saw the infinite measures of the Abyss, number'd the AEonian Ogdoads, and beheld without any amazement the famous Tetractys, who brought with her Alethia, and made her shew her self to him without a Veil; and, which was an honour not allow'd to Archangels, saw in the Cabinet of Heaven the sacred Trias with bodily Eyes, from whom he receiv'd the Keys of those Treasuries where the most hidden Mysteries are locked up.

Hieromimus endeavour'd to justifie their Lies; for, pretending to be thus wonderfully illuminated, he told the World that all old Doctrines were but Fables, decry'd Humane Reason as a name of the most fallacious Ignorance, condemn'd all Learning as Black Art, reproch'd Books as the Tools of Antichrist, call'd Libraries the Devil's Kitchins, and bad them only await the Irradiations of a Light which would shine within them if they gave obedience to his Precepts, and teach them infallibly, make them Judges of Truth and Falshood, and render them unaccountable to others for thier Opinions or Actions. In short, he boasted that all who were before him had never penetrated so much as the Rind of true Wisdom, but only had read the History of Truth which they did not understand; but that he was honour'd with the Mystical Light, the Inward Word which doth enlighten all things, which God had Centred in him as the Intellectual Sun, appointed to chase away the shadows of Darkness, and to illustrate the World with a Spiritual sense; and promis'd to all that follow'd his Directions, that in a little time they should see all things, being encompass'd with a holy Cloud, and be united with God by a Divine Ignorance, which should teach them to verifie Contradictions, and make them one with every thing which they understood.

To encourage those who would become his Disciples, [Page] he promis'd to give them a Book written by himself, which his Scholars call Pansophia, but which he nam'd Jaldabaoth, in which he had recorded whatsoever was known formerly, or possible to be known in all Ages to come. He boasted also of a magnificent Charter which he had receiv'd from Almighty God, which contain'd a Grant of such Privileges as were not before allowed to mortal men, and that he had Authority to give them to whom he pleas'd. The chief of which was, That such as conform'd to his Discipline should not need the Mediation of our Saviour, should be pardon'd without making use of the Propitiatory Sacrifice of his Death, and should have a Dispensation from the Observance of his Laws, to which others are obliged: He having, as he said, receiv'd a Commission from God to supply the Defects of the imperfect Doctrine of Christ, to make all things new, and amongst the rest a New Testament, to reform the Austerity of holy Laws, and to save the World, not by Obedience perform'd to severe Rules, but by pleasant Directions, the Relaxation of Self-denial, the Abolition of the Cross, and free Concession of Sensual Pleasures. Besides this, he told his Proselytes that they should have an inviolable Beauty fix'd upon their Souls, which was no more capable of being blemish'd with that which is usually call'd Sin, then Invulnerable persons can be wounded, or Gold lose its Color by being cast into Mud. He was so bold also as to institute an obscene Mystagogy, and call'd it the Method of Holiness, by which only men are capable of preparation for the Society of the Perfect; and told such as would believe him, that they should not be seen by the Great Judge when he took cognisance of the wicked World, though they stood naked before him, by reason of a thick shield call'd Anaedea, with which he promis'd to cover them all over.

That Obedience which he requir'd of his Disciples was to renounce their former Knowledge, to receive his Dictates without Examination, to be baptiz'd in his Name, and to renounce conversation with those which were not of his Sect, out of which, as he told them, there is no Salvation.

[Page] To make proof concerning the truth of his bold Assertions Astriatrus was principally imploy'd, who by his Skill in Physick having done some small matters, Thaumaturgus was order'd to cry them up as effects of a Miraculous power. Phlegon, Jannail and Quintilla were sent into the neighbouring Villages to report great Cures done upon themselves. Phlegon said that Hieromimus had restor'd him from a dead Palsy with breathing upon him. Quintilla affirm'd that she was freed from the distempers of the Falling-sickness only by being in his Company. Jamnail protested that he was born deas and dumb, but that from the first time in which he saw Hieromimus he could both speak and hear. As they were met according to appointment one day in a Town not far from Phronesium, Phlegon discoursing after his usual manner, one Pseudolus, formerly a Jugler in Apateonia, whom they had engag'd to be of their Party, being present, happened to fall into an extraordinary Passion, and having fom'd awhile at the Mouth, and strugled after a strange mode, fell into a trance, which the By-standers judg'd to be reall, because when his Companions prick'd pins into his flesh, he neither started nor seem'd to have any feeling. After some time when he came to himself, he began with a distracted countenance to speak some Hebrew and Greek Sentences, though what he said was only some few words which he understood not, taught him by Astriatrus. The other Associates exprest other symptoms of Ecstasy and Rapture; for Hieromimus his Agents as they travelled had entertain'd Hysterical Women, Men vex'd with Hypochondriack passions, Epileptical persons, and such as Melancholy had made half mad, who were easily cast into Fits by the cunning Artifice of their Instructors, and also by such Rules as they had learned from their own observation of their particular Distempers.

Having proceeded thus far in their design, the next Scene was to terrifie their Auditors with the fear of Damnation into an Obedience of the Commands of Hieromimus. To effect this, Pandacryon was order'd in a field, where all their Company was assembled, to get up into a Tree to preach [Page] Repentance, and threaten Destruction to such as within two dayes did not submit themselves to their new Discipline; endeavouring to make them believe that upon the second day following Hieromimus should appear in his Princely Robes, as the dreadful Judge of the disobedient World. Pandacryon gave them a Cast of his Office before-hand; for in his Master's name he condemn'd all Churches as Antichristian Synagogues, revil'd their Pastors as Hypocrites, and call'd the Disciples of Anaxanacton Fools, and pronounced such as continued in their Christian Faith Rebels to the true Soveraign of the World Hieromimus.

Whilst Pandacryon was making his passionate Oration, and had now begun to weep, as he pretended, in commiseration of the obdurate Theoprepians, who, except one Thelgomenus, were not much mov'd with his Rhetorick; Misoplanus happened to arrive in the place, who having heard of their practices before, and seen this last piece of their religious Pageantry, call'd to Pandacryon to descend from his Pulpit in these words; Come down, thou Crocodile, dry up those Hypocritical tears. It is only in Apateonia where such Cheaters are believ'd, in Theoprepia you must expect to be laugh'd [...] I should not trouble my self to talk with those who are so far below the Capacity of a rational Conference, that they despise all Addresses made by others, except in the way of Applause, and disdain to speak, except it be to give Law; but that I think it is worthy of a Christian to pity your Folly, and to make a charitable confutation of your Errours, in hope that you may possibly be reclaim'd, and to prevent the dangerous Effects which they must needs produce, if they be enertain'd in the minds of those plain people who have not sufficient discretion to guard their Integrity from the Invasion of cunning Cheats.

First, I must tell you that you have laid the scene of your plot very improperly in Theoprepia. We are not apt to take high pretences for strong Reasons, to admire Impostors because they are proud, or to believe Lies because they are boldly affirm'd. Do you think that we are oblig'd to esteem you a Prophet, because you talk of Revelations? or [Page] to adore you as a Divine Person, because you were magnified in Apateonia? You should rather have made your juorney into a Country which had never heard of Simon Magus, and set up your Stage in some Town where Montanus was never nam'd, or the Euthites. You might doe well to talk of Raptures to such as know not what Boasts every Poet uses to make of the Muses Inspirations, to those who have not read the Story of Aristaeas, who never heard of Minos his Cave, or the Valley of Egeria, who were never told of Lycurgus his journey to Delphos, Sertorius his Doe, or Mahomet's Pigeon. You are mistaken to think that you have brought us any strange News: we are acquainted not only with the History of the old Gnosticks and the Pagan Enthusiasts, but also of Neoterick mad-men; the Alumbrado's of Spain, the Darvisei of Turky, the Fanaticks of France, the Nicolaitans of Germany, and the Impostors of Holland; who pretended both to ingross Illumination, to monopolize Charity, and inclose the Spirit of God from all the rest of the World to themselves, when they did only hedge a Cuckow of their own breeding within the bounds of their particular Sect. I wonder how you came to think that the World is grown so stupid, that it would easily entertain all the wild imaginations of hot Brains for Revelations of the Divine Will, and so mistake the irrational suggestions of every arrogant Spirit for those holy Beams which shine from the Light within, which every beholder is bound to follow. You may possibly perswade those to be in love with your Ecstatical passions, who had rather be Mad then in their Wits; and make such believe that your Extravagancies are Divine Efforts, who never heard of the Triennial Orgyia's of Bacchus, the Fanatick Verses, Enthusiastick Dreams, and wild Furies of the Corybantes; and by your Arts make those tremble who by Nature and Education are but too much inclin'd to Panick fears. But you must know that the Theoprepians are not so foolishly in love with transported Thoughts and ecstatical Affections as you imagine, and that they do exceedingly despise all Enthusiastical Raptures in comparison of a humble Faith and sincere Vertue, that they place them infinitely [Page] below the free use of sober Reason, and esteem those possest with an high degree of Madness already, who look upon Alienation of Mind as a thing desirable, and equal them to such as prefer the tremulous motion of a Paralytick Arm before the steady quietness of an healthful Temper.

Must we admire those Actions as Divine Effects in you, which we know to be the common Products of natural Causes, and trouble those who are destitute of a good Health whether they will or no? Who knows not to what various disturbances Melancholick persons are subject, and how that Noxious humour, when it grows predominant, transports men into strange Thoughts and extravagant Affections; especially if it be heighten'd artificially by walking in shady Groves or solitary Valleys, by sitting in dark Caves, or by conversation with those who are apt to affright the timorous with wild countenances, gastly looks, bold threatnings, and other mystical devices? Since this temper produceth the same Effects in Religions as it doth in other instances, shall we wonder that some of you call your selves Angels, when others upon as slight a ground think themselves Wolves? Why may not distracted Zelots pronounce themselves Messia's, when crack-brain'd Footmen have thought themselves Emperours? A vehement Intention of mind, to which this Temper is apt, doth easily breed an Ecstatical passion; and when the Phancy is once engag'd by this potent delusion, men believe they see and hear what was never spoken or made visible. Thus Phrenetick persons see Men, Horses and Armies in the Clouds, whilst they walk in the fields, as sick people do the shapes of living creatures upon white walls, when they lie in their beds. Yet you require an Approbation of your Follies from others, and command them to dance proportionably to the height or lowness of your whimsical Musick; though they know the reasons of your Distemper, and have observ'd what ludicrous, and sometimes abominable, effects have been produc'd by your mistakes. The disturb'd Melancholist not being able to distinguish between an abus'd [Page] Phancy, solid Reason, and Divine Inspiration, whilst a dark Cloud hovers over his Imagination, doth usually exercise Repentance, and takes the Paroxysms of a Flatulent Distemper for deep Mortifications; and as the Darkness increases, falls into tears, and makes many Tragical expressions of Grief, as if he saw more now then he did before. So Children hide their heads within their bed-cloths, though they see nothing, when they have affrighted themselves with the shapes of Devils pourtray'd only in their Phancies. When the storm is blown over, the Penitent seems to be possest of heavenly Joys by the return of a Divine Spirit; when it is only a change of bodily temper, which might be rais'd much higher, even to excessive laughter and wild dancing, by the application of a Tarantula. When this sick Phancy is joyn'd with a Feverish heat, then the impotent Soul is fill'd with a Divine ardor; & if it have formerly entertain'd discontents against the present Powers, it blasphemes Civil and Ecclesiastical Orders, and thinks it self inflam'd with a holy Zele, when it is only set on fire partly with a hellish Malice, partly with adust Spirits. When this temper is molested with proud desires; the Ambition quickly discovers it self in a vast scorn of others; and those who are infected with it proclaim themselves Kings, Prophets, or Popes, or all these: as it happened in the Peruvian Doctor mention'd by Acosta. If it happen that their waking Phancies are confirm'd by nocturnal Dreams, they are abundantly satisfied of the truth of their Errors; though many times they tell their Accomplices in the Evening what they ought to dream in the night, and divulge the next day.

Whilst these things are thus manag'd, some By-standers, who are properly dispos'd by an easie Faith, are usually catch'd with Delusion, and then the Enthusiast begins to think himself some great Thing; though a Liar may as well conclude that he speaks true, because some believe him. The Contagion of Error is a common thing, and most modern mistakes may easily be parallel'd by Examples which have been produc'd in all Ages. The multitudes [Page] of abus'd people signifie nothing in point of assurance concerning Truth to such as have heard of the noxious Phrensy of Cybele's Priests, the strange humour of the Milesian Virgins, the general madness of the Abderites, and the Delusion which did so soon and so generally seize upon the Paphlagonians by the contrivance of Alexander and his Assistants. It is a mean excuse for chosen Delirations to say that others are infected as well as our selves: however fantastical Prophets, being animated with the success of their Plots upon their foolish Proselytes, take confidence, and think they are sufficiently warranted by the number of those that believe them, to appear as Judges of the dissenting World; and being possess'd with the narrow love of their own dear Herd, pretend that as an authority for the hatred which they express against others as wicked Unbelievers; and the whole Party being infected with that Arrogance which is incident to all little Sects, they justifie their Schism by condemning the Church, and excuse their Pride with Malice.

You would have been apt to wonder at the cold Reception which you find in Theoprepia, if I had not shewed you the causes of our Incredulity: And I must tell you further, Hieromimus, that we have more reason to be amazed at your Arrogance, then you have to admire our Unbelief: and I am apt to think that you would not so easily have entertain'd great thoughts of your self, if you had not look'd upon us as Fools, who would take mens strong Appetites for Impulses of God's Spirit, and give faith to Wanderers because they are strongly deluded with Self-conceits. I confess I wonder how you became so presumptuous as to suppose that we are so stupidly credulous, as to believe every man that says he comes from God; who besides his Boldness can shew us no reason to think so. If you pretend to be sent by God upon a Divine Message, you ought to produce your Letters Credential. What Miracle have you done since you came into this Country? What Blind man have you cur'd with a Word? What Lame man have you [...] to the use of his feet by commanding him to [Page] walk? Whom have you rais'd from the Dead by Prayer? You say you are Commissionated from Heaven to shew us the true way of Happiness, and boast of Authority to give us Laws in God's name, and so to rule our Faith and Obedience; but this being a matter suitable to Ambition, you may very well give us leave to demand assurance that you are such as you pretend to be, lest we foolishly submit our selves to Impostors. It is well known that Divine Revelation is one of those things which have been often Counterfeited, and that Miraculous Power hath been falsly imitated. Would you have us think those little tricks which your Accomplices have perform'd, to be the Supernatural Products of Omnipotence, and to come near the nature of Miracles, which may not only be equall'd, but exceeded, by very ordinary Artists? You are much mistaken in the profession of Enthusiasm; for you manage it so poorly, that you come far short of the Attainments of your Predecessors. You should have invented something before you came hither which would out-doe Jannes his Serpent, Alexander's Egge, and Psaphon's Birds.

It is your unhappiness not to have met with people who would believe what you say at a cheap rate of proof. You would have made rare sport among those who, not knowing the cause of Eclipses, might have been perswaded to think you could darken the Sun with a Charm; and who, being ignorant of the reasons of the Moon's Illumination, might have reverenc'd as Prophets the foretellers of the time of the Novilunium; and have made a rare advantage of a Summer's season, by inducing Fools to believe that you can teach Cows to divine concerning Weather, and foresee Storms, having known before that they will make wild excursions when they perceive a different temper of Air by an alteration in their bodies. The silly Indian would adore you, who wonder'd that a Letter could discover how many figs he stole of those which he carried to his Master's friend, though he hid it under a stone whilst he devoured them. You might have perform'd rare exploits by carrying with you a Bedlam or two, who could endure to have pins thrust [Page] into their arms; or a Lacedemonian Boy, who would laugh while he was whipp'd: for without doubt they would have thought that you had render'd them invulnerable by your Divine Art. But much more might you raise your expectation concerning you, if you could transport one or two Laplanders, and besides their Ecstatical Trances, let them see the Iron Frogs hop upon their Magical Drums. You might also make such people believe, that it is by Celestial Inspiration that Women in a dark night do sometimes rise out of their bed in their Sleep, walk down little stairs, and go over narrow bridges; whilst you boldly affirm that it is not possible it should be done otherwise, without open eyes and clear light. You may perswade them also after the same manner that Epilepsies are Raptures, and that such as die of an Apoplexy do only suffer an Apotheosis.

But the defect of your Knowledge in natural Consequences, except in those Instances which are vulgarly known, will hinder you from the reputation either of Prophets or Magicians in Theoprepia; and we will be content to be esteem'd Unbelievers, because you are dull Artists. However, I cannot but take notice of one useful Device which you have excogitated, which is, that you deny leave to your Auditors to examine your Principles; just according to the manner of those who, having a mind to put off Counterfeit Coin, do vilifie the use of Touch-stones. You despise Learning, because it demonstrates your Ignorance: whilst you burn Libraries, you divulge your fears of Books already written; and when you write more, you reveal your Hypocrisie: for sometimes you say that all writings are needless, and for the most part pronounce them hurtful; and yet the Press cannot be quiet for your Non-sensical scribbling. Whilst you scatter your Pamphlets in the Streets, you abandon the sufficiency of that famous Principle, which some call the Light within. And now I have nam'd that Internal Light, I must adde something more concerning it to prevent Cavils. It is true, the Inward Light, which is more properly called Reason, or, The ability of our Minds to understand, doth make us capable of converse with God; [Page] unto this Principle he applies himself, for he doth not teach Stones; and if it were not for the Light within, we could know nothing without us: But our Minds are capable of Guidance, and our Knowledge of Improvement from many things without us; and in Divine matters we have a great necessity to be inform'd by the Holy Scriptures. That this is true, is sufficiently manifest, in that Pretenders are not able to speak of Religion but in words borrowed from these writings; and whilst they perversly abuse the Notions which they receive from hence, and talk against Outward Light, they speak disingenuously against Christianity in Scripture-phrases, and shoot maliciously at our Saviour with Arrows stoln out of his own Quiver. By neglecting those External helps which you unworthily vilifie, you are fallen into such a gross mistake, that under pretence of Inward Illumination you pronounce your selves Infallible in what you think, and Unaccountable for what you say; and being warranted only by Ignorance, make bold to obtrude upon the World the irrational suggestions of your own disturb'd Spirits, and, for want of due examination, take your strong Appetites for Divine Impulses, and wild Phantasms for heavenly Revelations.

Besides this, I must also tell you that you are visibly mark'd with the known sign of Imposture, and so do plainly discover whence you came against your Wills; that is, the Irreverent expressions by which you cast dishonour upon our Saviour's Person, and those foolish Allusions by which you have disparag'd his Doctrine. You would have us think meanly of his Incarnation, who after he was born prov'd himself to be God manifest in the flesh; and exhort us to slight his Intercession, by whom only we have Access to the Eternal Father; and do ingratefully undervalue his Death, who shed his bloud for the Remission of our Sins; and disbelieve his Resurrection and Ascension, which is our assurance of Immortal Life. Unworthy men! Do you desire to be regarded who speak contemptibly of that Divine Prophet? Shall we think well of you who despise the Grace of Heaven which Angels wonder at? and reproch [Page] the Eternal Priesthood of God's Son, who is made an Advocate after the Order of an Endless Life to plead the cause of Penitent Sinners, and neglecting humble Faith in God through his Mediation, desert your Saviour, whilst you admire the folly of every arrogant Whiffler?

Your Predecessors endeavour'd long since to Allegorize the Person of Christ into themselves, to expound his Sermons out of their genuine meaning into their own mystical Non-sense, to evacuate his most glorious Actions into Metaphors, and by all to transform the highest Truth into vain Similitudes; perswading the World to believe that the Historical Verity is but the Oldness of the Letter, and that the Nativity, Resurrection, Ascension, and Return of our Saviour to Judgment, are to be construed after the manner of AEsop's Fables into useful Morals, and that they were intended only to declare what is to be done in us by way of Allusion.

O God! Hieromimus, What can you hope to make of the Mystery of the Gospel, when you have rendred the History contemptible? What dishonour have you offer'd to the most obedient Death of our Saviour, when instead of that Propitiatory Oblation presented to the Eternal Father, you have reduc'd it only to an equality with the Sacrifice of a Sheep, and bid us understand no more by it then that it is a lively Emblem of Death, and so have vainly taken away the greatest Argument by which we can be perswaded to undertake that which you say we ought to doe? All your Motives taken from hence, if you use any, are only Resemblances of an History which you undervalue. Is not God's acceptance of Christ's obedient Death the hope of our Pardon? and is not the Love of our Saviour, whilst he died for our Sins, the great Perswasive of Mortification? Is not the Resurrection of that great Prophet the Confirmation of our Faith in his Doctrine, when he assur'd it with such a Miracle? and doth not his Ascension prove to us the certainty of an Immortal State, and encourage us by Obedience to his Precepts, and Conformity to his Exemplary Life, to prepare our selves for it? Whilst you pervert [Page] this Relation by some phrases misapply'd, you reproch the Gospel in its own language, and instead of Christian Religion endeavour to thrust upon the World a few Poetical Allusions, make the Gospel of our Saviour a Romance, offer us for solid Food Mushroms, and make his most noble Actions scarce so much as an Example, and some of them a Lie, and so teach men to reject sober Sense, and their own greatest Concernments, for the vanity of Canting Terms. Did our Saviour ascend into Heaven only Metaphorically? and ought he to be crucified in us too as well as upon the Cross? For shame grow wiser, and for fear continue not to wrong one who is very able to punish you. If the Infidel World do not give credit to that excellent Story being set down in its own Native truth, what will they doe when you have turn'd it into a Fable? If wicked Souls deny it in their Works, will you overturn it in Words? If Hypocrites do not obey it as they should, will you convert them with Blasphemy?

By this, added Misoplanus, you may see not only the Ineffectualness of your present Endeavours, but also the Impossibility of accomplishing any Design which you can lay for the future in Theoprepia. You do as vainly attempt to level our Saviour with your Mock-Prophet, as the arrogant Frog endeavour'd to swell her self to the Proportion of an Oxe; and do foolishly propound your Enthusiasm to be imbraced by those, who know that wild Raptures differ as much from Divine Revelation as Parsley doth from Hemlock.

When Misoplanus had said this, he desired Hieromimus, Thelgomenus, and one or two more of his Companions, to go with him to his house, where he desir'd to talk some things with him privately. Hieromimus was unwilling to accept of the Invitation; but at the intreaty of Thelgomenus, who was one of his half-Converts, he was perswaded to it. When they came thither, Misoplanus carried Hieromimus and Thelgomenus into a Turret which was upon the top of his house, from whence he had a fair Prospect of the Country, and also of the City Phronesium. Whilst they were discoursing [Page] of the beautiful Situation of this house, a Pigeon of that sort which is call'd Carriers came flying to Misoplanus, and brought a little piece of Paper roll'd up in her Bill, which she deliver'd and flew away. Hieromimus wonder'd at this Accident, for he knew not that there were such Birds. Misoplanus open'd the paper, and found these words written upon it, Hieromimus is an Impostor. This increas'd his admiration; and as he was considering the strangeness of that which had happen'd, his Amazement was suddenly heightned; for he heard a voice in the Air which five or six times together repeated these words, Repent; Hieromimus, Repent. The truth is, there was a neighbouring Echo, which was so rarely fram'd by a natural Art, that it would very often repeat any short sentence; and Misoplanus having plac'd one behind a Rock, who unseen pronounc'd the words which the Echo reverberated with a distinct sound, Hieromimus took it for a voice from Heaven, Thelgomenus trembled for fear, and desired that they might go down. You shall, said Misoplanus: but not returning the same way by which they came up, he led them through a Room which was artificially darken'd, having only one little hole left open through which the light was permitted to enter, with a glass plac'd before it: and whilst one of Misoplanus his Servants held a large sheet of white paper at a fit distance from the hole, there appeared upon it a lively representation of a dreadful Spectre, as Hieromimus and Thelgomenus suppos'd; but it was only the shadow of a man with an ugly Vizour upon his face, dress'd up in the form of a Satyr, with a hairy skin, two horns, and cloven feet, who walk'd in the Court before the house, and by this Artifice was shew'd within. Thelgomenus ran down the stairs in a great fright, thinking it was the Devil. Misoplanus, not knowing what ill effect his fear might produce, went after him, and so did his Servant. Hieromimus being left alone, because he could not readily find the way out, began to be afraid that the Devil would murther him in the dark, and cry'd out for help; which he presently receiv'd by the return of Misoplanus his Servant. When they were all come down, Misoplanus, [Page] being willing to let them understand their Ignorance, call'd for the Pigeon which brought the paper, and inform'd them how he contriv'd the other pieces of their Delusion.

Hieromimus much enrag'd with this affront went to his Lodging, pronouncing many Curses against Misoplanus, and, seeing his hopes overthrown in Theoprepia, departed privately to Theriagene. Jackleid was taken and put to death, for inciting the Theoprepians to Rebellion. Jamnail was whipped, for arrogating to himself Divine Attributes; and being put with his fellow-Mad-men into Bedlam, was order'd to stay there till he should so far return to his Wits, as to be able to understand that he was but an ordinary Mortal. Davigeor, Phlegon, Astriatrus, Thaumaturgus, and the rest, made an Escape into Apateonia: only the two She-Lacquayes having possess'd themselves with strong apprehensions that they were destin'd to convert the Mahumetans, and to reform the Pope, went one to Turcopolis, and the other to Septicollis.

Whilst the Company were almost weary with laughing at this ridiculous Story, and were giving many thanks to Amerimnus for making the Relation of it, a Gentleman came from Lysander, to let the King know that the Army design'd for Theriagene was come to the Rendezvous at Naupactus, which was the chief Port in Theoprepia, and that he had put the greatest part of the Souldiers aboard the Ships appointed for the Voyage. I am very glad of it, said Theosebes, and, since the wind is fair, we will lose no opportunity; it may possibly hold good till we arrive at Theriagene. Orders being given to the Court to remove with all possible speed to Naupactus, Theosebes and Alethion, with the rest of their noble Companions, devoted the next day to solemn Prayers, which they made publickly to Almighty God with an humble Earnestness, and declar'd that the Victory which they desir'd did not depend upon the Courage of Men, but the Mercy of God; and the day after they began their Journey towards the Sea-side. The Queen, the Princess Agape, and the other Ladies, entertain'd no small Apprehensions for their [Page] Friends, who were going to try the hazards of War, whose Events are alwayes doubtful; but placing their Hopes in God's Assistance of a most just Cause, they took their Departure with a submissive Quietness. As soon as they arriv'd at Naupactus, a Council of War being held, at which were present both the Kings, Bentivolio and his Brother, Lysander, Misopseudes, Philalethes, Amyntor, Sympathus, Aristander, Pasiphilus, and some others; it was resolv'd that they should endeavour to surprize Hipponyx the principal Haven of Theriagene, which was so call'd because the Form in which it was built resembled the Figure of a Horse's hoof.

The Prince of Theoprepia sail'd in the Admiral, being accompanied with Alethion, Bentivolio and Misopseudes; Lysander commanded the Vice-Admiral, Pasiphilus the Rere-Admiral; other [...] men possessing the rest of the Ships according to the King's appointment. They weighed Anchor the next day, and the wind continuing fair they came within five Leagues of Hipponyx about four of the clock in the Afternoon. But then the wind turn'd, and blowing with a stiff gale, the Fleet, according to the example of their Admiral, came to an Anchor; by which means they were discover'd by the Hipponyctians, and he that commanded the Town for Antitheus immediately prepar'd to put it into a posture of defence. A Signal being given, the Commanders of the several Ships went aboard the Admiral, where it was resolv'd that a Shallop should be sent off with a Herauld to summon Hipponyx to yield up the Port to Alethion, and to offer a Pardon to such as were willing to return to their Obedience to their lawful Sovereign. The sight of the white Flag upon the Prow of the Shallop was a great Joy to the Hipponyctians, for the whole City was put into a great Consternation by the Arrival of such a great Fleet at so near a distance; and all the Inhabitants, except some few, would willingly have accepted of Alethion's gracious Proposition, but that Atheophilus the Governour, in whom Antitheus had plac'd no small confidence, as in his most faithful friend, prevented the declaration of their Intentions, [Page] by swearing that he would immediately kill him that should dare to speak of a Surrender. The Herauld returning, and having declar'd the Governour's Answer, the Princes resolving to pursue their Intentions with speed, order'd that the same night a convenient number of Shallops attended with four Frigots should storm the two Forts which were built upon each side of the River to secure the entrance of the Haven.

The Ships design'd for this service being committed to the conduct of Aristander, Charistion, Amyntor and Sympathus; Bentivolio, Misopseudes, Panaretus and Philalethes resolv'd to accompany them in this service. They fill'd some of the Shallops with Fagots to throw into the Trenches, and Ladders to scale the Works: and having understood that the passage into the Haven was secur'd by the Hulls of old Barks fastned together with Chains, they appointed some Vessels with Souldiers furnish'd with Axes to loosen the Chains and break the Bridge, and provided two Fire-boats to burn the Barks. After the Signal given by a great Gun they weigh'd Anchor, and making several boards they arriv'd at the Mouth of the Haven about an hour before day.

Aristander, who was accompanied with Bentivolio, landed his men, who were design'd to attaque the North Fort, as Charistion and Panaretus did on the other side; and in the mean while Misopseudes, Amyntor and Philalethes, in several Vessels fill'd with Mariners and Souldiers set upon the chain'd-bridge. Atheophilus had plac'd his best men in the Forts, knowing that if they were lost, he should not only grant his enemies a free entrance into the Haven, but also receive great annoiance from the Guns which were planted upon them. His Souldiers welcom'd the Theoprepians with their Canon; and when by the noise which they made as they march'd they perceiv'd that they were at a convenient distance, they saluted them with Musquet-shot, giving them notice with flashes of dreadful light where they might find their enemies. This did nothing amaze the Theoprepians, for they went boldly on; and though the Bullets whizz'd [Page] over their heads, and sometimes lodg'd themselves in their bodies, they came up close to their Works; and having cast in their Bavins, and yet finding the Trenches not fill'd up, they threw themselves into the water, and swam over, being encourag'd to it by the generous example of Bentivolio and Aristander; and having plac'd their Ladders began to scale the Fort. As they went up, they from above knock'd them down with Stones, which made some of them unable to get up again. Bentivolio to prevent that discouragement which might possibly have happen'd to the Souldiers from this manner of opposition, commanded them to cover their heads with long Fagots carried by two men, one at each end; which made them some defence. Having set his foot upon a ladder, he receiv'd the same salutation with his Companions by the blow of an heavy stone upon his shoulder, which would possibly have lessened a weak courage, but it increas'd his; for going up readily, and calling to those who were next him to follow him, notwithstanding all the Resistance which the Enemy could make, he got to the top; and having slain those who made a vain attempt to hinder his entrance, he gave his followers a more easie Access. Aristander succeeded as happily in his attempt upon the other side of the Fort. And now the dreadful Image of Death grew visible with the first Appearances of Light; for the Souldiers inclos'd in the Fort hoping for no safety but by the Expulsion of their Enemies, and they resolving to take it or die, both parties produc'd mortal effects of a great Courage, whilst they gave testimonies of their strong desires. Bentivolio hewing out his way to a place where he perceiv'd the Captain of the Fort to make some of his Companions fall by his Sword, being enrag'd with love and grief, gave him such a blow upon the head, that he cut through his Helmet and cleav'd his skull. Aristander with the same sort of valiant Actions forc'd himself a passage from the other side into the midst of the Fort, where meeting with his friend they destroy'd so many with an invincible Courage; that those few which were yet unkill'd, being utterly discourag'd by the loss of their [Page] Captain and the gallantry of their Assailants, threw down their Arms and ask'd for Quarter. In this service the Theoprepians lost not many men; the most considerable was Aristander's Lieutenant, who was slain by the Captain of the Fort at the top of his Ladder. Aristander was wounded in the right cheek, and Bentivolio, besides the blow upon his shoulder, receiv'd a thrust in his left arm.

In the mean while Amyntor, Misopseudes and Philalethes attaqued the Bridge. Those who were set to guard it perceiving their approach, provided to defend themselves, and gave fire to their Musquets, as if they had intended to make Day with the light which was darted from the Mouths of their Guns: But shooting at a venture, their first Vollies had no very pernicious effect, neither did they hinder the Theoprepians from approaching the Bridge: for Amyntor and Misopseudes fastned their Shallops to it with hooks; and Philalethes, who had the command of the Fire-boats, lock'd them to their Barges notwithstanding all that the Enemy could doe to hinder him, and leaving the Combustible matter to perform its own office, went to another place which was not yet assaulted by his Companions; and having mounted the Bridge, secur'd an Ascent for two more of his friends: and whilst they made their Swords give a dreadful testimony to their Enemies, that their coming thither was to their extreme disadvantage, a numerous company of bold Souldiers rushing impetuously upon them forc'd him into his Boat, and his Companions into the water. Misopseudes and Amyntor, after many Repulses and some wounds, made good their standing upon the Bridge, and forc'd many of their Enemies into that side of the River which was next to Hipponyx, and repell'd those who endeavour'd to supply their rooms with such irresistible blows, that the Theoprepians had opportunity to mount themselves upon the Bridge without much difficulty; which when they had ascended, they requited those who help'd them up with the effects of such a gallant Courage, that they made the Hipponyctians seek defence for themselves by running towards the Forts which were built upon each side of the [Page] Haven. It fell out unluckily for Philalethes: for he having again recover'd the Bridge with some of his men, was by the impetuous violence of the affrighted multitude driven a good way along the Bridge, and by the irresistibleness of their wild Motion was at last thrust off into the Water, being accompanied with many others, who having push'd off those who were before them, were also carried off themselves by such as were behind them. Philalethes and his Companions were forc'd to save their lives by swimming to their Boats. But this mischance turn'd to their advantage; for they had scarce recover'd their Shallops before the Fire-boats, doing the Execution to which they were design'd, set on fire that part of the Bridge to which they were fastned, and the Granado's breaking destroy'd many of those who were upon it. Those who yet kept the Bridge being pursued by the Victorious courage of Amyntor and Misopseudes, had only left them the liberty of a miserable choice, either to die by their Enemies Swords, to stay in the Fire, or to leap into the Water: And yet they were soon depriv'd of power to make any election; for Philalethes joyning with those gallant men who were design'd to loosen the Chains that tied together the parts of the Bridge, help'd them to put a speedy end to that undertaking; and having with some of his Companions boarded several disunited Vessels, they quickly disposses'd the Hipponyctians by throwing them into the water, and so made themselves Masters of those scatter'd pieces of the Floating Bridge; which notwithstanding they not being able to rule for want of Rudders, were forc'd to go as the stream was pleas'd to conduct them, and so were in danger to be carried away Captives when they had overcome, but that some of their party perceiving the condition in which they were, made towards them, and took them into their Shallops.

Panaretus, Charistion and Sympathus imploy'd themselves with an equal gallantry in the gaining of the other Fort, which was of a larger compass, and was fill'd with a desperate company of Antitheus his Mercenaries; who when the [Page] Theoprepians came near their Trench, saluted them with a showre of Stones and Bullets, and were requited with Hand-Granado's which the Theoprepians threw into the Fort; which though they broke successefully, and struck pieces of Iron-shells into the faces of some, and the bellies of others, and kill'd many, yet rather enrag'd then weaken'd the Survivours, which made the Access more dangerous to their Enemies, and the Victory more doubtful. Panaretus signaliz'd his Valour in this Action, and as he was upon the top of his Ladder, a stout Souldier endeavouring to pull off his Head piece, Panaretus took hold of his Arm, and flung him into the Trench, and having setled himself in his Room upon the Fort, defended it against innumerable blows, till Sympathus got up to him; and then the Valour of these two Valiant Persons easily made way for more to come up by the death of those who endeavour'd to throw them down. Christion did things worthy of himself and such Companions: for having mounted another part of the Fort, and receiv'd a wound in his breast as a welcome upon his first entrance, he requited it with the death of him that bestow'd it; and fighting with an invincible Courage, easily made room for his friends to come to him, and place themselves amongst their Enemies. Now it was that the Hipponyctians giving fire no longer, disputed who should have the Fort with the But-end of their Musquets, in which mode of fighting they were imitated by the Theoprepians; and both Parties did so heartily endeavour to exceed one another, that Victory seem'd to stand a great while in an equal distance between the Assailants and Defendants. It was some benefit to the Theoprepians, that the Darkness did not give leave to their Enemies to take courage from the knowledge of the less Number of their men; but making up that defect with Resolution, they had entred so many places at once, that they were not able to resist them in all, and did so make good the possession which they got (though with some loss of their men) that they drove the Hipponyctians from the Line, and encompass'd them in the middle of the Fort, sending death upon them from all sides. It was no [Page] small discouragement to the Hipponyctians, that a little after the appearance of Day they discover'd that which made them believe that the Light was only bestow'd upon them to let them see the Ruines of their friends upon the Chain'd-Bridge, and Alethion's Standard plac'd upon the opposite [...]; whereupon the most Valiant of them having sold their lives as dear as they could, the rest yielded themselves to the mercy of the Theoprepians, who were now absolute Masters of the Fort.

Atheophilus being inform'd of that which had happen'd, and sensible of what might probably follow, resolv'd to repair his Honour, and to redeem this Loss with the overthrow of the Theoprepian Fleet, which was now under sail not much above a League from the Forts, or else perish couragiously in the continuance of his adverse Fortune. He mann'd all the Ships in the Harbour which were fit for his purpose, prepar'd his Fire-Barks, and weigh'd Anchor: and having a side-wind equally advantagious to him with his Enemies, made what haste he could, intending to fight them before they came into the Mouth of the Haven. When he drew near the Forts, he receiv'd unpleasing salutes from the Guns which his Souldiers had lost, and was accosted in his way with many flaming pieces of the dissolv'd Bridge: for the unchain'd Barges separated themselves from one another, and being driven by the Tide towards the Town, cover'd a great part of the Haven with burning wrecks; which not only struck an unspeakable terrour into those who stood upon the Shoar, but put the Mariners and Souldiers into some apprehension at the sight of such a dismal Spectacle, and engag'd them in no small care, lest the smoaking Fire-brands should fall foul upon their Ships, and consume the Fleet before it could get to Sea.

Atheophilus digesting as well as he could these ominous Presages, past the Forts with his Navy, having only lost one of his Fire-Ships, which by reason of some errour in the placing of the Combustible matter, prepar'd for other uses, was blown up before the time appointed. It was halffloud when the Fleets came up together; and Atheophilus [Page] perceiving the Admiral of the Theoprepians in the Front, made up boldly, and gave her a broad-side, for which he soon receiv'd another; and after that many more were mutually exchang'd, which put great Bullets through the sides of each others Vessels. The Commanders of the other Ships disposing themselves on both sides as they might most conveniently attaque their Enemies. It happen'd that a Chain'd-shot from the Theoprepian Admiral cut off Atheophilus main Mast in the middle. He, notwithstanding this discouragement, did his best to lay the Admiral aboard; which was more easie for him to accomplish, because she made towards him with equal speed to doe as much for him. The two Admirals being hook'd together began a most terrible fight, the Theoprepians with dreadful Shouts presaging to one another a certain Victory. Great holes were made in the sides of both the Ships with their Canon: the Theoprepians, with a storm of Musquet-Bullets as thick as hail, knock'd down most of the Souldiers that appear'd on Atheophilus his Decks, and boarded his Vessel. He with a Reserve of stout men rush'd upon them from the Steerage, and charg'd so fiercely, that he kill'd many, forc'd some into the Sea, and drove the rest into their own Ship; whither also he follow'd them, and continued such a cruel fight with Swords and the great ends of Musquets, that the bloud ran out of the Water-holes. Both the Princes, not having patience to see the Antitheans aboard their Ship, flew out of their Cabins: and Alethion having espied Atheophilus, ran upon him with an unexpressible fury, saying, Behold, Atheophilus, this is Alethion, kill him, and endear thy self for ever to thy Master by the destruction of his most mortal Enemy. Atheophilus being a prudent Souldier was aware of his coming, and aim'd a deadly blow at his Head; which Alethion put by with his Arm, and directed a thrust, which finding passage through his Breast and his Heart both at once, made him fall down dead among the feet of his Souldiers. Theosebes perceiving the Prince of Theriagene engag'd against many of his Enemies, made himself a passage with his Sword, and coming where [Page] he was, put Alethion out of the danger of their Number by the death of those whom he encountred; and having clear'd his own Ship made a second Board upon his Enemies, in which he kill'd or threw into the Sea all that were upon the Decks, in the Steerage, and in the great Cabin: and commanding his men to retire into his own Ship, lest those who were in the Gun-room should blow them up, he heard a great cry from below, and saw some come up who made him know the reason of it, which was, because the Hold was full of Water; and they ask'd for Quarter: which being granted, they endeavour'd with the help of the Theoprepian Mariners to stop their Leaks; but in a short time perceiving that it was impossible, unhook'd their Ship, and had scarce got clear of her before she sunk down before their faces.

Whilst this Tragedy was acting, the other Ships were not idle Spectatours, for every one grapled with valiant Enemies: and though the Antitheans were something startled with the loss of their Admiral, (for they were so near as to see him sink) yet they resolv'd to make it up with their own endeavours by the ruine of their Adversaries; and though they should happen to fail of their desired success, yet they purpos'd to die at least like men of Courage. But being over-charg'd with a Valour which transcended theirs by as many degrees as the Justice of Alethion's Cause exceeded that of Antitheus, they were worsted: and yet before they submitted to a final conquest, they made such effectual Opposition as produc'd a very dreadful Spectacle of a Sea-fight; some Ships sinking by reason of incurable Leaks, some blowing up their Decks voluntarily tounlade their Enemies, and some being fir'd against their wills. The Air was fill'd with the noise of Guns, the cries of dying Persons, and the Shouts of Conquerors; the light of the Day being obscur'd with Clouds of Smoke, and the Sea discolour'd with the bloud of Wounded men, and made dismal with the floating bodies of the slain.

In this Fight Pasiphilus very happily shot off the Rudder of the Enemies Fire-Ship, by which means she was made [Page] useless as to the purpose for which she was intended, and carried back upon the Antitheans by the Tide. Lysander and Christion took two of their Principal Ships; Bentivolio, Misopseudes and Panaretus, assisting their respective friends, chas'd three others into the Harbour, and there compell'd them to submit to mercy. Indeed every gallant Theoprepian, who had the honour of any command that day, made himself famous with Heroick Actions; the private Souldiers also performing things which deserv'd very high reputation: By which means a complete Victory was speedily obtain'd, for all the Antitheans were either sunk or taken. This dreadful Encounter being thus ended, the Conquerors attempted not to enter the Town, but cast Anchor a little within the Haven's Mouth, resolving to give a respite to their weary Souldiers, and to take care of the wounded, who were not a few.

The trembling Hipponyctians, having seen the dismal issue of this bloudy Engagement, and being destitute of their Governour, Souldiers and Courage, sent some of the Principal Inhabitants to implore the King's Mercy, and to offer him the Town. The two Kings and so many of the Commanders as were then together held a Council of War, and concluded that it was best to accept of the surrender that was offer'd, and to take possession of the Town speedily, lest Antitheus should prevent them by fresh supplies. Accordingly they sent three thousand of the most unwearied Souldiers ashoar under the command of Lysander, to secure the Gates, and to strengthen that part of the Town which lay towards Theriagene. The next day they landed all the wounded men, and took such an effectual care for their Recovery, that in a little time they were restor'd to their former health. The Hipponyctians joyning with the Theoprepians, bestow'd burial upon those dead bodies which they found floating in the Haven, or which were cast ashoar by the force of the Tide.

After two dayes they receiv'd the good News of the Arrival of their Ships, which were order'd by Theosebes to transport their Horse, who were commanded not to set sail [Page] till three dayes after the departure of the other Ships from Naupactus. Lysander appointed them to those Quarters which he had prepar'd in and near to Hipponyx; the King intending with all convenient speed to march towards Polistherium, where the Intelligence of Alethion's Arrival, which was sent by a Courrier, put Antitheus and his new Court into a great distraction: for being conscious to themselves of the Wrongs which they had done, they fear'd that the time was coming in which they should be forc'd to suffer for them; especially after they heard that the Theoprepians had subdued their Fleet, and made themselves Masters of Hipponyx.

This Alarm made less Impression upon the Courage of Antitheus then was expected by many both Friends and Enemies; for notwithstanding he heard that many other Towns, besides Hipponyx, had revolted, and that some Cities had sent to submit themselves to Alethion, yet his Mind seem'd to grow great proportionably to his danger, and he fear'd not to look his bad fortune in the face, though she frown'd severely. But knowing that his tottering condition needed all possible support, he made use of all the thoughts with which his restless Mind was fill'd, to direct him what to doe. He summon'd his chief Confidents to meet in his Privy-Chamber; where having fram'd his Countenance to express an undaunted Resolution, he spake to them after this manner: The mischiefs which the Theoprepians have already done us do force us to secure our fortune by the use of Arms, and the dangers which they still threaten require that we should speedily enter upon this way of defence. We need not dispute whether it is Wisdom to venture boldly, for we must either doe so or lose all. It were a dishonourable Cowardise to abandon our selves to ruine, because we may possibly prevent it; neither is there any condition so low, but it may be rais'd, if those who undertake it have Valour. I have taken care to provide what is requisite for our Preservation both as to Men and Money. You know that the Mercenary Army under my command is not inconsiderable for Number; and I make [Page] no doubt but they will engage boldly in this Service, because, being Souldiers of Fortune, they fight only for their pay. And since it may be thought that they are too few to oppose the strength of Theoprepia, I have sent to the Theomachians, who are in League with us, to desire their Assistance, and I make no question of obtaining it. They are the inveterate Enemies of Alethion, and will more readily help us, because by this means they may have an opportunity to revenge themselves upon the Theoprepians. After the overthrow of this Army which doth now infest us, I have promis'd to enter with them into the Enemie's Country, and to divide with them what we shall conquer there by equal shares. I have some Treasure which I laid up for all urgent occasions; and though it is scarce enough for this present service, I know how to raise more before we shall have need of it.

When Antitheus had finish'd this short Speech, Dogmapornes, Asynetus, and the rest of his Associates, having been engag'd in his Treason, oblig'd by his Favours, hoping to augment their present Fortune with his Victory, and despairing of Pardon from Alethion, in regard of the greatness of those Crimes which they had committed, declar'd a Resolution to live and die in the obedience of his Commands, and protested that they neither had nor hop'd for any Interest but that which consisted with his Felicity. Antitheus having given them thanks for this obliging Answer, told them the way by which he intended to provide Money to pay his Army: which was, by seizing upon the Stock of the Orphans laid up in the common Chamber of the City, as also that which was trusted in the hands of particular Guardians, by forcing the rich Citizens to lend him as much as he should desire, and by borrowing the Treasure which was in the Temples: and because the people should not look upon these proceedings as Rapine and Sacrilege, he promised repayment as soon as he should overcome the Enemy, which threatned present ruine to Theriagene, and forced him to take these extraordinary courses. He added also that he would not put this resolution in practice till he [Page] should hear from the Theomachians. Within two dayes Antholkes, the Ambassador whom he had sent thither, return'd with acceptable News: For desire of Revenge and hope of Conquest had so inflam'd the Theomachians, that they, not considering the dangers to which they were courted, and the inability of the Tempter to make a probable Defence, neither taking any notice of the Injustice of that Cause in which they were solicited to engage, readily promis'd their utmost Assistance; and knowing that Delay would make it ineffectual to Antitheus his Relief and their own hopes, assur'd Antholkes that they would make all possible speed for the Expedition.

In the mean while Theosebes having led his Army into Theriagene only with an intention to restore Alethion, and being desirous that his honest purposes might not be misinterpreted by the Censorious World, told the Prince, as they were walking one day together, that though the Affection which he ought ever to have for so great a Friend had brought him and his Subjects out of their own Country to serve him, and that he could not but think that the Justice of his Cause was abundantly sufficient for his private satisfaction; yet he thought it requisite to let the World know upon what occasion he had taken up Arms, and to assure the Theriagenians of his Intentions by a Declaration published for that end. The King highly approving his Advice, Lysander drew it up in these words: Though we make no question but such as know the Reasons of our present undertaking will need no other satisfaction as to the Justice of it; yet because we would not have our Actions construed into that Malicious sense which our Enemies will be apt to put upon them, We declare before God and all the World, that it is not a Desire to increase our Empire by any Accession which may be gain'd from Theriagene, that hath made us invade the Country of our ancient Allyes. Our Design is only to assist an Illustrious Prince to recover his Throne, of which he is unjustly depriv'd, and to help him to punish those who have made their Crimes inexpiable by adding his Banishment to his Father's Murther. As we have resolv'd never to lay down our Arms till this be effected, and doubt not but the greatest part of Alethion's Subjects are sufficiently [Page] sensible of his wrongs; so, that it may appear we do not cover any other purposes under this pretence, we make this Protestation, That if you your selves will deliver up the Murtherers of Anaxagathus to Justice, and restore Alethion to his Rights, we will presently withdraw our Forces into our own Country, rejoycing that we shall leave Theriagene in peace.

Alethion desiring passionately that his Country might not be ruin'd by the direful effects of War, and knowing that the events of it are varied by inconsiderable Causes, concluded that no Enemy should be fought, who may be conquer'd by Treaty; and therefore with the fore-mention'd Declaration he set forth a Paper, in which he conjur'd his Subjects to return to their Obedience by the indispensableness of those Bonds which oblig'd them to it: and that they might not be frighted into Despair by the remembrance of their Offences, he added a Promise of Pardon to such as would come under his Protection, and in the Word of a King gave them assurance that none should be excluded from the benefit of this Amnesty but Antitheus, Dogmapornes, and two or three more, whose Wickedness could never be forgiven.

These Papers wrought very considerable effects upon the Theriagenians. Some generous Spirits, who were most sensible of the injuries which they suffer'd under Antitheus, had put themselves already under Alethion's Colours. Others, who had been unhappily instrumental to his and their own Misery, repented of their Errours, which the King's Goodness had pardoned, and resolv'd to make amends for their Disobedience by hazarding their Lives for his Restitution. The generality of the People, who were broken with Oppression, having now some hopes of Deliverance, began to shew their Hatred to the Usurper, which was before cover'd under the Embers of Fear. Antitheus not unsensible of the Insecurity of his condition, us'd all possible Arts to keep the People (though not in affections to him, for they never had any for him, yet) from such Actions as might disturb his Enterprise; and finding most of his Devices ineffectual, he made it his last Reserve, to promise the Polistherians [Page] that he would only continue himself in his Command as a General for the present Expedition, and that after the Success of this Fight, of which he made no question, he would lay down the Principality, and declare them a Free State. Some few, who understood not the Ufurper's Intentions, thought this a very plausible Offer, and began to wonder at the Moderation which Antitheus had entertain'd: but he, perceiving that this Plot took not effect according to his Expectation, under pretence of Treachery which he had discover'd, put some to Death whom he suspected as Guilty of Good will towards Alethion, and carried others, of whose Fidelity he was not assured, out of the City, and mix'd them with his Mercenary Troops.

The night before the day which was design'd for the Battel with the Theoprepians, who were now advanc'd within ten Miles of Polistherium, the Citizens were assaulted with an extraordinary Terrour, by reason of a strange Sight which appear'd in the Air on that side of the City which was towards Hipponyx. Two Armies with Colours flying, Drums beating and Trumpets sounding, seem'd to encounter one another. The glittering Swords were so formidable, and the clattering of Arms and the noise of Guns was so easily heard, that if they had not seen this Accident in the Air, they would have thought that the Theoprepians and Theriagenians had been engag'd in Fight. This Contest lasted half an hour; after which, one of the Armies having routed and conquer'd the other, the Vision disappear'd. The Antitheans thought this a sad Omen of their approching misfortune, and indeed could not look upon it otherwise but as a dismal Emblem by which God did foreshew the unlucky Issue of the succeeding Fight, and were generally so astonish'd with variety of ghastly Apprehensions, that they seem'd to be toss'd in the midst of restless Imaginations, as a small Vessel would be in a raging Sea, if all the Winds should blow up [...] it alternately from their several Quarters.

The Usurper considering well what great Influences this Prodigy might send down upon the Spirits of his Souldiers, [Page] (for those who do least believe that there is a God, are most affrighted with the thoughts of him when dreadful Accidents begin to perswade them that there is one) endeavour'd to dissipate this Panick fear, by telling them the next morning, that they ought not to entertain any apprehensions from those things which they saw in the Air, such Prodigies being only Accidents of Nature; Images of Armies being often brought from forein parts by strong Winds in great Clouds, which like Looking-glasses reflect them upon the Earth; and that though this was none of that sort, yet it was capable of being interpreted for them as well as against them: and he added, that he was assured that the Overthrow which they saw acted did portend the ruine of their Enemies, both by a Vision and a Dream which he had that night. He saw, as he said, a glorious Rainbow painted in the Air, and a mighty man of an unusual Stature, who having fastned a red string to both the Ends of it, took a great Arrow pointed with a flame of fire, and shot through the breasts of two Persons with Crowned Heads, who immediately tumbled down dead from the top of a bright Cloud. That they might believe that these could be no other then Theosebes and Alethion, he related his Dream in these Words: I saw a beautiful Person in the form of a Virgin, who, as I lay asleep, seem'd to whisper in my Ear this Prophecy, To Morrow Polistherium shall be deliver'd from her Enemies. This Exposition of the dreadful Prodigy so artificially confirm'd did something alleviate their Fears; and though it did not quiet their Minds, yet it made them suppress the trouble which they could not extirpate, and gave them some small encouragement to prepare for those dangers which, whether they would or no, they were now to encounter.

Antitheus made haste to lead out his Men to fight, both that they might have no leisure to augment their Fears by the consideration of their Dangers, and that he might possess himself of a convenient place which he had destin'd to the encamping of his Army. It was a large Field encompass'd on one side with a Wood, and with a River on the [Page] other. By this he hop'd to give his Enemies the trouble of a disadvantageous access to him: But he was prevented by the earlier care of Alethion, who well knowing the Situation of the Country, had made himself Master of it an hour before.

Antitheus divided his Army into two Bodies, the Mercenaries of Theriagene, and his Auxiliary Theomachians. Being attended with his Life-Guard he led the Theriagenians himself, whom he plac'd in the right Wing, having assign'd the chief Commands to Dogmapornes, who was his Lieutenant-General, Philedones, Pasenantius, Autautus, Antholkes, Antigraphus, Udemellon, and the rest of his Confidents. He chose all his under-Officers out of those whom he esteem'd most true to him. His Confederate Theomachians being plac'd in the left Wing were led by their General Theostyges. Those who were most of Note in the Army, and chiefly look'd upon as Persons upon whose Conduct and Valour the Success of the Fight depended, were Archicacus, Misagathus, Anosius, Adicus, Anaedes, Androphonus, Asemnus, Aneleemon and Anecestus.

The Theoprepian Army was commanded by Theosebes: for after a loving Contention, which lasted a good while, between the two Kings before they could determine who should give Orders and Command with a single Power, each of them offering that Honour to the other, and both refusing it with an equal Modesty, Alethion conjuring Theosebes by the Love which had brought him into Theriagene, to command his own Army, and to give him leave to fight by his side, Theosebes was forc'd to accept that Authority. The Army, which consisted of six thousand Foot and four thousand Horse, was divided into two Bodies: one commanded by Theosebes himself, who was accompanied with the Prince of Theriagene, Bentivolio and Misopseudes, who desir'd the Honour to fight by him. The other was put under the Obedience of Lysander, to whom Panaretus, Philalethes and Nicomachus joyn'd themselves; every particular Regiment being led by such Commanders as inspir'd their Followers with Courage.

[Page] As soon as the Day began to appear, the Warlike Trumpets sounding from all parts of the Camp rais'd the Souldiers to the Battel, of which they were so impatiently desirous, that many prevented the rising of the Sun, and put on their Arms whilst it was yet dark; and rousing that Warlike humour which had lien asleep since the Fight against Theromachia, they gave a clear Evidence that they had not forgot the Art which they had not for a long time practis'd. When they were drawn up into a regular Order in the place appointed for the Fight, Theosebes and Alethion riding by the Head of every Regiment shew'd themselves to the Souldiers, whom they found so inflam'd by the sight of their Enemies, that they had more need to command them to make a stand then incite them to go forward. The Princes said not much to them, because they perceiv'd their Courage already heightned infinitely above the necessities of Exhortation. However this Action was not in vain, for their Hearts were kindled with a more vigorous [...] by the Presence of their own King and the sight of the Wrong'd Prince, whose Restauration they were now to attempt. Those of Theriagene were destitute of a just Cause, and so could not have that assistance which Valour never refuseth to take from a serene Conscience; yet they appear'd with a desperate Boldness, and felt in their Hearts all those Motions which Anger, Hatred, Hope and Desire could raise: Nay, they seem'd to encrease their Courage with Fear; for, knowing what they had done, they assured themselves of the greatest Punishments if they should be conquer'd; and therefore heightned their Resolutions of killing those who, if they liv'd, would in a little time become their Judges.

Both Armies having made themselves ready to march, the Trumpets were commanded to give the last Signal, and they resounding from the Banks of the River, and multiplying their noises with the Echo's of the Wood, made a delightful Terrour. The two Forlorns of Horse sent from each Party gave the first Charge, and laid many Men upon the ground, and their Horses by them: But Aristander, [Page] who commanded the Theoprepians, with an irresistible Force pressing upon those of Theriagene, made them retreat to their Army with the loss of half their men. Then the main Bodies of both Armies advanc'd towards each other, and seconded what was begun with the Engagement of their whole Forces. The Commanders of both sides were the first in this Charge, and made a dreadful Salutation with the mutual exchange of Blows and Wounds; but, being encompast by their Souldiers, they were forc'd to leave off their single Combats, and oppose the joynt Fury of their numerous Enemies.

Now it was that Death began to appear with a dismal Face, and to shew the awful Greatness of her Mortal Power in the Horrours of Slaughter and Confusion. Alethion having espied Dogmapornes, thundred upon him with a loud cry, saying, Now I will requite you for writing Letters for me; and riding up to him with an astonishing Presence ran him through the Body: and perceiving that Antholkes came up with an eager desire to revenge his Death, or else to die with him, Yes, said the Prince, he can have no fitter Companion in his Torments then you who have assisted his Sin; and as he spake these words, gave Antholkes leave to take his death from the point of his Sword, upon which he ran himself precipitantly, aiming an ineffectual Blow at Alethion's Head. Philedones at the same time was thrown upon the ground by Theosebes. Antitheus fought disguis'd, the Fears which were created by his guilty Conscience making him flie to that mean sort of Refuge. But Bentivolio having discover'd him by some token, broke through those who stood in his way, and leaving bloudy marks of his Passage rode up to him, and gave him a blow upon the Head, which would have cleft his Skull if it had not been guarded with an Helmet which was made for a more worthy Person; however, it made him bow down low upon his Horse's neck; and his Body beginning to leave the Saddle Bentivolio prevented his Fall, for he pull'd him from his Horse, and carrying him before him upon the Bow of his Saddle gave him in Custody to Axiarchus, one of Theosebes [Page] his Captains, who, knowing the Importance of his Charge, plac'd him disarm'd in the middle of his Troop, and watch'd him so diligently that he made his escape impossible. Autautus and Proselenus did in vain endeavour his Rescue, for they were both kill'd, one by Theosebes, and the other by Misopseudes, who receiv'd a Wound in his Breast by a thrust of Proselenus his Sword.

Those in the left Wing did things equal to the right. Lysander charg'd Theostyges the General of the Theomachians, and after a few blows given with an unexpressible Courage, Theostyges receiv'd one in his Neck, which made it unable to support his Head, and, as he listed up his Hand to strike again, tumbled under his Horse's Feet. He was accompanied in his Death by Androphonus and Aneleemon, who fell by the same hand. Anosius being fiercely charg'd by Kalodoxus lost his Life with his Head, which Kalodoxus cut off. Sympathus, Charistion and Pasiphilus signalized themselves by the Death of Misagathus, Adicus, Asemnus, and some others, who seem'd to be the stoutest men that led the Theomachian Van. Antigraphus, who fought with the Theomachians, was met by Nicomachus, who shot him in the Mouth, and lodg'd a brace of Bullets in his Brains, and after him dispatch'd Saprobius with his Sword. Hieromimus, who would needs thrust himself into the Fight, (though he had no Command) being known to a private Souldier who had seen him in Theoprepia, was kill'd with the But-end of his Musquet. Euphron having charg'd too far into the Enemie's Body was unfortunately slain. Aristander having seen him engag'd, endeavour'd with all possible speed to hew out a way to his relief; but not being able to come where he was soon enough to save his life, he fell with an impetuous rage upon those who kill'd him, and fetch'd off his dead Body. In this Action Aristander receiv'd one Wound in his Thigh, and another in his Arm, which prov'd mortal to him.

Whilst the Victorious Arms of the left Wing distress'd the Theomachians in the Front, a sudden Ruine hastned upon them in the Rear. For Panaretus and Philalethes being inform'd [Page] of a private way through the Wood, by which fetching a small Compass they might come behind the Theomachians, they acquainted Lysander with their desire to surround the Enemy, and receiv'd of him four hundred Horse with which they put their Design in Execution, and flew in upon them with an appearance which was so much the more dreadful because it was unexpected, and made the Theomachians think that Death had hedg'd them in upon all sides. However taking a desperate kind of Courage from their Danger they fought stoutly, and though they were beaten, yet the Theoprepians found such considerable Resistance that it cost many of them their lives. At length the Theomachians seeing most of their Leaders slain, and so many of their Companions kill'd that they were put out of all hopes of Victory; some of those few which surviv'd threw down their Arms and desir'd Quarter, others endeavouring to save their Lives by running disorderly to Antitheus his Division, which was a very small relief; for they were so discourag'd by Theosebes and his Invincible Army, that having left their most considerable Officers dead upon the ground, and having seen others taken, they began to flie, hoping at least to delay their Death by retiring to Polistherium.

Eugenius, who was a faithful friend to Alethion, and staid in Theriagene to serve his Interest, receiv'd a fall from his Horse the day before the Fight, and pretending to be much hurt by it he took his bed; by which means he gain'd an occasion to remain at home to execute the Design which he had contriv'd against Antitheus, which was, to surprize the City whilst he was engag'd in the Field: and accordingly having given notice of his purpose to Alethion by one of his Servants well known to Bentivolio, Amyntor with a select Company of Horse at the hour which was appointed by Eugenius march'd towards Polistherium unseen by the Enemy, and carrying Antitheus his Colours which they had taken in the Fight, he came to a Gate which Eugenius had secur'd, and having let him in they seiz'd upon the Town for Alethion. This Action made the attempt of those who hoped [Page] to escape by flight of little advantage to their security; for being pursued and kill'd by the Theoprepian Horse, when they drew near to the Town they were destroy'd by the great Guns and Muskets which play'd upon them from the Walls: and this did so confound them with an unexpressible Despair, that being neither able to fight nor run away, they stood still and cry'd for Mercy: which though they did not obtain at first, yet it was granted as soon as the Prince of Theriagene and Theosebes could come up: For one of them desir'd not to see more of his Subjects slaughter'd, and the other could not endure to behold so many men kill'd after they had given over all Resistance. They exhorted the Souldiers to be content with their Victory without more bloud, which could not make it more acceptable; and they were not disobey'd when their Commands were heard.

Thus did the Justice of Heaven punish the Rebellion of Antitheus and his Accomplices, and in a short time utterly frustrate all the Probabilities which he had fram'd to support a saint Hope of escaping Destruction. And now the Princes having given order to take care of the Wounded Souldiers, and to secure the Prisoners, Theosebes went into Alethion's Coach, and taking Bentivolio and Panaretus with him, sent his Commands to Lysander to lead his men towards the City, which they knew to be in their Friends hands, both by Alethion's Colours, which were plac'd upon that Tower which was over the Gate by which they were to enter, as also by a Messenger sent from Amyntor. When they were come to the City-walls, they were met by Eugenius, who being transported by the sight of Alethion, alighted off his Horse to perform his Devoir to him, and kneel'd down to kiss his Hand, but was not able to speak for Joy. Rise up, rise up, my faithful Friend, said the Prince, (taking him into his Arms) I shall never forget the Affections which you have alwayes preserv'd for me; neither shall any time blot out of my mind those obliging services by which you have demonstrated your Love. He had not time to reply, for the Princes came out of their Coaches intending to march into the City on Horse-back; and then he was interrupted [Page] by the Embraces of the Prince of Theoprepia, who had much endear'd him to himself for those high Offices which he had perform'd for a Prince whom he lov'd above any man in the World, and then signified his Affection in words full of Esteem. When Eugenius was got loose from Theosebes, Bentivolio passionately affected with the sight of one who had oblig'd him with all the Expressions of a most Generous Friendship, ran to him with open Arms, saying as he went, And is it true, my dear Eugenius, that God hath given us leave to meet again both so soon and so happily? Yes, Bentivolio, replied Eugenius, and I esteem it no small part of this Day's Felicity to meet one who was never out of my Memory and Desire since we parted. The rest of the Company having perform'd their affectionate Salutations to this Excellent Person, the Princes entred the City, whilst the great Guns sounded from the Walls, and the People Echo'd to that joyful noise with their loudest Acclamations in all the Streets through which they passed to the Palace.

It is not possible for me to express that endearing Welcome which Alethion gave to the Prince of Theoprepia after his Arrival in the House, nor to repeat those many passionate Acknowledgments which he made to him for that Generous Love by which, God having made it successful, he was restor'd to his Throne, protesting to Theosebes, that the re-enjoyment of his Kingdom was infinitely more acceptable since it was accomplish'd by his means, then it could have been any other way. Theosebes, who so entirely lov'd the Person of Alethion that he esteem'd all his Interests his own, return'd an answer full of Modesty and Sweetness, assuring him that he took more joy in the Restauration of Alethion to his Kingdom, then he should have found sorrow in the loss of his own.

The first thing which they did after they had settled themselves was to take care of their Wounded Friends, to whom when Alethion had declar'd his Desires to Consecrate the following day for a publick Thanksgiving to Almighty God for the Victory by which he was restor'd to Theriagene, [Page] and Theriagene to it self, they entreated him to delay his Order for a day or two, not doubting but they should be able in that time to accompany him in that most worthy Action, and in which they thought themselves highly concern'd to have a share. Whereupon Alethion made choice of the third day, which was chearfully celebrated by the Princes and those many gallant Persons who accompanied them in the Expedition; as also by the Citizens, who observ'd it with all imaginable significations of a thankful Joy. These Solemnities being appointed, the two Kings agreed to send to Theoprepia, to let their Friends know the happy Success of their Undertaking, and to fetch the Queen, the Princess Agape, Urania, Theonoe and Irene, with their Companions; the whole Court earnestly desiring to have those noble Persons present at such a joyful time, and of which they thought their Fruition incomplete till their Friends enjoy'd a part with them. Having past the Evening in Theosebes his Chamber, the Company took their leave, their weariness compelling them to withdraw to their several Lodgings, which were as well appointed as such a season would permit.

The next day Alethion, Theosebes, Bentivolio, Panaretus, Philalethes, and many other excellent Persons, being met at Misopseudes his Appartment, who was forc'd to keep his Bed by reason of the Wound which he had receiv'd, Alethion desir'd the Counsel of his Friends concerning the Settlement of his Affairs. Theosebes advis'd him to punish Antitheus and the chief Instruments of the Rebellion, and then to confirm the Amnesty which he had promis'd, and so engage his Subjects Minds to a chearful Obedience for the future by Assurance of Pardon for their past Offences. The rest approving this Advice, a List of the Prisoners was brought, and their names read. Many of the Chief Actors in that fatal Tragedy, which had caus'd so much trouble, were slain. Psychopannyx, Astromantis, Panthnetus and Scepticus being well horsed fled into Theomachia. The principal of those who were in Custody were Antitheus, Asynotus, Pasenantius and Udemellon of the Theriagenians; Archicacus, Anaedes [Page] and Anecestus of Theomachia; seven in all: who were condemn'd to be hang'd and quarter'd, and their Heads to be set upon the chief Gates of Polistherium. They order'd also a day for the Funeral Rites due to Anaxagathus, which were perform'd with all Princely Ceremonies, the King of Theoprepia and all the Persons of Condition that were with him assisting in that Solemn Action.

Whilst Alethion, Eugenius, Misopseudes and Philalethes spent their time in such employments as were necessary for the Re-settlement of the Affairs of the Kingdom, Bentivolio and Panaretus having understood by the Chirurgeons that the Wounds which Aristander had receiv'd in the late Fight were Mortal, resolv'd to give him a Visit, and to spend what time they could spare from other occasions in the Conversation of that most Excellent Man. When they came to his Lodging, they found him accompanied with his intimate Friend Athanasius and his Brother Virbius, and attended by his two Sons Callistus and Hilarion. Medenarete also was there, and a Brother of hers call'd Synthnescon, who having heard that Aristander's Wounds had put his Life in extreme danger, thought her self oblig'd to give him a Visit, and to perform thanks to him for having sav'd her Brother the day before from that death which he must have found under the Feet of the Theoprepian Horse, if it had not been for the charitable Assistance which he receiv'd from Aristander, and which he must have lost however, if he had not been pardon'd by Alethion at his Intercession. Bentivolio having made those Salutes which were due to that worthy Person, sate down by his Bed-side; and having understood by a Gentleman who conducted them into the Room, that they were just now entred into a Discourse concerning the Nature of Vertue, he desir'd Aristander that his Visit might be no Interruption to their Conversation: whereupon Aristander proceeded thus: It was a strange feebleness of Mind which made the Valiant Brutus to speak so unworthily, when he said, O unhappy Vertue! How vainly have I ador'd thee as a Divine thing, whenas thou art nothing but Words and the Slave of Fortune? Yet I cannot wonder that he should stagger so [Page] much with an unexpected blow of adverse Fortune (being at that time worsted in a Battel at Philippi) when I consider that he was not supported with a firm Belief of that Immortal Bliss which awaits good men in the Eternal World, nor had made the Resignation of himself to the Divine Will, the principal part of that Vertue of which he boasted himself to have been a great Adorer. For my own part, I must profess that I now discern the truth of Vertue more then at any other time of my Life, and am deeply sensible of the incomparable Benefit of Religion, finding in it that serene Tranquillity, of which if I were now destitute I could not so much as hope for it from any other Principle. I look upon that quiet Repose of Mind and Felicity of Temper which I enjoy, as the natural Effect of Vertue, which I make no question but it doth alwayes produce where it is heartily entertain'd.

You are happy, said Medenarete, interrupting him a little, and I should esteem it no small Favour, if it were not unseasonable to desire it at this time, if you would please to let us know what you mean by Vertue; give us assurance that there is any such thing, and make us understand wherein that happy Repose which you so much magnifie doth consist. I thank God, said Aristander, I do not feel so much pain as to indispose me for Converse; and since I alwayes esteem'd it seasonable to serve Vertue, I shall willingly tell you what I think in Answer to all those Questions in which you demand satisfaction concerning it.

By Vertue I mean a true Love of that Goodness the Notions where of are naturally implanted in Humane Souls, and a constant Performance of those Actions which correspond with those Directive Instincts. For you must know, Medenarete, that the holy Rules which we find in the Writings of Wise men are nothing but the Connate Notions of Good and Evil, which they found in themselves and transcrib'd into their Books, written first by the great Creator upon Mens Hearts as the Laws of reasonable Nature, and which are little Resemblances of God's Eternal Righteousness, which is the Original Copy according to which [Page] they were drawn. All Created things are destinated to some particular Use, and have distinct Properties by which they are fitted for their several Ends, and those Properties are the Excellencies of every Creature. The Nature of a Man doth by many degrees transcend that of most other Beings, because he hath higher Principles by which he is fitted for more noble Actions. Those Innate Notions of Truth and Goodness are plac'd in his Soul as Fountains of Law, from which he is to take direction concerning the Government of his Life. Truth and Goodness are Eternal Things, and therefore subsisted before we were born; but when we come into Being we find the Notions of them imprinted upon our Minds, that is, our Natures are such that, as soon as we come to have the use of our Faculties by the exercise of our Reason, we are forc'd to acknowledge their Existence and perceive their Usefulness, and so are as it were born Guides to our selves, being enabled to draw such Conclusions from these Natural Sentiments as make sufficient Rules for our Actions; and are encourag'd by mighty Perswasives to doe that which is Good, being convinc'd of the Excellency of Vertue by the Natural Testimony of our own Souls.

By this you may understand that Vertue is a just Conformity to our Inbred Knowledge, a Correspondence with the Dignity of our Natures, and a Pursuit of those worthy Ends to which we are not only destinated, but naturally oblig'd.

'Tis true, reply'd Medenarete, I have often heard such things pronounc'd concerning Vertue, but I alwayes esteem'd them rather as Witty sayings of eloquent Philosophers, then any convincing Assurances that Goodness is a Reality. Men do usually talk of the Difference of Good and Evil, and say that it is indispensably unjust to hurt an Innocent person; that a sense of Gratitude is natural to all Men; and some such other things. But I have heard it affirm'd that these Notions are only Qualities which dispose men to keep that Peace in the World of which they have a beneficial share, and that they are not obliging [Page] Laws till they be so constituted by the Civil Sanction of a Supreme Power, and that men do then yield Obedience to them only for fear of Punishment, and so have no other Motive to those which you call Vertuous Actions but Selflove. It is manifest also, that notwithstanding all that which you say of the Natural Sense of Good and Evil implanted in our Souls, yet men are very different in their Opinions concerning their Definitions: and notwithstanding that irreconcileable difference between Right and Wrong which you believe to be Real, the greatest part of the World do confound it in their Actions. I might adde also, that some who are esteem'd Vertuous are so far from being of your mind, that they make no scruple to say that God, if he pleas'd, might command that which is most Evil to be Good. If these Allegations be true, it follows that Obedience to Holy Rules is a thing only founded upon respect to Self-interest, that Vertue is not a thing of an unchangeable Nature, and that the Obligations to observe the Differences of Good and Evil in our Designs and Actions is not so indispensable as you would make us believe.

I know very well, said Aristander; that many such things use to be objected against the Nature of Vertue by those who speak against Honesty to shew their Wit, and disparage Goodness because they have no mind to practise it. But I can easily shew you the Falshood of these Pretences, if you will have the patience to entertain a little more Discourse concerning this Subject. I shall be glad to be so oblig'd, reply'd Medenarete; and if there be truth in that which you say concerning Vertue, I shall willingly profess my self an affectionate Friend to that which hitherto I have not much regarded.

Very well, said Aristander; I shall endeavour to demonstrate that the Nature of Vertue is Immutable, that the Difference of Good and Evil cannot be chang'd, and that the Reasons of Moral Duties are Eternal; and so give you a clear notice of the Vanity of your Objections. The unalterable Congruity which is between Vertue and reasonable [Page] Souls appears by the Essential Inclinations to Moral Goodness which God the Author of our Being hath implanted in our Nature; and by this, that many Vertuous Dispositions are fair Resemblances of the Divine Perfections, that others are Appendages immutably proper to our State, all highly Perfective of our Being; and that a just Conformity to those Rules which correspond with these Principles is so necessary to our Happiness, (which consists in a quiet Repose of Mind, and a serene Delight in the enjoyment of our selves and God our chief Good) that it is impossible to attain it by any other means. These Assertions are of such moment as to that Satisfaction which I would give concerning the nature of Vertue, that I must crave leave to explain them with a larger Compass of Words, and so make the truth of them all more apparent.

It is as natural for men to form their Actions according to the Notions of Moral Goodness which are in their Souls, as it is to see with their Eyes; and we ought as well to suppose that these Inward Laws were given us for the Direction of our Life, as that our Tongues were bestowed upon us that we may Speak. It is as easily possible for men to become Rats and Toads, as to put off the Obligation which is laid upon them by God to observe Natural Righteousness: Neither is the Congruity which Vertue hath with our Souls more alterable by any extrinsecal Power, then the hour of the Sun's Rising is determinable by the Word of an Emperour. Laws can no more render Vice agreeable to our Constitution, then they can make Seconds and Sevenths in Musical Compositions to sound as Harmoniously as Thirds or Fifths. An Artist may as soon frame a Quadrangle consisting only of three Angles, as make Ingratitude commendable: And a Physician may as rationally pronounce that a man distress'd with a Fever is not sick, as affirm that there are no Torments of an Evil Conscience. Whosoever will seriously consider it, may plainly see that the Nature of Vertue is unalterable, and that it hath an Essential Connexion with our Souls; for there is an Eternal Reason why that which is good for Men should so bealwayes. [Page] These Holy Rules took not their Original from the Appointments of our Parents, the Pleasure of our Tutors, Traditions receiv'd from former Ages, or Imitation of present Examples; but are the general Dictates of common Reason, which whisper unto us from within whether we will or no, that they are Good in their own nature. These Laws are of an Ancient Date, not made in the Reign of such and such Kings, or in such a Session of Parliament; but as old as Humanity, and of themselves obliging antecedently to all Positive Commands. It is true, Princes should enter these amongst their Statutes: and because they are immutably Good, they ought not to command any thing that doth contradict them; and, though they should, yet they can no more render such Orders Just, then they can make it the Duty of Men to hate themselves. What Original could these Indeleble Prolepses have but the same with our Nature? They are plain to all, and the sense of their Obligingness avoidable by none.

As we perceive in our Minds immutable Notions of Speculative Truths, as That Contradictions cannot be true, That the Whole is bigger then the Part, and such like; which are such illustrious Verities that none dare affront them with a denial, and which are of such high Import, that if they were not unalterably true we could have no assurance of any thing, but must fluctuate in Eternal Unbelief: So these Notions of Moral Goodness are our sure Directions in point of Practice, and are unchangeably Good; for if they were not, we could have no certain Rule for our Actions; which is such a slur upon Nature, that it can be suppos'd by none but such as do not believe that God made it. The truth is, if finding these Laws imprinted upon our Natures we should yet think our selves not bound to obey them, we can receive no notice of our Duties any other way, being rationally oblig'd to disbelieve that which is contrary to our natural Sentiments.

Among all the rational Notions which adorn Humane Nature these Principles of Good and Evil are the chief. They are the great Reasons why we are call'd Men, and the [Page] fairest Characters by which we are distinguish'd from Brutes: And indeed, Medenarete, it is impossible that we should have any rational Pulchritude in us, if the beautiful Order of these Congruities were destroy'd. It is a greater Beauty in Men when their Choice corresponds with these natural Anticipations of their Duties, then for a Woman to have fair Eyes plac'd in just distances upon her Face. It is as ingrateful to a man that considers, to find his Actions dissent from this obliging Knowledge, as it is unacceptable to such as know Musick, to hear a Lutenist play upon an Instrument out of tune. Those things which consist of many Parts, or of various Faculties, are capable of no Perfection but what consists in a proper Union of those Parts, and a regular Ordination of their Faculties; which is not mutable at pleasure, but perpetually fix'd to the Nature of every particular Being. As it is not any Connexion of Parts that will make an handsome Body, for if any Member be disorderly plac'd, there will be a Deformity: So the Soul by its rare Constitution having many Powers, as the Rational, the Irascible and Concupiscible, its Perfection doth necessarily depend upon the due Subordination of these Faculties to one another. When the Rational Principle, which is adorn'd with the fore-mention'd Notions, gives Laws to our Appetites, and they are obedient, then Vertue glorifies our Constitution, and shews the Excellency of its Nature both in the decent Moderation of our Passions, and in a lovely Connexion of becoming Actions. But when these Divine Rules are neglected, it is no more possible that the Soul should be in its natural frame, then that the Body should enjoy Health if the Nerves which tie it together were cut in pieces; or for a City to escape Confusion, if the Inhabitants despise the Laws; or for a Musician to compose delightful Airs by a careless jumbling of Notes without the Rules of Art. The Vertue of Humane Souls hath natural Orders, certain Measures, and is determin'd by Laws which can no more be alter'd at pleasure, then the Proportion which is between Three and Six in Arithmetick.

[Page] This is enough, Medenarete, to shew you that Vertue is an unalterable Congruity with our Souls, and in its own nature fix'd as much as any other thing: to which I will now adde, that those fore-mention'd Notions are not only natural Qualities interwoven with our Essence, but also Participations of that increated Goodness which is in the Divine Nature, so far as it is communicable to Men. Though that be incomprehensible in the Infiniteness of its Perfections, yet it hath reveal'd it self in the known Properties of Justice, Veracity, Love, Benignity and Mercy; which whosoever imitates, lives conformably to God's Life; and whosoever thinks he may afflict the Innocent, violate his Faith, refuse to shew Mercy, and abandon Charity, doth foolishly esteem it a Privilege to be disengag'd from the ties of that Goodness to which the Divine Will is alwayes determin'd.

I told you also, I remember, that some of these noble Qualities are fastened upon our State as Appendages immutably proper to it, and it must be so; for who can think of those Words, God and a Created Being, but he must necessarily infer that it is unalterably fit, that as the lowest Creatures are necessarily subject to their Maker, so Man, being endu'd with Reason, by which he understands his Relation, and is made capable of Law and voluntary Subjection, should submit himself of Choice to his Creator, acknowledge his Dependence upon him, and seeing himself plac'd in a higher Degree of Being, increase his Thankfulness proportionably? By the Notions of God's Goodness and Excellency implanted in our Souls we are oblig'd to love him for himself; as we have Understanding and Will, which are the Principles of Moral Vertues, we are bound to receive the Divine Illuminations as our highest Wisdom, and both sincerely to conform our Wills to God's Commandments, and to rest satisfied in his Appointments with all humble Complacence. The nature of our State doth oblige us also to observe the Rules of Righteousness towards others; for he who gave us our Being did not only make us unwilling to be wrong'd our selves, but thereby also taught us that we ought not to wrong others: And though he hath bestow'd [Page] Self-love upon us, yet he alwayes requires us to manage it so as becomes those who know they are but Creatures, that they have Souls as well as Bodies, and owe Love to their Neighbours as well as to themselves. Those who contradict the Reason of these Duties do barbarously disown the Relation in which they stand to God, and endeavour vainly to put off the Nature of Creatures; for Sin is a Contradiction to our State, and a Forfeiture of the Being which we hold at our Creator's Pleasure.

The Unnaturalness of such Disobedience will appear yet farther, if we consider that the Happiness which is proper to Humanity cannot be obtain'd without a compliance with Vertuous Rules; for the happy Repose of our Spirits will be disturb'd if we sin. Whilst our Actions contradict the Knowledge of our Duty, we offend the most delicate sense of our Souls, and by offering violence to the Law of our Mind we fall out of our own Favour, expose our selves to the sharp Remorses of a wrong'd Conscience, and put our selves to a pain much like to that which we feel in our Bodies when a Bone is dislocated. A Sinner becomes his own Tormentor, and is vex'd to see that he hath done himself a mischief by a preposterous endeavour to satisfie a vicious Will. God having so inseparably annex'd our best satisfaction to the Rules of our Duty, the old Philosopher might have given a very plausible reason for his Passion, if he had included those who endeavour to divide Pleasure from Honesty, in the Curse which he wish'd upon those who first attempted the Divorce of Vertue and Profit. However the Attempt is to no purpose; for the distress which accompanies Vice is so unavoidable, that the most insolent sinners which are recorded in History have confess'd an Inward Nemesis to follow them, and to compensate the Wickedness of their Actions with proportionable Punishments, making every Place too hot for them, and all Conditions uneasie. Those who have so far despis'd Vertue, that they would not acknowledge it to be any thing, have not withstanding found the burthen of an Evil Conscience to be extreme heavy, and complain'd of the [Page] Torments which they suffer'd from the Displeasure of the In-dwelling God. How natural this disturbance is, appears also from the Restlesness of profligate Offenders, who, though they enjoy the Success of their Vices, and live in the heights of Luxury by the benefit of Rapine, do yet desire rather to have gotten Riches by some honest means, being reprov'd by themselves when they consider that Unhandsomness which will never cease to attend their unjust Prosperities. This gives us assurance that the Laws of Vertue are of force to condemn where they are not obey'd, and that the Divine Light is seen when it is not follow'd, and that it is a very jejune Explication of the Torments of Conscience to say that it is only this, Some men say that they knew them who knew others who knew the state of Sinners to be unhappy.

Besides this I might also adde, that the unalterable Repugnance of Vice to our Felicity is manifest by those extravagant Appetites and wild Desires to which Men are often subject, which, whilst they are not mortified by Vertue, do gall the Soul by a ravenous unsatisfiableness, and make what soever might administer to its Content useless.

By that which I have said concerning Good mens Happiness, I would not have you think that the Repose of Vertue consists only in a dull Indolence, a mere freedom from Grief, or such a state of Content as that in which we find our selves after we have quench'd a Thirst: for Good men experiment also such Actual Pleasure as thirsty persons find when they drink Delicious Liquors, both whilst they are conversant in the Operations of Vertue, and when they call to mind the Honest Actions of their past life. By which it appears that they are not mov'd to compliance with Holy Rules by Extraneous Principles, or are induc'd to perform their Duties by Mercenary Perswasions, as Hopes of Honour and Desire of Riches: they have Innate Motives far more cogent from that rare Content which is the natural Companion of Vertue; and Good men have alwayes thought this Intellectual Delight so far beyond the sensual Titillations of fleshly Objects, that they have esteem'd Wicked persons not to fall more below the Dignity of such as are [Page] Good by the Depravations of Vice, then they do come short of their enjoyments in the truth of Pleasure, under which pretence they became Renegado's to Vertue.

Those who affirm Pleasure to be the end of all Humane Actions, speak true enough if they understand themselves well; and there is no danger in that which they say, if they be not mistaken by others. As nothing is of more pleasant gust to our Rational Appetite then to doe excellent Things, so it is proportionable to the great Ends of our Nature to seek such Delight; for in this pursuit we come to taste the Pleasures which all Good men find in the noble Union of their Souls with the Divine Will, and so partake of true Freedom: for being by this most pleasing Fruition unchain'd from the mean love of little things, and secur'd from the distraction of low Desires, they are joyn'd to that great Good, which is ever present with all but those who have dispers'd their Souls amongst infinite Vanities, and so do not enjoy themselves; or who having contracted a Contrariety of Disposition to God's mind, are not capable of Union with him. Vertue prepares us for God's Inhabitation, who is never unwilling to dwell in Good men: And whilst they give him, as they ought, his Right of Willing what he pleaseth in them, and acting their Powers according to his Divine Wisdom and Goodness, they partake of the greatest Happiness to which Men can be exalted, and satisfie their Minds in the enjoyment of the chief Good, which doth also instill into their Souls and preserve there a pleasant Hope of Immortal Felicity, by the continuance and advancement of the same Fruition in the Eternal World; they being sufficiently assur'd that nothing can separate a Soul from everlasting Bliss, which is married to God by hearty Love. And this doth complete a Good man's Repose; for being at peace with himself by reason of the Friendly Testimony of his Conscience, and highly pleas'd with his present state, he finds also an unspeakable ease of Mind in the Hopes of that which he shall be in the Life to come.

Thus, said Aristander, turning towards Medenarete, I [Page] have obey'd your Command, having shew'd you the Excellent Nature of Vertue, assur'd you concerning its Existence, and given you an Account of that Happiness which Good men derive from it. After this it would be impertinent to adde much to overthrow your Objections, for they must needs fall of themselves. If Vertue doth include in its own Nature an essential Congruity with Reasonable Souls, there is no more necessity of a Law to render its Rules Obliging, then to pass an Act to make it fit for us to see with our Eyes; and since Vice doth alwayes discompose that natural Order, it is as impossible for all the Civil Power in the World to make it agreeable to our Constitution, as to make us smell with our Ears.

That Vertuous men are not good for Fear of being punish'd, is sufficiently confirm'd by that which I have already discours'd; and I must tell you that this is a very Contemptible Objection: for they do not esteem any man Good but him who will not sin though he is not in danger of any external Mulct; neither do they account him an Honest man with whom they durst not play at Even and Odde in the dark. And if you ask then what use there can be of Laws, which are alwayes vain without the supposition of Punishment; I must let you know that they are prudently given with a general respect to all men. To the Bad, because since all will not understand the Reasons of their Duties, nor be perswaded to love Vertue for most worthy considerations; it is of great Interest to the World that Wickedness should not be spred by Impunity, but that Enormous persons being directed by Law, should also be restrain'd from disobeying it by Suffering. They are also highly useful to the Good, not so much to hinder them from doing that which is not Just, as that they may not be wrong'd by the Vicious, who are deterr'd from hurting them with violent actions by the fear of those Penalties which are annex'd to them.

That which you objected concerning the different Apprehensions which men have of Good and Evil, doth not infringe the real Distinction which is between them, or [Page] prove that this difference is not known naturally, more then it is possible that the Whole should be no bigger then the Part, because some have been or may yet be found who doubt whether it is or no. Neither is it any wonder that some [...] Opinions, because there are Multitudes of various Examples in the World, and many follow the worst, being usually so slothful that they will not take pains to examine which is the best.

[...] and Vice, as you say, are confounded in most mens actions: but that doth not prove that they are not Eternally distinguish'd in their Notions, or that it is not natural for Humane Nature to love Vertue; since some make themselves sick through Intemperance, though nothing is more natural then the desire of Health; and some put out their Eyes, which are so tenderly regarded by Mankind. This Argument is of no force, unless you think these are good Conclusions; That there are no good Laws in Civil Societies, because men do sometimes Rebel; That there are no good Principles, because the Inconsiderate offer Violence to them; and That there is no Use of sober Reason in the World, because some are Distracted.

That any should say, as your last Objection supposes, That God might, if he please, alter these essential Notions of Good and Evil, is so monstrously extravagant, that I cannot but wonder at the Ignorance or Impudence of those who dare speak this blasphemous Falshood. At their Impudence, in asserting that which supposes it to be no Absurdity for God, if he please, to make it Good that his Creatures should not acknowledge him, which is a horrid Contradiction; or at their Ignorance, whilst they foolishly affirm that which overthrows all Religion. For if we receive this Principle, That there is not any thing Indispensably Good, or that the Divine Will is not regulated by it; they have undermin'd our Faith, and taken away all foundation of Hope, leaving us, as far as in them lies, unassured but that God may if he will condemn us for yielding Obedience to him, and that it is Just too if he doe it, notwithstanding he hath declar'd the contrary.

[Page] When Aristander had proceeded so far, he desir'd all the Company, except [...], that they would please to withdraw for a while into the next Room; for his Chirurgeons were come to dress his Wounds. Which when they had open'd, Well, said Aristander, how is it? We cannot promise much, said the Chirurgeons, as to your Recovery, for we are afraid we shall not be able to prevent a Gangrene. Aristander perceiving in their Countenances that by the Rules of their Art they discern'd more Danger then they did express to him, desir'd that his Friends might be call'd in. They return'd; and when they had enquir'd concerning the state of his Body, I have receiv'd, said Aristander, no unwelcome news; for Happiness can never come too soon. I have alwayes made the Belief of my Soul's Immortality one of the chief Principles of my Actions: for whilst I consider'd its nature, and perceiv'd that it would not fail to subsist after my Body, having a Duration assign'd to it commensurate to Eternity, I could not but understand how contemptible that short space of time is which God hath allotted to our Continuance in this lower World in respect of that which is to succeed it; and thereupon I infert'd, that the Happiness which we enjoy in this state is not comparable to that which awaits us after our separation from this Flesh; and consequently, that it is an Essential part of true Prudence, to be infinitely more sollicitous that we may be happy hereafter, then to avoid any present Inconveniences. And since I know that there is no way to that Felicity which I hope for but by Death, and remember that Death is a very short passage to it, I should be untrue to my Principles, and abandon my best hopes, if I were unwilling to die.

I perceive, said Synthnescon, making a Reply to Aristander's Discourse, that your Courage is the last Friend that will take leave of you; and I cannot but approve your love of an Opinion which is so pleasant, that some of those who were not sure that it was true have profess'd that they would never suffer themselves to be perswaded against it whilst they live. I grant that the right Government of [Page] our Life depends upon true Principles, and that we cannot attain Happiness by the Consequences of false Opinions; and I must acknowledge that the Principle which you have mention'd is very noble and worthily fit to have a Directive Influence upon the whole course of our present life, if we were assur'd of its Truth. But I have been told that we have no Soul distinct from the Body, and that what we call by that name is only a Contemperation of Corporeal Humours, and a Connexion of those Integral Parts of which the Body doth consist; and that when this vigorous Crasis is destroy'd by mortal Sickness, and the Bodily frame taken in pieces by Death, then that which you call Soul ceaseth to be, as Musical Harmony vanisheth with Sound; and can no more subsist after Death then a Figure is able to remain after the dissolution of Figurated matter. Some express themselves thus, That all the Soul which we have is compos'd of Material Principles, and resolv'd into them by Death; that is, our Spirit is nothing but a knot of united Atoms, and that Death by discomposing the Contexture doth dissipate us into loose Particles.

I know very well, said Aristander, that some are not willing to think that the Soul doth exist after Death, and have taken great pains to object as much as they can against its Immortality. But I have been told by men wiser then these Dissenters, that Humane Souls are Immaterial Substances, and therefore incapable of that Dissolution which the Body suffers by Death; it being a known Principle in true Philosophy, That the Corruption of Material Subjects is brought to pass only by a separation of conjoyn'd Parts, that is, by Division, which belongs only to Bodies whose essential property is Quantity. That the Soul is in no danger of such Dissolution, I have good reason to think by those grounds of hope which I find in my own Experience. I am now old, and yet I perceive my self to be the same that I was fifty years ago. I have worn away many Bodies since I was young, and therefore this same I which remains still must be a Soul, and that Immaterial. I cannot but believe that if I had nothing in my self distinct from this corruptible [Page] Body, or that if Death had any wedge able to cleave my Soul, I should have seen some Chip fall from it yesterday when my Arm was sawn off, and have felt my Soul grown less then it was before. I did not, I am the same I still, and I do not doubt but I should be so if the other Arm were cut off, and after that my Feet, and then the rest of those Parts which constitute this Bodily Frame. Having this sensible assurance, I take the more Confidence to believe that I shall eternally exist in this Rational Nature which now makes me my self.

I know some say that Immaterial Beings, if there are any, may be Mortal, though not by Separation of Parts, yet some other way unknown to us: I suppose they mean Annihilation. To which I answer, that though I cannot but acknowledge God may, if he will, destroy what he hath made, and at his pleasure take away that Being which is deriv'd from his Power; yet I think it Absurd to suppose that he doth Annihilate Souls, because it is contrary to that Method which he observes in other parts of the Universe, nothing of which doth so perish. And I must esteem it too great a Boldness for any man to affirm that we are reduc'd to Nothing by Death, because he doth not know whither we go. If he say that the Soul is of that nature, that it can have no Being out of the Body, he falls upon the fore-mention'd Rock, and must say that it is Annihilated by Separation; for else it will exist out of the Body.

But because by your Objections you seem rather to imagine that the Soul is nothing really distinct from the Corporeal Substance, I will make no further enquiry whether Immaterial things can perish, but rather endeavour to shew you sufficient Cause to believe that Humane Souls are Incorporeal. You cannot but know, Synthnescon, that this Word Soul, and others correspondent to it in different Languages, hath been long us'd in the World; and I take it for granted that it signifies something, and suppose that none will venture to affirm that those learned Persons who made use of it in their Writings did intend to signifie nothing by it but a Body; or though some may judge them highly mistaken [Page] in thinking it had any other true meaning; yet as I doubt not but the Venerable Ancients knew very well what they said, so I think it may easily be prov'd that the Notion of an Immaterial Substance distinct from the Body, which they intended to express by it, is natural and true.

That the Soul is not a Temperament of Corporeal Humours is manifest in this, that it is neither a Good nor a Bad Contemperation. If it be a healthful Temperament only, then we have no Soul when we are Sick; if an unhealthful, then we are dead when we are Well. Besides, if the Soul were only a Crasis of the Body, it would be capable of no Distempers, but by a fit of the Gout, the pain of the Stone, the heat of a Fever, or some other sickness depending upon indispos'd Matter: Whereas it is manifest that it hath many Diseases which arise not from Dilatation or Compression of the Matter, Obstruction or Inflammation of the Humours, or Solution of Continuity: The Troubles of Conscience, which arise from Moral Causes, being no more capable of being remov'd by a Physician's Receipt, then the Gout can be cur'd with a Moral Lecture.

The Soul is not a Contexture of Material Parts, for that is nothing really distinct from the whole Body; but that the Soul is not the Body, Part of it, or any Corporeal thing, we have many good assurances. Those who would know what others are, do rationally seek a satisfaction of their Desire by conversing with them; and such as would know what they themselves are, must converse with themselves. It is necessary to observe this Method, for there is no other way to come to the Knowledge of our Souls. Since the Essences of all things are veil'd, we must endeavour to know them by their Operations; for the Forms of things are only intelligible by the Properties which are peculiar to their respective Natures, and these distinct Properties reveal themselves only by different Operations. Whilst we are intent upon this Contemplation, we shall find in our selves the Acts of an Intellectual Essence, which upon strict Examination will appear to be of such an excellent Nature, that they transcend the finest Modifications, and exceed the most subtile Motions, of Bodies.

[Page] Those who acknowledge nothing but Material Beings in the World, and make our Sensation the effect of Motion, do also grant that our highest Perceptions rise but to Imagination, which operates only by Corporeal Phantasms, that is, Images fram'd in the Brain according to those various Impressions which are made upon the Organs of Sense by the Impulses of external Objects. If therefore we can make it appear that we have in our selves the Notions of things which were never capable of Sensible Representation, we may justly conclude that we have a higher Mode of Perception then Imagination, and consequently are ennobled with an Immaterial Principle of Knowledge.

That we are acquainted with many things of which we cannot have notice by the help of any Sensible Images, is manifest, in that we understand the Logical Notion of Causes, Effects, other mutual Respects of things, and Universality; in that we have cognizance of Mathematical Terms, as Proportions of Figures, Symmetry of Magnitudes, Bredth abstracted from Depth, Inequality and Distance; in that we find also in our Souls the Perception of Moral Congruities and Repugnancies, the Knowledge of Good and Evil, the Nature of Vertue, Principles of Justice, the Decencies of Gratitude, Deliberation and Liberty of Will: To these I might adde the Species of Reason, of Infinite Space, Eternal Duration, and the Notion of Perception it self: we discern also Theological Truths shining there, as the lively Idea of God pourtrayed in his Divine Attributes, and the sense of our Dependence upon him. These things have no Signatures in Matter, are no Sensible Objects nor Phantasms of Corporeal Beings deriv'd through our Senses, or excited in us by the Impresses of Bodily Motion; and therefore we ought to conclude that the Incorporeal Idea's by which we know these things are Congenial to our Souls, and also to rest assured that they are Immaterial.

If the Soul were only a few thick Curds inclos'd with a Bony Skull, and all things without us be only Bodies; it is no more possible that any knock of dull Matter should [Page] be able to beat the subtile Notion of a Deity into our Heads, then it is to make an Intelligent Posset of Sack and Milk. What sort of Glass is that in which you can hope to represent to our Eyes Comparisons, Similitudes and Dissimilitudes? If the Soul were Corporeal, it could no more be sensible by an external Motion that it is a Being which Understands, Reasons and Discourses, then an Artist can make a Looking-glass which will shew the Images of things that are Invisible. We have the fore-mention'd Idea of our Soul, and it is clearer then any Conception which we are able to frame of Bodily nature, and yet no Corporeal Matter could represent any such thing to us; it is necessary therefore to conclude that this Knowledge arises from the Innate Power of an Immaterial Principle.

The Soul doth not only shew the Excellency of its Understanding Faculty by a simple Apprehension of single Objects, which it takes in to furnish it self with fit materials of Discourse; but doth also compare their several Natures, consider their different Properties, and contemplate their various Respects, and so arrives at an useful Knowledge of things. By this Discursive Power we are enabled to frame Arguments, to make Inferences, to pronounce concerning the Similitude and Dissimilitude of things, to design set Ends of our Operations, to chuse fit Means, and reject such as are unfit for our purpose; and by a rare Activity of this Intellectual Faculty the Soul doth with an unspeakable quickness apply it self to the Contemplation of all things, and march in a few minutes through the whole Region of Intelligible Objects, and so declares how far its Acts are exalted above any thing which is discernable in Bodies assisted only by Motion. I know very well that some, who affirm that all the Phaenomena in the World may be resolv'd by Matter and Motion, will say that these Operations are not manag'd by virtue of any Immaterial Principle, but by the Impulse and Re-action of agitated Bodies. But we must deny that this is possible, except we will be so absurd as to say That whatsoever is moved doth perceive, and so grant that a Stone hath Perception as well as a Man, that [Page] the Paper feels the Pen that writes upon it, that a Viol while it is played upon is a Sensitive Creature; and conclude That the Soul is only a little fine dust which feels the force of Arguments, That Atoms make Syllogisms, That Disputation is only some Aerial Particles blown up and down with a Philosophical wind, and That the whiffling dust which flies in the faces of Travellers doth take a distinct notice of them as they pass upon the Road. If the Particles of Matter have no Sense in them, they can never produce it by any sort of Motion, unless we grant that there may be more Excellency in the Effect then in the Cause.

That there is a higher Principle of Knowledge in Humane Nature then moved Matter and its Re-action, appears further by those Reflex Acts of this Selfknowing Substance in which the Soul becomes its own Object, and perceives that it doth perceive. All Matter is so extended that no part of it can act upon it self by a Revolution into it self, more then the end of one of our Fingers can touch it self, or the Eye see it self: And when Material things seem to act upon themselves, it is manifest to such as consider, that it is only one part that acts upon another part of the same thing. This Reflex Operation doth not only exclude the Senses, but is rais'd above the Power of Phancie: For that working only by the help of gross Phantasms is not able to perceive that it doth Imagine, because no Image of Perception can be convey'd to the Phancie by any Instrument of Sense. Shall we be so vain as to think that a Looking-glass doth not only represent our Image, but also see us when we stand before it, and reflecting upon that act discern that it doth see us? That Caves reverberate Sounds we know; but do they hear us too, and consider that they doe so? Foolish Lovers! You think you talk unheard in your solitary Walks; the hollow Rocks with which you converse are more pitiful then you imagine, they understand your complaints and resent your wrongs: Nay, your sympathizing Lutes hear the Airs you play, and are much affected with the proper Composition of your passionate Sonnets. No, no, Medenarete, [Page] let us not believe such ridiculous things. Perception is not Re-action after Motion, but a Recognition of those Impressions which by Motion are made upon us, which is above the power of dull Matter.

I cannot but think also that the Soul doth sufficiently reveal its Immaterial Nature, whilst it collects the Perceptions of all the Senses, compares them together, orders the great variety of Phantasms which float in the Imagination, and makes a Judgment both of the Sense and Phancie. It is not any of the Senses, for they do never reprehend themselves; the Eye doth not judge of Hearing, nor the Ear of Tasts. It is not the Phancie, for that receives no Images of things but such as are deliver'd by the Senses; and yet we find a Principle in us which forms apprehensions of things contrary to those which are convey'd to us by the Organs of Sense, and rejects the Phantasms of Imagination as insufficient Assurances concerning the truth of external Objects: not pronouncing that either the Senses or the Phancie are deceiv'd, for it knows that they only declare their own Passions, which are really such as they seem to be; but discerns withall that it should be deceiv'd if it did alwayes believe things to be such as they are represented by those Images. When the Eye sees a Stick whose half is under water, it is pictur'd to the Imagination as crooked; but the Mind knowing that the Representations of Sense which are carried to the Brain by Coporeal Motion are made without Judgment, examines the Phantasm, and pronounceth the Stick to be straight.

By this it plainly appears that the Soul is not a Corporeal Faculty: for they are all confin'd to their own single tasks, as the Eye to seeing, and the Ear to hearing; but the Soul hath an universal Perception, an unbounded capacity of Sensation extended to all things, even its own Perceptions; and is plac'd amongst those little Powers which flow from it self, as a Supreme Judge of all their Operations. And as the Soul would be frequently deluded by more Senses then one, if in many cases it did not contradict Corporeal Impressions, and frame another Judgment of things [Page] then that which agrees with Sensible Representations; so it could never be able to withdraw it self from these bodily Images that it might clearly discern what is true, if it were not an Immaterial Principle; neither could it make results contrary to the Perception of the Sensitive Faculties, if it were not a distinct Power Superiour to them.

Though these things are abundantly sufficient to assure us what kind of thing the Soul is; yet, as if it desir'd to appear plainly to all who are willing to be acquainted with it, the truth of its nature is discover'd in many other Operations: but I will instance only in that of Remembrance. If the Soul were only Matter, the Notions of past things would seem only to have been written in water; for we know that our Bodies are continually wasted with insensible Transpirations. The parts of this Atomical Composition still marching away, and other succeeding in their rooms, if nothing in us were fix'd and immutable, we should not only find it difficult to remember the Observations of our former Life, but be apt to forget what we our selves were in time past: or, if Memory be only fading Motion, like that which we discern upon the Surface of Water after a Stone is thrown into it, [...] is impossible to imagine by what Preservatives this feeble Trembling should continue so long as we know we can remember. For many years after this Motion must needs have ceas'd, we find the Phantasms of things long before past as fresh as if they had but newly happened.

I will not trouble you, Synthnescon, said Aristander, continuing his Discourse, with any more Arguments concerning this Matter. The Actions which I have nam'd do prove the Soul to be an Incorporeal Substance; it being evident to any Ingenuous Philosopher that no Contexture of Atoms is capable of such Operations, and that it is impossible they should be produc'd only by the Motion of Matter agitated. But I would adde this to what I have said already; That though I do really believe that the foremention'd Arguments are in themselves certain Truths, and do sufficiently prove the Immortality of our Souls; yet I [Page] think God hath given us a higher assurance concerning this Article of Faith then any thing which I have mention'd: I mean that our Immortality is better demonstrated from the Resurrection and Ascension of our Saviour then by any Apodeictical Proofs drawn from other Topicks. All are not prepar'd for Philosophical Arguments, because many of them are subtile, and so above the reach of weak Capacities; neither are they of force to uphold a Belief in those who understand them no longer then they do carefully attend to the Coherence of every Demonstration. Our Saviour rising from the Grave, and appearing in the same Body in which he was Crucified, both after his Resurrection to many of his Friends upon Earth, and after his Ascension to one of his Apostles from Heaven, gave sufficient notice that he had overcome the Power of that Death which he suffer'd upon the Cross, and by the truth of his glorious Existence exhibited an evident Testimony of the Soul's Incorruptibility. And I must tell you, Synthnescon, that the conviction which we receive from this Argument doth so far transcend the satisfaction which we find in all others which have been produc'd for the Determination of this Question, that Christian Religion may be truly said to have the Glory of giving a just Demonstration of the Life to come, and a clear Assurance of the Immortal Happiness of our future state.

Here Synthnescon reply'd, I cannot but acknowledge it, Aristander, as a very great Obligation, that you are pleas'd to allow us the benefit of your Conversation, especially at this time when your Repose is necessary to your Health; and if it were not for continuing a disturbance, I should beseech you to deliver me by your excellent Discourse from the vexation of some Objections which molest my Faith, and with which I find my self more troubled, because this Article is very Important. I understand very well, said Aristander, that a freedom from Company would contribute nothing to the Restauration of my Health, and I assure you that I do not think that those few Hours of my Life which yet remain can be better imployed then in this sort [Page] of Conversation, and therefore you have a fair leave to propound your scruples. Synthnescon accepting this courteous offer, began thus: I find it difficult to think that the Soul is any Immaterial Substance, because I cannot imagine how it should be joyn'd to this Body. I can hardly believe that there is any such strange sort of Glue which is able to fasten together two such different Natures. It seems to be an odde Marriage, wherein so subtile a Principle as you make the Soul, should desire to espouse to it self dull Matter; and yet if it would contract such an Union, it cannot, because it would pass through Matter, by reason of its all-penetrating nature, and so be unable to take such fast hold as to make a Whole consisting of those two Parts which you call Soul and Body.

I rather phansie an Identity of things exprest by those two names, then an Union of distinct parts, and suppose the Soul and Body are rather One then United; because the Soul, which you magnifie so much for its innate Power, is not able to perform those noble Operations, for which you pronounce it an Immaterial Substance, when the Body is distemper'd by Excess of Meats or Drinks, or indispos'd by Diseases and old Age. Who is able to discourse rationally when he is drunk? The Extravagancies of Mad-men are notorious; the Operations of the Intellect wholly cease in Lethargies and Apoplexies: and I am apt to argue, that as the Soul suffers an Infancy when the Body is young, grows more vigorous in riper years, becomes decrepid in old Age, and is sick with the Body, so it also dies with it.

This Belief receives Confirmation from that which is observable in the manner by which Death seizeth upon us; for dying persons feel themselves perish by Degrees, they lose one Faculty after another, Speech, Memory, Sight and Hearing: And as the particular Senses which are proper to every Organ are taken away by the Prevalency of a Disease; so I suppose that whatsoever it is which you call Soul must needs be destroy'd by Death.

Besides this, if there be a Soul, it is Divisible, and therefore not Immortal; as may be perceiv'd in the Motion [Page] which continues in the several Parts of a Body when the Whole is cut into pieces. What can be the reason of that Agitation, but that the Soul being commensurate with the Whole, is divided into every Part, and so moves them [...] while, and after some time perisheth, being only a mortal Vigour of warm Spirits?

If it did escape these dangers, as you pretend it doth, I know not to what purpose it should then be continued in Being; for it cannot act out of the Body, and having no Operations it must needs be condemn'd to an unhappy Dulness in a most afflicting Solitude. It can neither hear Musical Sounds, nor see the Beautiful World, nor discourse, nor converse with others; and therefore it is rational to suppose that it doth not Exist at all.

I must adde also, that what you call Soul in us seems to understand that dark Fate which awaits it in Death, and that this sad Presage makes men afraid to die. If the Soul were an Immortal Spirit able to subsist of it self, it should rejoyce to leave this Body, and it would find no reason to be enamour'd with it, if it be destinated to an Immortal Happiness, as you say it is, in the Separate state.

I have heard some say too, that if there be any such state, [...] seems very strange that none of those Millions of Souls which are gone into the other World should return and give us notice of their condition; especially considering that the great affection which many of them before their Departure seem'd to have for their Friends here must needs make them willing, if they be able, to inform them in such a weighty affair, and concerning which they do exceedingly desire to be assured. These Arguments put together overthrowing all Hopes, at least the Certainty, of a Future state, they suppose it rational to improve the present to all possible satisfaction: and though by reason of this Unbelief they do many things which you esteem vicious, and take that course of Life which you condemn; yet they think themselves justified by this, that they do but reap those Fruits which would perish if they were not gather'd, and that they should live to no purpose if they liv'd otherwise.

[Page] Aristander perceiving that Synthnescon had finish'd his Objections, reply'd thus: I am glad that you let us know what may be said against the Belief of our Immortality, because you have given us occasion to confirm this generous Truth, and to assure our selves that the Comfort which we take in it hath a sure foundation in the unperishable nature of the Soul which we have receiv'd from God. I will shew you the Vanity of those Arguments by which you endeavour to gain credit to the Errour of your disconsolate Opinion. But before I answer your Objections particularly, I will premise a few things concerning the Temper and Design of the Panthnetists.

And first I must give you notice, that whilst they deny the Immortality of the Soul upon this Supposition, That there is no such thing in the World as Incorporeal Being, they beg the Question which they ought to prove, and think themselves great Philosophers when they have only affronted the Truth with bold Contradictions. I might tell you also that that shew of Argument which some of them take from the Death of the Body, is but of the same validity with the former Presumption, and makes as much for us as against us; since whilst they talk confidently of the state of the Dead, they know not what it is to Die-They pretend indeed to doe service to Mankind, and undertake by their Principle to deliver us from those Fears which we are apt to apprehend in a Future state; but do really administer no higher Consolation, then those who tell poor Sailers when they are distress'd with ill weather, that within a few hours they shall be drown'd. Which is infinitely below that encouragement which our Principle bestows upon those who pass through this tempestuous World; for it assures all, who do not make themselves incapable of it by a wicked Deportment in the way, of a safe Arrival in a happy Port after a few short Storms are past. The Panthnetists also shew that they are no Friends of God, because they take away the greatest Verification of his Providence. It is well known that things are not alwayes brought to rights here; and that they induce men to think either that [Page] there is no God, or else that he is not Good and Just, by saying that it shall not be done afterward. But the truth is, the chief use which they make of this false Notion is the Indulgence of a Vicious Life, in which they please themselves so much the more freely, as they are able to make themselves believe that they shall not be call'd to account for it in the Eternal World. But how unlikely they are to enjoy what they expect, I will shew you, by discovering the weak grounds upon which their Hope is built.

You are tempted to think that the Soul is not an Immaterial Substance, because, as you said, you cannot imagine how it should be united with one that is Material. But this Scruple need not trouble you, since it riseth only from the unknowableness of the manner of this Union. You might as well doubt whether the parts of Matter be united; for there is as much difficulty to apprehend the Connexion which one part of Matter hath with another, as in this Hypothesis. Can you easily imagine with what Bond the parts of Iron are so fast lock'd together, or what Cement makes the Particles of hard Stone cleave so close to one another? If you say they are united by Juxta-position and Rest, we can as well phansie the Soul to be immediately united with the Body, as the parts of Matter to be after that fashion put close to one another; and it is as demonstrable that the Soul may move the Body, and be in no more danger of being divided from it, then two Bodies are of being dis-united when they are mov'd together. I grant that this Union is one of the greatest Secrets in Nature, but yet a most credible Truth; for having prov'd that the Soul is Incorporeal, and perceiving by Experience that it doth inform the Body by an intimate Presence, we have no reason to doubt the possibility of the fore-mention'd Conjunction, though we understand not the Physical way of this Mystical Incorporation. Neither would you have objected the Unfitness of this Marriage, if you had consider'd that he who appointed it made both Parties apt to be joyn'd together. For if Corporeal Matter had not been united with an Intelligent Principle, it could no other way have been exalted to that [Page] Dignity which it now enjoys: and the Soul is requited for this Condescension, because there is no other means, as far as we can imagine, by which we could have attain'd that Knowledge which we have now of the nature of Matter, but by this intimate Conjunction with it.

Your second Objection is very unable to doe you service, for it offers only a faint Proof of Identity of Essence from the Sympathy which is perceiv'd to be betwixt different things. We cannot but grant that the Union of the Soul and Body is very strict, and that the Soul is by this close connexion much subjected to the Laws of Corporeal Nature, and forc'd to have a deep sense of Bodily Infirmities; by which the All wise Creator hath engag'd it to take care of the Body, and to relieve its Necessities, being partly its own. By this Union also the Soul is made able to command the Body more easily, and at pleasure to communicate its own virtue into the several parts thereof, by which means this Composition is made a most rare Automatous Machina: And whilst the Soul is made very sensible of the Perturbations which happen in the Animal Spirits, the Corporeal Passions are made a Trial of our Wisdom (we being put to learn carefully to distinguish betwixt those Motions which we find deriv'd into our Bodies from our own Wills, and those Impressions which the Soul receives from the Bodily Temper) and also an exercise and assurance of Vertue; when the Soul is able not to grant that which the bodily Appetite doth not only crave, but makes us also feel great pain, whilst for reasons which it doth not understand we deny it, and so prove that we have got a Dominion over the Body, since we are not brutishly affected with every Passion which is rais'd in it by the Motion of Spirituous bloud, nor carried to Action according to those Provocations which are transmitted into the Phancie from the Impulse of External Objects. By which Experiment the Soul proves it self to be of an Immaterial Nature; for though it hath an actual Sensation of a fleshly Delight, yet by a noble Act of the Rational Will it chuseth a good which is contrary to fleshly Pleasure, and which no Corporeal [Page] Faculty is able so much as to apprehend. By this which I have said, it is manifest that the Soul, though it be not one with the Body, may be capable of those Advantages and Disturbances which you mention'd; and being distinct in Essence from the Body with which it is closely united, may receive considerable hinderances in its Operations from the Indisposition of the Animal Spirits in Sickness and old Age, and from the Confusion of Phantasms when the Bloud is drench'd too much in Wine, or swell'd with gross Humours, and the Brain clouded with Melancholick Fumes, and the Phancie deprav'd with black Vapours; the Soul remaining untouch'd in the vigour of her Intellectual Faculty, only hinder'd by the Distemper of those Instruments which she is forc'd to use in this Conjunct State. So that the Inconveniences which you objected do no more prove that the Soul is weakned in her own Nature, then we can conclude our Foot to be lame, because we halt when one Shoe hath an higher heel then the other. It is not to be expected that, whilst the Soul is under such disadvantages, she should perform her usual Actions as well as at other times, more then that an Artist should express his best Skill with a bad Tool. But that the Essential Faculties receive no damage in themselves, appears by those regular Operations which she doth again exert when the Body is restor'd to its proper Usefulness by the recovery of Health, by returning to a sober Temper, by awakening from Sleep, and victory over Apoplectical Distempers. Besides this, we have great reason to think our Souls Immortal notwithstanding what happens to us in Sleep, since though they are then secluded from Converse with External Objects, they do frequently and, for ought we know, alwayes Act; neither do the sufferings of Mad-men weaken our Faith, since though they have extravagant Phancies, yet they Apprehend, which no Material thing can doe.

Your Argument taken from that which Dying persons feel, would signifie something, if we should take for truth whatsoever you have a mind to say. We know not what Sensation is in the Souls of Dying persons in that moment [Page] when they leave the Body. We must grant that which is easie to be experimented, that when the Vital Heat is suffocated by Putrefied bloud, or exhausted by old Age, the Members of the Body will receive no Influence from the Soul, and the Immortal Spirit will then go away, as Birds flie voluntarily out of old Nests; or is forc'd out of an unfit lodging, which afterward will decay by the absence of the former Inhabitant: But that doth no more prove that the Soul perisheth, then it is true that a Tenant dies because he is turn'd out of his house by his Landlord.

You added, I remember, that the Soul is not put out, but cut in pieces sometimes, and so must needs die. To prove this you urge the Motion which remains in the Divided parts of a Body. But you will perceive that this is a very weak Argument, if you consider that the Activity of the Animal Spirits can easily move the Divided parts, till by that Motion they are dissipated; but it doth not give us any just occasion to think that the Soul is divided, since it was prov'd before that it is Immaterial: and this Phaenomenon is otherwise fairly salvable, the Soul having a power to withdraw it self intirely into one part, or to go away from the whole, as it pleaseth, without suffering any prejudice by the Division of the bodily Members.

Whereas you phansie that if the Soul should subsist in the Separate state, it would be unhappy, being depriv'd of all the Organs of bodily Sense, and so render'd unable to understand or doe any thing; I crave leave to tell you, that though many of our present Faculties must needs be buried in a kind of Sleep by Death, and though the particular description of the Future state in which our Souls shall be after their Separation from the Body, doth by many degrees transcend the capacity of our Reason, and that God hath not supply'd that Defect with the clearness of Revelation; yet being fully satisfied as to the Existence of our Souls after Death by the fore-mention'd Arguments, I am not displeas'd that the Happiness of my Future state is so great that I cannot now comprehend it: and as I trust the Goodness of God for my Felicity, so I leave the Manner of [Page] making me happy to his Wisdom; not doubting but he will bestow upon the Soul, or awake out of it, Faculties suiteable to that condition. And since the Soul is an Intelligent Principle, and contains in it self a power of universal Perception, by which it now understands what is represented by the Organs of Sense; so when it is destitute of these Instruments, it may well enough perceive after some more transcendent manner in a degree proportionable to that which we attribute to God and Angels. He who made our Souls can easily give them, when they are out of these Bodies, the Species of all things which will concern us to know, if we did not understand them before, or to remember, if we did. That because they cannot act as they do now, therefore they shall be able to doe nothing at all; is an Argument no better then this, A man cannot sing, because his Lute is broke. A Country Clown doth scarce understand any other use of his Hands then to plow, to dig, to sow, to reap, or to thrash; but he would be laugh'd at if he should affirm that there were no other besides these: for we know to what excellent Imployments they are put by Lutenists, Painters, and other Artists. And we may rationally think that there are noble Operations in the other State of which this Principle is capable, since it doth declare an admirable Capacity at present; and so there is no fear that we shall be idle in the other World. That disconsolate Solitude which you talk'd of is as little to bedreaded; for the Ethereal Regions must needs be so well Peopled, that we cannot easily be alone, and the Companions to which Good Souls will then be gather'd are so desirable, that they will have no great mind to return hither.

Whereas you said that if Souls be Immortal, it is strange that they are unwilling to leave the Body, and that if they be destinated to a happy condition, it is impossible but they should rejoyce in the near approches of that Felicity to which Death doth transport them; I must desire you to remember that this World is possess'd by two sorts of Inhabitants, Good men and Bad. Bad men do not desire to [Page] leave their Bodies, neither is there any reason why they should; for though their Souls are Immortal by Nature, yet they must be unhappy by the appointment of Justice. They deny there is any Future state, and heartily wish that there were none, because they know that they have no share of Felicity in it. They are afraid to die, lest they should be punish'd: So Malefactors are unwilling to leave the Prison, because then they are carried to Execution. But this is no Argument against the Immortality of the Soul, or the Naturalness of those Desires which we have of it, since we know that men do sometimes make the Life which they enjoy in this World undesirable, though Naturally it is very dear unto them. Good men are not only willing to resign this Life, but some have most passionately desir'd that they might. History doth supply us with various Instances of Excellent Persons, who have esteem'd the time of their Dissolution the Epoche of a better Nativity, and have protested to their Friends an absolute unwillingness to run the course of their Terrene Life over again: and these not Calamitous persons wearied with the Miseries of the World, who like vex'd Gamesters throw up their Cards, not because they have no mind to play any more, but because their Game is bad: No, Synthnescon, such as have enjoy'd all the Delights of this present World, and they have had such a clear Presage of their Future Bliss, that they complain'd of Death only for those Delays by which they thought themselves kept from the Possession of Immortal Joyes.

It is true that Naturally we have an unacceptable Sense of our Dissolution, which proceeds partly from the long and intimate Commerce which we have had with the Body, and is one of the most considerable Imperfections which we contract by the Incorporation of our Souls, and is highly increas'd in all who have plung'd themselves deep into the love of Sensual Pleasures, prevails much in Melancholick Tempers, and shakes weak Believers who have not taken pains to know the reason of their Faith, or to prepare themselves for the Future state which they pretend to believe. [Page] But as it is fit that we should willingly stay in the Body till our work be finish'd, so the difficulties which attend our Departure from hence are easily conquerable by all Good men, who are usually so far from fearing Death as a considerable Enemy, that they do many times court it as a serviceable Friend.

That which you suggested against the Reality of a Future Life from the not returning of the Dead to give us Information concerning it, hath been often urg'd, but for the most part insolently, and alwayes falsly. Will not men believe what is true, except they be told by such Messengers as they require? We know not what Laws are appointed to such as are remov'd into the other World; but we may reasonably think that they cannot go whither they please, or doe what they will. Must blessed Souls leave their repose to inform those concerning Truth, who are such Infidels that they will not believe their Saviour? If the Damn'd Spirits be suppos'd to have so much Charity, which is very unlikely, yet how is it possible that they should shake off their Chains of Darkness, and break out of their Prisons, to come into the Regions of Light, to preach Immortality? You ought to remember, Synthnescon, that God hath indulg'd our weakness, and sent many from the other World to give us notice of the certainty of a Future state; the Saviour of Men being the chief Instance of this Favour, who appear'd in Life after he was Crucified, and shew'd himself to many hundred Witnesses, whose Testimony is beyond all exception.

But to make an end of this Discourse; I grant, as you said in your last words, that notwithstanding all the Satisfaction which God hath offer'd in this particular by the Demonstrations of Reason and the Confirmations of his Holy Gospel, Infidels do still pretend want of assurance as to the truth of a Future life; and having objected the obscure notice of what they shall be hereafter, think they have sufficiently warranted their present Sensuality against all just Reproof, and, by a Philosophy fit for Beasts, conclude, that because they have no Souls, they ought to indulge their Bodies [Page] in their most brutish Appetites. But the defect of their Discourse is manifest in this, that they judge themselves to be rare discerners of Truth, because they do not believe it; that they have great Wits, because they are able to make Sophistical Cavils against that which they have scarce ever took into their thoughts but with a purpose to oppose it; and esteem themselves wise in running the greatest hazard in the world, though they have not spent much time in weighing the flightness of those Reasons for which they doe so, nor have consider'd with a just seriousness how infinitely the solid Happiness of an Immortal state doth exceed those fleshly Pleasures which they hold upon uncertain terms, the longest Date of their Fruition which is possible being only a very short Life.

Here let me tell you, Synthnescon, one thing which hath been observ'd by many wise men, That seeing the Credibility of an Immortal state doth exceed all the Probability of their bold Conjectures by as many degrees as the Bliss of Heaven transcends the vain Pleasures of a Sensual life, it must needs be some extravagant love of such Liberties as are inconsistent with other Articles of Faith which are joyn'd with this of Immortality, and which are repugnant to those Consequences that follow from this Principle, which makes them so boldly to expose themselves to the danger of an Eternal Misery by Unbelief. It is a known Rule, That such as live Viciously will endeavour to believe Falsly; and therefore I would advise you, in stead of a busie pursuit of needless Arguments, to seek a confirm'd sense of the Truth of the Soul's Immortality, by living conformably to those Innate Principles of Vertue which shine in serene Spirits, and to await that clear Assurance which is darted into Holy Minds with those heavenly Rayes of Divine Light which do frequently appear in all purg'd Souls: And when you enjoy your Faculties in a pacate temper, think with your self whether it be probable that the most good God will ever quench or dissatisfie those sincere Desires which his Goodness hath produc'd in his true Friends, and which makes them not only to know, but to love their [Page] Immortality, not only to believe, but to delight in their Faith, hoping to enjoy God after Death more then before. Those who find their Souls enamour'd with the Divine Goodness, are not only prepar'd for the Celestial Joyes of which that holy temper of Soul can never be destitute, but have also an intrinsecal Assurance from the Principle it self; being enabled by the Power of it, notwithstanding the Violence of all Corporeal Assaults, to prefer the pure Delights of Vertue before all muddy Contentments of Sensual Pleasure, and to esteem the generous Satisfaction of an Honest Mind infinitely above the greatest of those base Advantages which are Viciously obtain'd.

Here Aristander broke off his pleasant Discourse, and the Company began to withdraw. Medenarete, converted by Aristander, or rather conquer'd by Truth, took her leave with this Complement; I humbly thank you, most noble Aristander, for all the Courtesies which I have receiv'd from you; and I protest to you, that I think it a Favour infinitely greatter to be at this time redeem'd from the Errours of my Mind by your charitable Converse, then to receive my Brother safe from that Danger in which yesterday he must have lost his Life, if it had not been for your benigne Assistance. Synthnescon being oblig'd to wait upon his Sister to her Lodging, went away with her; but he made first a Declaration of his Thankfulness and Love to Aristander with such an affectionate Air, that those who looked upon him could not but think that he would much rather have stay'd and died with him, then have felt the most unpleasing resentment of his Departure. Bentivolio, Panaretus and Athanasius would have taken their leaves too, but Aristander would not permit them. His Chirurgeons telling him that it would be convenient for him to retire from Company because he had not many Minutes to live; Nay then, said he, I will improve them as well as I can: and having spent some time in Discoursing with his Friends, he call'd for his two Sons, Callistus and Hilarion, and gave them his Paternal Blessing; but before he suffer'd them to take their last leave, he entertain'd them with this short Speech.

[Page] Since God doth allow you my Presence but for a few Minutes, I would give you some Directions for the better guidance of your Future Life, which I hope you will observe with no less care then if I were present with you in those moments wherein you shall have occasion to use them. You are now arriv'd at that Age which makes you capable of governing your selves according to Reason, and therefore it is requisite that you should now design to your selves as the End of your Life that Felicity of which your Nature is capable. It consists in a serene Tranquillity of Mind during the time of this short Life, and in a just Preparation for those higher Joyes which await all Good men in the Eternal World when they leave these Bodies. Those who propound no set End of Life unto themselves seem to be born to no purpose, and live by chance; and such as design a lower matter then that which I have nam'd must needs live vainly.

Having seriously consider'd this Direction, and fix'd your Resolutions concerning those things which you are to doe according to it, make all your Actions one continued Operation, that is, one Chain of Means fast link'd together, which you must alwayes use, to make your selves Masters of your End. The Design is so considerable, that it is fit you should refer the Endeavours of your whole Life towards the Accomplishment of it.

For the good Government of your Life, you must remember that it is principally necessary that you learn to know your selves: For the true understanding of your own Nature is the first Foundation of all wise Thoughts and prudent Actions. When you enquire concerning your selves, you will find that you are Created Beings consisting of a Reasonable Soul joyn'd with a Fleshly Body, appointed by your Maker to live in the Society of Neighbours like your selves.

Whilst you perceive you were Created, you cannot but think it is the most worthy Action of your Life to endeavour to know your Creator, and when you know him, to honour him; which you shall then doe when you make [Page] your selves like unto him in all his imitable Perfections; if you love him above your selves and all other things, if you obey his Commands with humble Sincerity, submit to his Providence with a chearful Patience, and labour as much as you can to make him known and lov'd by others. You are oblig'd to this, because you have not only receiv'd your Being from God, but do depend intirely upon his Good will for all those Blessings which make you Happy in this and the Future state. It is necessary also to your Tranquillity; for if you neglect this Direction, the Peace of your Mind will be disturb'd with the sense of your Ingratitude, and you will alwayes fear the just wrath of that potent God whom you have disingenuously slighted.

Whilst you consider the Parts of which you consist, you will find that they are not equal in Dignity, but that the Soul doth far transcend the Body, and which will therefore require your more careful Observance of it. The Soul is of an Immaterial Nature, and Immortal in its Duration, and therefore you must value its Concerns as things of greater Worth then those which relate to the Body. It is principled with an essential Love of Vertue, which you must never oppose; for if you do, it will alwayes condemn you. You will discover also that it is accomplish'd with different Faculties, which you must learn to order prudently, or else the state of your Thoughts and Actions will be confounded.

Your chief Faculty is Understanding, which is a Principle capable of all Knowledge; and you must make it your care to perfect it with that Wisdom which consists in the Knowledge of God and his Works. But of all Pieces of Learning be sure you be not Ignorant in Moral Philosophy, for that will direct you in the Practice of your Duties, and so conduct you in the true way to your Happiness.

To this Power God hath added Sensitive Appetite; which is prudently put into our Nature as a necessary Preservative [Page] of our Subsistence. For since there are many things which we continually need to support our Being, by our Concupiscible Faculty we are prone to desire that sort of Objects; and some things being hurtful to our Nature, we have an Irascible Power, which upon the Perception of any Adverse Object is ready to make Resistance.

But because the Sensitive Appetites are in themselves blind Powers, and may doe us much mischief if they be irregularly applied, you must alwayes make these lower Faculties yield Obedience to Reason. For you must know that besides the two fore-mention'd Principles there is also bestow'd upon us a Power of Deliberation and Choice, by which we are made as it were Tutors to our selves: and therefore we ought frequently to consider whether that which we desire or refuse doth promote our Happiness; and whether that which seems to please us be not a real Evil, though it appear in the form of Goodness; and by a wise Authority which is put into our hands, so to regulate our Appetites, that they oppress us not with the Excesses of Vain Desires, or torment us with the Madness of wrathful Passions. By the good use of this Choice you may obtain that Excellency which is call'd Vertue: And this you ought to seek above all the Pleasures in the World, because it is the highest Perfection of which we are capable, and is absolutely necessary to our Tranquillity, the state of Vice being alwayes a Discomposure.

Since you are made to live in the Company of others like your selves in Nature, the pleasure of your Life depends very much upon friendly Society, and therefore you must endeavour to preserve an intire Charity with all your Neighbours; and as you hope to be lov'd by others, you must love them so truly, as never to doe that to them which you would not have them doe to you.

The Rules which concern the ordering of your Actions in all Cases are very many, because the Circumstances which make various Cases are infinite; and therefore I cannot [Page] give you a perfect Catalogue of them all; but you are sufficiently supplied with the Holy Gospel of our Saviour, which I commend to your frequent perusal, and charge you to reade the Commands which you find there as Indispensable Laws, not to be talk'd of, but obey'd. You will hear also soft Whispers from your own Souls, telling you truly what you ought to doe in most Cases. I have left you some particular Assistances in writing, which will direct you amongst other things what Books to reade. The Rules which you will be able to frame to your selves by so many Helps, you must learn by Experience to apply prudently to all Emergencies of your Life. At present I shall only acquaint you with a few Directions which come into my Mind.

Perform all loving Obedience to your Mother, whom I have made your Guardian, knowing that now you must look upon her as your Father too. Begin as soon as you can to accomplish your selves with those Perfections of which you are capable, remembring that Youth is a very Imperfect thing, and that the future Hopes of young men do so much depend upon an early Care, that the neglect of it doth alwayes make the Happiness of their after-life difficult, and in some cases unattainable. Whilst you are young, you must be afraid of your selves; for that Age is so inconsiderate, that though it most needs Advice, yet it least regards it. You know not by how many Years your Life is measur'd, and therefore make such use of your present Time, that you may not be prevented by Death or hindered by Diseases from doing that which is proper to your respective Ages. Take pains to adorn your selves with all the decent Qualities which may make you acceptable to Wise and Good men. Be not discourag'd with any Difficulties which you meet in the beginning of your Endeavours, neither despond upon the perception of your Imbecillity; remembring that there was a time when the most famous Philosophers could not reade the Alphabet. Let nothing rifle the Modesty of your Souls, which is a connate [Page] Preservative by which God hath fortified you against many Enormities. Keep the Virgin-purity of your Souls unspotted. If you consent to sin, you will run into those Errours which you will never be able to forgive your selves whilst you live. Bestow so much care upon your Body as will make it a fit Instrument for a thoughtful Soul. Know the Proportions of your Meat, Drink, Sleep and Recreations, and do not exceed them. Abhor Idleness as the Mother of innumerable Sins; but in toilsome Labours remember that the frail Body is not able to hold an equal pace with an immortal Spirit. Neglect not Decency in your Apparel, Gracefulness in your Gestures, or Handsomeness of Speech; only be sure to avoid Vanity in them all: I would not have you sordid, or affectate. Take heed of contracting any foolish Habit, because it is not only a Deformity, but hard to be put off. You must alwayes take an especial care with whom you associate your selves; for you can no more promise your selves to come away unhurt by Evil Company, then you can assure your Health in a Pest-house. When you think of disposing your selves in a particular way of Life, take that course to which you are most naturally inclin'd; a particular Disposition is an Indication of Fitness: and when you have engag'd your Thoughts, endeavour at a moderate Perfection of Ability to discharge your Undertaking. You must not think that you are come into a World where nothing is to be suffer'd, and therefore inure your selves betimes to bear little Hardships: and since you will be tempted with Flatteries from the way to true Felicity, be sure you have a watchful Eye against the Delusions of Sensuality. Take heed of being enslav'd with a fond Self-love, and of being abus'd by the troublesome effect of it, Self-pity, or depress'd with too affectionate a sympathy with the mortal Body. Endeavour to get Knowledge, considering that an Ignorant person is but a blind Beast; yet esteem humble Obedience infinitely above the greatest Knowledge, and be sure to affect Goodness more then Honour or Riches. When you [Page] are tempted to be proud, remember the fallen Angels; and when you perceive Humility disparag'd, think of your Saviour. Check the first Relishes of Self-excellency which you find in your Souls; if they grow Vigorous, they will ripen into Arrogant Thoughts and Deportment. When men speak of Honour, know that they usually mistake it; for they make many vain things the Foundations of that which proceeds only from Vertue. In your Actions propound to your constant Imitation one or two noble Examples, and think often whether that which you doe would please Brave men; and judge it a great matter to deserve the Estimation of those who are Good, and accompt it a pitiful Weakness of Mind to fall out of your own favour by the Disapprobation of those whom you cannot but despise. Look upon Contentment with your Portion as the greatest Inheritance which was ever enjoy'd in this poor World; and having a moderate Estate be thankful, and know that there only the purest Tranquillity is to be found. Be obliging in your Deportment; and according to that Revenue which God shall bestow upon you be Charitable to the Poor; and let the Measure of your Alms be above the twentieth part of that which you yearly receive. Avoid Envy in your way of Life as far as prudently you may; if you have any thing that is Excellent, you shall be sure to meet it, and it is a very troublesome Devil. Be strict in the Observation of Temperate Rules; for Sobriety is the best sort of Physick, and Health obtain'd by it one of the greatest Pleasures in the World. Reproch none for their natural Imperfections, and let the Deformity which appears in the Evil Manners of others alwayes endear your own Vertue to you; and when you see the Unfortunate Examples of dreadful Falls in many whom you thought safe, learn to secure your own Station. Remember that by reason of Ignorance, Incogitancy and Vicious [...] men doe themselves more hurt then they suffer from others; and therefore learn to watch your selves more then others, and to be less angry [...] [Page] others then your selves. Understand your Concerns your selves; and when you are forc'd to ask Advice, take heed that the Person whom you consult have no Interest in your Affair; for that will warp his Counsel to your prejudice. Overcome all those Apprehensions which you are ready to entertain from the doubtfulness of Publick Accidents by Faith in God's Providence; and secure your selves against the Disturbance which may arise from any thing which happens in your private Affairs, by remembring that you shall have need of Patience as long as you stay in the World. Be alwayes true to your Conscience, and the good Testimony of that will secure your Peace against the most malicious Calumny. Be constant in the Observance of all Vertuous Rules; and when your Goodness is become Habitual, it will be a Torment for you to Sin. Contradict not your Principles at any time, in hope to make an Excuse: Company was never appointed as a Toleration for Vice; and in Solitude it is a Baseness not to reverence your self so far as to make you ashamed to doe that which is evil in your own Presence. What you understand to be your Duty, doe; remembring that Knowledge without Practice doth us no more good then Indigested Meat, and that the vain Renewall of ineffectual Purposes is the sign of a Contemptible Spirit. When you find a convenient Opportunity to promote your Happiness in any Instance, make use of it; and do not believe that being slighted it will alwayes come when you are pleas'd to call for it. When you begin to be weary of any laborious Attendance to which you are engag'd by Vertue, quicken your Industry with the Hopes of that vast Reward which is promis'd to the Diligence of Good men in the Presence of their Saviour: and when you find your work hard, pray to that good Spirit which is alwayes ready to assist all sincere Endeavours. Think often that when the Judge of the World shall appear, many will be condemn'd; and take heed lest you be of that Number.

And now, because my Death approches, I will make an End of my Discourse. I know, Dear Children, that you [Page] have a great Love for me, and that you think your selves not a little oblig'd to me for the Care which I have taken of you since you were born; and therefore let me tell you that you shall express your affectionate Gratitude in a way most acceptable to me, if you conform your Lives both to those Principles and those other Counsels which upon various occasions you have receiv'd from me. Those Children which imitate the Vertuous Examples which have been given them by their Parents, and yield obedience to those Excellent Rules which their Love endeavouring to secure their Happiness prescrib'd to them, do more honour their Ancestors, then if they celebrated their Funerals with the most pompous Obsequies, and endeavour'd to keep their Memories fresh with Anniversary Feasts. Honour me thus, my Sons, and then after my Death I shall live in you. I do the more earnestly require this sort of Thankfulness from you, because I can assure you that I never took any great content in looking upon my self as a Father, but that I hoped to leave Children in the World which would become Examples of pious Vertue when I am gone.

Thus did the good Aristander discipline Callistus and Hilarion with the same Temper which was in old Cato when he read Lectures to his Son, and with the Affection which great Tully express'd when he wrote his noble Epistles to young Cicero. And now Death, which had hover'd about him a good while, made his nearest approach, and allow'd him only time to resign his Soul to his Maker with a pious Prayer; after which Aristander took a chearful leave of the World.

Within a few dayes the Gentleman who was sent into Theoprepia return'd, and brought word that the Queen, the Princess and their Companions had arriv'd safe at Hipponyx, but being unwilling to make any long stay there, were now come within a day's Journey of Polistherium. The next Morning Alethion, Theosebes and their Attendants went out of the City to give them that Honourable Reception which was due to the Quality of their Friends, and which their own high Affections commanded them to perform. Having [Page] met them at Callicarpus, a place where Alethion had appointed to dine, it is not to be imagin'd what excessive Joy possess'd their Souls; but the Testimonies which they gave of their mutual Sentiments were so expressive, that they signified it to be as great as it is possible for Humane Nature to experiment. It is not easie to repeat the Discourses which pass'd amongst those Noble Friends at this happy Encounter, but they were all correspondent to the greatness of their Affections and the Extraordinary Occasion of their Meeting. The Queen-Mother of Theoprepia took both the Princes into her Arms at once, being transported with a Rapture of Joy to see Theosebes in safety, and Alethion in his Kingdom; and having given breath to her Passion, with a thankful Apostrophe which she made to God she dismiss'd them from her affectionate Embraces. Alethion went to-wards Agape; and she seeing the Prince whom she tenderly lov'd, and for whose Happiness she had made a thousand Prayers, threw her self into his Arms, and express'd her Endearments in Tears. Theosebes and Alethion seeing Urania, the Excellent Sister of those two Incomparable Brothers to whose Friendship and Valour they were both much engag'd, pay'd her that Respect which was due to her own Vertue, and the Obligations which were laid upon them by two whom she lov'd as much as her self. Bentivolio and Panaretus perform'd their humble Salutes to the Queen and Princess, and were receiv'd by them with Acknowledgments suitable to their Merit. Urania embrac'd her Brothers, and they her, with such a passionate Tenderness, that it suspended their power of Discourse, & their Silence did plainly signifie that the Satisfaction of their Minds was too big for words. The rest of the Company entertain'd one another with all the affectionate Expressions that Love and Civility was able to make. The two Kings conducted the Queen, the Princess and the other Ladies to the House which was made ready for their Entertainment, and after Dinner accompanied them to Polistherium: and being willing to gratifie the Love of the People, who did earnestly desire to see these Illustrious Strangers, they rode through the Streets of [Page] the City on Horse-back: which bestow'd an extraordinary Contentment upon all Beholders, there being none who saw King Alethion, who did not find themselves sensibly concern'd in the Alteration of his Fortune, and who did not pay a great Reverence to the Presence of the King, and those Princesses who had receiv'd him with so much Friendship in the time of his Banishment.

Here the Reader may possibly expect that I should proceed to relate that which happen'd in Theriagene after this peaceful Victory: but I can only acquaint him that I have been told, that within a few dayes the Princess Agape was married to Alethion; that Theosebes prevail'd with Urania to become his Queen; that Bentivolio and Theonoe, Panaretus and Irene were married also the same day; and that the magnificent Pomp of these Weddings was so Illustrious, that Truth and Love, Wisdom and Goodness, Righteousness and Peace seem'd to have taken Bodies, and to have descended from their Celestial Mansions to celebrate their Nuptials upon Earth. It was reported also that Bentivolio and Panaretus, after some dayes spent with great delight in Alethion's Court, retir'd with Theosebes and Urania into the lower Theoprepia; and that after Alethion had settled his Kingdom, he and Agape made a Journey to Phronesium to visit their Brother and all his [...] Company, and after some time spent there in the Praises of that God who had confirm'd them in so much Happiness, and in the rare Contentments of a most delightful Conversation, they went away all together to the Royal Court of the great King Abinoam, which is in the Higher Theoprepia.

But because I am not yet perfectly inform'd concerning the Ceremonies which were us'd at those Glorious Marriages, the manner of their Reception by Abinoam, and the way of their Life in his Court; I must entreat my Reader to have the Goodness to pardon me though I break off my History and sit down here, for at present I am able to follow my Hero's no further.

The End of the Sixth Book.

[Page] AN ALPHABETICAL INDEX,

[Page]

In which the obscure Words of this Book are explained, and Directions given by the Letters in order concerning the principal Subjects which are particularly discours'd of, that so any may reade what they please. For though I do not think the Meaning of this Treatise any Abstruse business; yet because the sense of some Words may peradventure be lock'd up from some Readers, who understand Things better then Names, I have put this Key with the Book. Since the Treasure is but small which is hid here, I am unwilling that any should be put to much trouble in seeking after it. This also I thought fit to adde, That those things which are more largely discours'd of are mark'd in the Index with an Asterisk prefix'd; and that where the Letter (b) is put to the Figures, it signifieth the Second Part of this History.

A

ABaddon, [...], Destruction; but Apoc. 9.11. it is rendred [...], Destroyer, [...] murtherous Spirit, who was (as our Saviour saith, John 8. 44.) [...], for he murhered Mankind with a Lie. A Name properly expressing the Nature of the Devil, who is a malicious Enemy to Humanity. See Asmodaeus. pag. 251 b

Abinoam, [...], the Father of Pleasures, God, the spring of Delight. pag. ult. b

Abulus, [...], an Inconsiderate rash man, one that acts without due deliberation. 59

Achamoth, from [...] Wisdom: A name of which the old [...] made an arrogant use, for they boasted themselves to be Children of Election, [...], and born of Achamoth; Epiphan. Lib. 1. Tom. 2. and therefore thought themselves so much better then others, that the worst of them was worthy to be a [...], a Teacher of Wisdom to all the World. 301 b

Acephalus, [...], one whose Discourses have neither Head, as we say, nor Feet. There are many such talkers in Agazelus. 174

Achrestus, [...], an unmerciful cruel man, Bentivolio's Jailour. Good will is imprison'd in hard Hearts. 117

Achthedon, [...], Grief. 23 b

Acolastus, [...], an Intemperate person, undisciplin'd and of unsubdued Passions. 80

Acrasia, [...], Intemperance, Incontinence, Impotence of Soul. 83

Adicus, [...], an Unjust man. 333 b

Adynaton, [...], Impossibility; one of the Hypocrites false Pleas, who, when he sins, thinks to excuse the matter, by saying that it is not possible to obey God's Commands, and that Christ's yoke is heavy and pincheth his neck. 153

Affliction no just cause to doubt of God's Providence. To Good men they are alwayes [...]. 82 b

Publick Afflictions disburthen the World of the heavy load of Incorrigible sinners; so Eurip. in Hel.

[...]

[...].

So God makes his Judgments [...], common Antidotes against the Poison of Wickedness, which is increas'd by Impunity. 96 b

Aganacton, [...], one that is angry. 167

Agape, [...], Love, the Daughter of Phronesia, Wisdom. True Prudence is never destiture of Divine Charity. 201

[Page] Agatha, a Good Woman.

Agathorryton, [...], flowing with Goodness; a proper Epithet for God, who is an inexhaustible Fountain continually sending forth waters of Life.

[...]

[...].

Synes.

Plotin calls him [...], the Spring of Life, the Beginning of Being, the Cause of Goodness, the Root of the Soul; as Pythagoras before,

[...],

The Fountain of everlasting Nature.

200

Agazelus, [...], full of Emulation. In the III. Book it is put to expresse those Intemperate Heats which do often scorch mens Spirits when they are set on fire with uncharitable Contentions about Matters which are of lesse moment in Religion. 115

Agerochus, [...], a proud and Insolent Person. 167

Agnoea, [...], Ignorance. 122

Agon, [...], Strife. The Valley of Tentation is so call'd in the beginning of the IV. Book, in which there is a large Description of the Contest and Victory of a Good man over bodily and spiritual Tentations. 178

Akeraea, [...], Unmix'd, pure. Here it is put for Simplicity, the Inseparable Companion of true Godliness. 137

Alazon, [...], a Vain-glorious Boaster. 167

Alborach, Mahomet's Asse upon which he pretended that he rode into Heaven. 131 b

Alcinous, from [...] and [...], one who hath Strength of Mind, Greatness of Understanding. 182 b

Alethea, [...], Truth, the Sister of Charinda, Charity. 158

Alethion, from the fore-mention'd word. In his Person you have an Excellent Prince describ'd, a Defender of Truth and Lover of Vertue represented. 47 b

Alethologus, [...], True Reason, the loving Brother of Pistalethes, i. e. True Faith. Their good agreement is declared. 203

Alexander, that subtile Cheat who abus'd the Paphlagonians. He is painted to the Life by Lucian in his Psoudomantis. 310 b

Allusions by which Familistical Enthusiasts endeavour to corrupt the Gospel of our Saviour [...], as Epiphanius complain'd of the old Gnosticks, and which made the good Polycarp say (in Epist. ad Phil.) [...], He that frames the words of the Lord to his own private fancies, is the first-born of Satan. 312 b

Alopex, [...], a Fox. 12 b

Alypia, [...], Indolentia, Free dom from Grief and Care. The Goddesse of Piacenza. 78

Amaranth, [...], never withering. An Herb so call'd from the lasting Vigour of its Flowers. Pliny sayes that it bears purple Ears or Flowers, of which, because they will keep fresh a good while, they us'd anciently to make Garlands. Lib. 21. cap. 11. It is us'd here to signifie the ever-flourishing glory of Perseverance in Vertue. 280

Amasia, a Lover. 80

Amerimnus, [...], one free from troublesome cares, the chief Bishop of Eusebia, serving God [...], without distraction. An undivided Soul, wholly devoted to Heavenly Studies and Divine Employments, which are broken by worldly sollicitudes. 237

Ametameletus, [...]. I have given that Name to a true Convert, because his true Repentance will never be repented of; [...], as St. Paul calls it, which is when a man forsakes sin with shame and sorrow. 200

Amiantus, [...], Immaculate, free from spots. 246

Amphibius, [...]. I have call'd Pirates Amphibians, because they live, as indeed all Mariners do, like the [...], sometime upon the Land, sometime in the Water. 13 b

Amphilogia, [...], Ambiguity of Speech, Controversie. 158

Amphisbeton, [...], one given to Controversie and Debate. 157

Amyntor, [...], A Helper. 46 b

Anaedea, [...], Impudence. 303 b

Anaedes, [...], Impudent. 333 b

Anaeschyntus. [...], Impudent. 80

Ananephon, [...], one that returns to Sobriety and Soundness of Mind from the deep sleep of sin. 173

Ananke, [...], Necessity. It is such another Excuse as Adynaton. He which pleadeth that the Divine Commands cannot be observ'd, induceth a Necessity of sin. 153

Anaxagathus, [...], a good King, whose Description is endeavour'd 47 b

Anaxanacton, [...], King of Kings. A name proper to our Saviour, who in holy [Page] [...] hath divers Titles of the same Import; for he is called [...], [...] [...], 1 Tim. 6. Apoc. 17. 161 I have also inserted the History of his Life, a Summary of his Gospel, and a defence of his Doctrine, beginning 235 b

Anchinous, [...], one of a ready wit, the Servant of Prudence. 136

[...], [...], a [...]. 333 b

[...], [...], one sick of Incurable Diseases, an [...] person. ibid.

[...], [...], one without Mercy and pity. ibid.

Anelpistus, [...], a desperate person. 23 b

Angerona, from [...] to Choak or Strangle. 16b

Anonomasta, [...], which have no Name. The Gnosticks [...] that they could see such things. 302 b

Anopheles, [...], Vnprofitable. I have call'd the Maker of [...] by that name, because of his vain employment. 152 b

[...], [...], a Wicked Person. 333 b

[...], the Rivall of Eros, from [...], which signifies Rivalry in Love. 80

[...], from [...], a kind of Ismael in Philosophy, who opposeth all men [...]. 152 b

Aathropia, from [...], the State of Humanity. 2

Aatigraphus, from [...], one that is an opposer of the Holy Scriptures. 152 b

[...], [...], one that contradicts others. 156

[...], a [...]. 63

Antinomus, [...], one that is against the Law, an Irregular Person. 167

[...], from [...] and [...], one that opposeth strength to strength. See Isosthenes. 163 b

* Antitheus, [...], an Anti-God; [...] being taken in the same sense as in Antichristus.

His Envy and Pride the Roots of his Treason. 56 b

His correspondence with Dogmapornes. 61 b

His high conceit of his Knowledge, 129 b

His wild Reflexions upon his Disappointment. 128 b

His Principles in Religion. 132 b

His Natural Philosophy. 140 b

His Ethicks. 143 b

His Politicks. 144 b

The Names of his Courtiers. 152 b

Apateon, [...], a Deceiver, 16 b

Apateonia, from the fore going word, the Country where Deceit is practis'd and prevails. 296 b

Apeirus, [...], Inexperienc'd, [...], as many are who undertake to teach others.

[...], [...], the frothy Goddess Venus, if she take her Name from [...], because, as the Poets say, she was born of the Foam of the Sea: but the Derivation is better taken from [...], a Fool, as Eurip. in Helen.

[...],

[...].

i.e. The Goddess doth well begin her Name with Folly, for men call brutish Appetites Venus. 78

Aphrod [...]sius, a Venereous Person. 152 b

Aphron, [...], a Fool. 80

Apiston, [...], one that doth not rashly assent, but doubts till he see Reason for his belief: not imprudently, — [...]. There is nothing more profitable to men then a wise [...]. 102

Apollyon, [...], a Destroyer. See Asmodeus. Apoc. 9. 11. 134 b

Apronoeus, from [...] and [...], one that denies the Providence of God in the Government of the World. 68 b

Aquedon, Eaton, which Henry the sixth B. M. honour'd with the Foundation of a Royal College. In Epistola dedicat. b

Archibius, [...], the Author of Life. Which Name I have bestow'd upon those Physicians who by reason of their Knowledge and Vertue are worthy of it; for they are Preservers of Life by a wise application of those Remedies which God hath allow'd against Diseases, which are the beginnings of Death. 19 b

Archicacus, [...], the Beginner of Mischief. 333 b

Arete, [...], Vertue, deservedly belov'd of Nicomachus, and all worthy spirits. 178

Argentora, from Argento and Oro, Silver and Gold. The Title of the First Book, which contains a Description of Covetousness and Ambition, where Force and Fraud bear sway. 1

Argus, [...], a careless person and sluggish. 47

* Arimanius. The Eastern World did [...] that Good and Evil proceeds from two [...] Principles: the Author of Good they call'd Oromasdes; of Evil, Arimanius. They estem'd these [...], Gods acting contrary to each other, and offer'd Sacrifices to both with a distinct Respect: to one [...], that he might bestow [Page] Blessings upon them; to the other [...], that he might doe them no [...]. See Plutarch in Isid. & Osir. & Diog. Laert. in [...]. 97 b

Aristaeus, a Philosopher who endeavour'd to be Illustrious by [...]. See Max. Tyrius, Dissert. 22. 306 b

Aristander, [...], a very Good man. 317 b

Arpinum, the place of Tullie's Nativity. 6 b

Asemnus, [...], unhandsome, not agreeing with Gravity. 333 b

[...], [...] from [...], a Destroyer, Tobit 3. 8, 17. one of those Name; which do fitly represent the Devil's malicious temper, of the same signification with Abaddon and Apollyon. The Septuagint translate it [...], a wicked Spirit; the Talmudists call him [...], the Prince of Destroyers. 134 b

Asotus, [...], a Prodigal, a waster. 80

Aspasia, from [...], to salute. ibid.

Asphaltites, from [...], a pitchy sulphureous Clay. The lake call'd the Dead Sea, suppos'd to be the place where Sodom and [...] stood. 149

Aspremont, a rough Hill full of Bushes and uneven way, yet very passable to good men; and which leads to Happiness, and therefore they call it Roccabella. 86

Astorgus, [...], destitute of Natural Affection. 92

Astriatrus, from [...] and [...], a pretender to the skill of Curing Diseases by Astrology; one of the vain Companions of [...]. 298 b

Astromantis, from [...] and [...], one that would make the World believe he can prophesy by the Stars. You may find something said against the Folly of Judicial Astrology, pag. 105 b. But those who desire to see the Vanity of that pretended Art fully discover'd, may reade Dr. More his Mystery of Godliness, Book 7. Chap. 15, 16, 17. 151 b

Asynetus, [...], Insipiens, one that is not prudent; one of Antitheus his pitiful Judges, but good enough for his Designs. 152 b

Ate, [...], Harm, Mischief. It denotes a state of prevailing Violence in the first Book. 3

Athanasius, [...], Immortal. 341 b

Atheism. See it disparag'd in the Preface, as also in Bentivolio's Discourses with Pasenantius in 6. Book beginning pag. 187. and in other places. I thought it was not fit to let such a pestilent Principle pass without a just Disgrace; it being, as Pindar calls it, [...], a wicked craft, and seems to make Atheists Wits, when indeed it is [...], as Clemens Alexandr. says, the Height of Folly.

Atheophilus, [...], a lover of Atheists. 317 b

Atimia, [...], Disgrace, which with Sorrow doth usually follow a Voluptuous Life. 80

Autautus, from [...], one that acknowledgeth none but himself, that would owe nothing to God himself. 152 b

Authades, [...], one that pleases and admires himself, as all proud persons do, who are also offended if others do not greatly observe them. 196

Autocatacritus, [...], Self-condemn'd. 131

[...], [...], Men of themselves springing form the Earth, as the Arcadians describ'd their own Original. See [...]. 145 b

Axiarchus, from [...] and [...], one worthy to Command. 335 b

B

BAthypogon, [...], one that hath a great Beard. 18 b

Bellezza (Ital.) Beauty. 80

Bentivolio here denotes Good will, from the Italian [...]. It is us'd by them for a proper Name; and so it is here for the Brother of Vrania, i. e. Heavenly Light, from [...] [...], or [...] Light. By Celestial Wisdom and Divine Love the Soul passes happily through all States in this World to Immortal Perfections and Glories. 1

Bevanda, from Bevere, to drink. 83

[...], from [...], a good Life, which is the only way to Heaven, and is therefore call'd the great Rode extended according to the whole length of Theoprepia. 202

Borborites, from [...], Mud. A Name by which the filthy Gnosticks were of old disgrac'd, a Sect that wallowed in fleshly Lusts; Ranters. 197

C

[...], [...], an Evil Spirit. 139

Cacodulus, [...], an Evil Servant. 151 b

[...], [...], an Evil Example, one of the chief means by which Wickedness is propagated in the World. 29 b

Callicarpus, [...], a place adorn'd with beautiful Fruits. 384 b

Calliphon, [...], one that hath an elegaut [Page] voice; one of the two things which are principally requisite in a good Oratour, [...] and [...]. 289 b

Calliroe, [...], a River flowing with pleasant streams.

Callistus, [...], an Excellent Son of a good Father. 341 b

Cantharus, [...], a Tankard, a Drunken Fellow, a Boraccio, one good for nothing but to hold Drink. 152 b

Carezza, Caresses. 80

Catasarkus, [...], Fleshly, Corpulent. It signifies the Jew in the Third Book, because his Religion doth much consist in bodily Observances. 131

Caulomucetes, [...], some of those Warriours whom Lucian saw in the Country of the Moon, whom he call'd by that Name because, as he says, [...], i. e. their Shields were [...] and their Spears Blades of Asparagus. 230 b

Centaurus, [...], a Horseman driving away Cattel, from [...], pungo, and [...], taurus. 170

Charinda, from [...], Charity. 158

Charistion, from the same Root, a charitable person. 318 b

Charity describ'd and prais'd in Euergesia's Speech. 260

Chelidones, [...], Swallows, a name properly applied where it is us'd, because of their troublesome Noise. 25 b

Chrematophilus, from [...] and [...], a Lover of Riches. 16 b

Chronus, [...], Time. 32 b

Chrysalides, from [...], Gold. I have given this name to a famous Aurelian in Plutocopia. 22 b

Chrysus, [...], Gold. 9 b

Colax, [...], a Flatterer, the great Friend of Tuphlecon. 153

* Colpia, the pretended Mother of one of [...] his She-Enthusiasts. They boast that they receive all their Conceptions from [...], i. e. the word of the mouth of God. Such was the Foolery of him in Eusebius, who desiring to speak of new things told a story of Colpia and Bau, that is, Bohu corrupted. Pannychis might have done well to have told us of AEon and Protogonus her Brethren, to have made her Genealogy more splendid. But notwithstanding their vain Boasts, they are but [...], such as speak out of their own Bellies, and seek their Living by [...]. See Engastrimuthus. 299 b

Ill Company, see the mischiefs of it. 88.92 b

* Conscience, a natural Principle not to be eradicated by any Art of man; a severe Reprover and sharp Corrector of those bold Sinners who offer violence to it. It hath been call'd by great Philosophers by the most Venerable names; as [...], (Hier.) [...] and [...], (Soph.) [...], (Just. Martyr) i. e. A domestick God, a Divine Overseer, a sacred Goad, a God who hath fram'd to himself a natural Temple in the Conscience. Though Atheists pretend to slight it, yet Cotta, who disputed zelously against it, confess'd that as to matters of Vertue and Vice, Sine ulla divina ratione grave ipsius Conscientiae pondus est. Tully de Nat. Deor. Lib. 3. This Testimony is true, for let Atheists doe what they can, yet they find

[...],

[...].

Soph. in Philoct.

94, 95 b

* Contrapart is taken in a Musical Sense. As in the Composition of a Song of several Parts, the Harmony is perfected by the supplies of different Notes which each part administers, both when they sound together, and one after another, by the Interposition of fit Rests: So it hath pleas'd the Divine Wisdom to checker the Creation with Blacks and Whites, to set off Day with Night, to relieve Winter by Summer; and having made his work double, and set one thing over against another, he hath made Charity the Antistoichon to Want. The Septuagint considering the Congruity that in this and other Respects is between Prosperity and Adversitv, have us'd the fore-mention'd Notion, and translate [...], Eccles. 7. 15. [...], God hath tun'd one thing to another. 262

Covetousness the cause of Poverty and Complaints, not any Defect in God's Provisions. 11, 15, 20 b

The hinderer of all noble actions. 9,15 b

Cranion, [...], a Skull. 17 b

Creation, a strong proof of a Deity. 203 b

D

DAvigeor, David George, an Arch-Enthusiast in Germany. His Opinions and Practice are related by the Rector and University of Basil in a Pamphlet printed 1559. 298 b

Degrues. This name the Atheists in France gave to themselves, thereby intimating that they are not such Fools as can be easily deceiv'd. [Page] They made it a [...] amongist themselves, [...] print grue. 161 b

De sidaemon, [...], a [...] Person; or one that is apt to [...] dreadful Apprehensions of God, and yet thinks he may be appeas'd with a [...] matter. 167

[...], [...], Men born of Trees, which [...] fabulously relates thus, [...]. Lib. 1. Verar. [...].

[...], [...], one that doubts concerning Providence, Book 5. His seruples are remov'd by Alethion. 78 b

[...], [...], a [...]; an Instrument of great use in [...]. 138

Dogmapornes, [...], the Opinion of a [...]. Taurus the Platonist when he made mention of Epicurus his Principles us'd these words, [...]. Agellius lib. 9. cap. 5. He rejected to the Brothel-house two of [...] his infamous Opinions; one, that our chief Good is in sensual Pleasure; the other, that the Providence by which men think the World to be govern'd is nothing. 60 b

Doulogynes, [...], A Womans Slave, Antimater's Servant. Such Step-mothers as Antimater was must use such Assistants. 58

Dysareflus, [...], one hard to be pleas'd. 167

[...] [...], properly one of a weak stomach; here one that is of a [...] Temper and [...] to take offence. 117

Dyselpis, [...], one that is ready to [...]. 92

Dysemeria, [...], Affliction, Adverse [...]. 27

Dyspithea, [...], Obstinacy, Difficulty of being perswaded. A Disease incident to most Ignorant and all conceited people. 122

E.

ECho. That which I have related concerning one made use of by Misoplanus, is but little in compatison of what is said truly of many others. That at Charenton in France describ'd by the Lord Bacon will repeat Sounds very often; but that at Kingsham upon the River of Stockholm is much more admirable: It will distinctly repeat an Air of ten Semi-Briefs, and reverberate the whole Lesson from one Rock to another at great distances six or seven times, one beginning after another hath done, taking it from a Trumpet. 315 b

[...]. Though I give no great credit to that story of Abgarus his Painter, yet it serves the use to which I have put it. It is related as a Truth by Nicephorus, Lib 2. cap. 7. 235 b

Education. The want of it is a great cause of the continuance of Ignorance and Vice in the World. See Morophilia. 92. also 29, 30 b

Ekaephon, [...], one that awakes from the sleep of sin, and returns from Vice to Vertue. 89

E'pis, [...], Hope, the Daughter of true Faith. Hope is the Expectation of the Soul in time to enjoy the object of Faith. 203

Elpiscale, [...], good Hope. By a constant perseverance in well-doing we come directly into the Valley of good Hope. There is no other Rode by which we can arrive in [...] but Biocalon, a good Life. 202

* Empsychon, [...], living, or inspired with Life. In the 2d. Book it signifies the Rational Soul examining Doctrines by its discerning Faculties, and approving for True and Good what agrees with them and the Holy Rule, Grapton, or the Revelation of the Divine Will in Holy Writ. See Grapton. 103

* Engastrimuthus, [...], one that speaks out of the Belly, call'd also [...], because of that immodest way by which the [...] pronounced their Oracles. This trick was much us'd of old. The woman which Saul consulted is call'd 1 Samuel 28. 7. [...] Domina Pythonis, from [...] Bottles, because the Devil us'd to speak out of her swollen Belly as out of a Bottle, in Gr. [...]. Aristophanes bragging in his Vespae that he help'd other Poets to make their Comedies, says that after the manner of Eurycles, one that was famous for this [...], he did [...], i. e. [...] into their bellies pour forth Verses. Some of the Heathens, asham'd of this obscene business, allow'd the Devil a more honourable place, the Breast, and call'd him [...], as if he spoke the same way which some Juglers use, who form an articulate sound, though those who are present cannot perceive that they open their Mouth. Here the name is given to one troubled with Hysterical Fits, by which some have put Tricks upon the Ignorant. 142

Enthusiasm, [...], Divine Inspiration, [Page] by which Holy men of old were enabled to speak and doe extraordinary things. Here it is taken only for the Apish imitation of it, by which Device Religious Mountebanks have often abus'd the credulous World. See Hieremimus.

Epicurus disprais'd, and his Philosophy disparag'd, in Preface of second Part, and pag. 109. b. See also Dogmapornes.

Eristes, [...], a Contentious Person. 2

Eros, [...], Love. 80

Erotocleus, [...], the Glory of Love. 27

Eucharist, [...], Thanksgiving; by which name the Greek Church did properly express the nature of our Lord's Supper, that Sacrament being appointed to make a thankful and honourable Commemoration of our Saviour's Death. 165

Eudaemon, a good Genius, one that makes men Rich, who is the only Good Angel whom the Covetous acknowledge. 15 b

Euergesia, [...], Beneficence, the twin-Sister of Philothea or the Love of God. 259

Euesto, [...], a quiet State. I have us'd this word partly to signifie that tranquillity which is necessary for Philosophical Contemplations, partly to express the happy Repose of wise and good men. 24 b

Eugenius, [...], a Person of a Noble Descent and an Ingenuous Disposition. 180 b

Eumenes, [...], Benign. 118

Eupathes, [...], one who is easily affected with things, of a gentle Disposition. 77

Euphranor, from [...], one that laughs at the Follies of the World. 18 b

Euphron, [...], a pleasant good-natur'd Person, who both enjoys himself and makes others chearful. 295 b

Eupistia, from [...] and [...], a Good Faith, which is describ'd Book 4. 201

Eupistus, [...], a true believer, a Faithful Person. 202

Euprepes, [...], Comely or Decent. In the Third Book it signifies one who was not inamour'd with the gaudy outsides of Exosemnon, yet [...] the baseness of Pseudenthea. 131

Euprosopon, from [...] and [...], one that sets a fair face upon things. 150

Eusebia, [...], Piety. 201

Euthanatus, a Good Death, the happy close of a good Life. 281

Euthymia, [...], [...] of mind, the Portion of Vertuous Souls. 46 b

Exetazon, [...], one that examins or tries things. It is here put for Inquiry, and is therefore call'd Apiston's File, because by Ingenuous Examination and diligent Search we find out Truth. 103

* Exorcista, [...], a Conjurer. Those who desire to see more such Pranks, or think those very strange which I have related concerning Exorcista, may be satisfied if they will reade a Book call'd Tres Energumenae Belgicae; where they will soon perceive whether I or the Exosemnians have abus'd the Popish Exorcisms. 139

Exosemnon, [...], outwardly. Venerable; which all grant that Church to be upon whom that name is bestow'd. 133

F

A True Faith describ'd. 201

The sad Consequences of a false Faith. 150

The Agreement of Faith and Reason. 203

A Father's last Advice to his Sons. 376 b

Forts Esprits, Courageous Spirits; a Title which the French Deists bestow'd upon themselves, after they had so confirm'd their Infidelity that they were able to disbelieve all things. 161 b

Forzario, a Violent Person, who makes Power his Law. The Husband of Inganna, Craft: for Power associates it self with Cunning, the better to accomplish its Designs. 31

G

GAlenepsyches, [...], A calm of Soul, Tranquillity of Spirit, one of those three invaluable Jewels which a true Lover of God doth possesse. 239

A Garden describ'd. 1 b

Gastrimargus, [...], an Insatiable Eater. 152 b

Gelosia, Jealousie. 2

Geron, [...], an Old man. 32 b

Glycypicron, [...], Bitter-Sweet, as all terrene pleasures are. 18 b

* Gnosticks, from [...], Knowledge, an unclean Sect of Hereticks, ( [...], as Epiphanius calls them) who gave themselves this Name, prerending that they only were dignified with the Knowledge of Truth; though theirs, if ever any in the World, was [...], Knowledge falsly so call'd, as St. Paul said. Their Opinions were most absurd, and their Practices abominable. See [...] and [...]. Plotin, one of the best Platonists, and possibly a Christian, wrote against them, Ennead. 2. Lib. 9. See Pansophia and Achamoth.

[...], [...], Know thy self. I [Page] have call'd the Governour of Tapinophrosyne by this name, because the knowledge of ones self is the Natural Root of Humility. 195

* God. Arguments of his Existence. 188 b

A Description of the Divine Nature. 189 b

Of the Connate Idea of God. ibid.

In what sense the Notion of God is [...] to our Souls. 191 b

That God is as knowable as other things, and how, 194. 195. b. which Des-Cartes hath well express'd in these words, Quamvis enim [...] Dei perfectiones non comprehendamus, quia [...] est de Natura Infiniti, ut à nobis, qui sumus [...], non comprehendatur; nibilominus tamen ipsas [...] & distinctiùs quàm ullas res corporeas intelligere possumus, quia cogitationem [...] magis implent, sunt (que) simpliciores, nec limitationibus ullis obscurantur. Princip. Phil. Parte primâ. It is an unreasonable demand to require that he should shew himself as we please. So Eurip. in Baceh.

Pen. [...]; Dion. [...] i. e. `Do you say that you have seen God plainly as he is? No; but as he is pleas'd to shew himself: we must not appoint him in what manner he will be seen. The naked essence of all things is hid from us, much more that of God; which I suppose to be suggested in the Inscription which was put upon the Temple of Isis, [...].

Good men alwayes happy. 80 b

Grapton, [...], Written, the Revelation of the Divine Will committed to writing. See Empsychon. 103

False Guardians reprov'd. 55

Gynaeceus, [...], Womanish: it denotes a man imprudently Uxorious. 63

Gynaepicria, from [...] and [...], a Womanish bitterness or feeble peevishness. 2

H

HAdes, [...], the Invisible state of the other World, which sensual persons do not love to hear of. 23 b

Hamartolus, [...], a Sinner. 199

Happiness. describ'd 83, b. and afterwards in Aristander's Speech.

Harpagus, from [...], Rapacious, the servant of Plutopenes. Covetonsness is usually attended with Rapine. 24

[...], one that doth [...], Self-Interest, which disturbs the common Happiness of the World. 167

Hedonia, from [...], Pleasure: the name of the Voluptuous Queen of Piacenza. 79

Hemicalus, [...], half good, one who is perswaded in a small measure to be Vertuous. 251

Hermagathus, [...], a good Mercury or happy Messenger. 11

Hesychia, [...], Tranquillity. 159

Hierographon, from [...], and [...], the Holy Scripture. 206

Hieromimus, [...], one who makes an affectate Imitation of holy things. His Principles, his Design, his Confutation, you have Book 6. beginning pag. 297 b

Hilarion, from [...], Chearful. 341 b

Hypocrites false Pleas for their sins destroy'd. 187

* The Hypocritical excuse which is taken from the sweetness of sin, Pastor Fido hath express'd to the Life, Act. 3. sc. 4.

Se'l peccar' è si dolce,

E'l non pecear si necessario; ò troppo

Imperfetta Natura,

Che repugni à la legge;

O troppo dura legge,

Che la Natura [...].

Which Tully (Offic. lib. 3.) hath nobly answer'd, Nunquam est utile peccare, quia semper est turpe; & quia semper est honestum virum bonum esse, semper est utile. pag. 191

Hipponyx, [...], a Haven so call'd because it resembles the fashion of a Horses Hoof. 317 b

Histrionia, Stage-play, a name not unfitly given to this World, where, as one said long since, Quisquis fere Histrionem agit. 33 b

Holochrysus, [...], All Gold. 15 b

Humility describ'd. 193

Hybris, [...], Contumely. 16 b

Hydraula, [...], a Musical Instrument which sounds by Water. 193

* Hyla, [...], Matter. In the Fourth Book it imports the Hindrances which arise to a good man from his Body. That [...] which the learn'd Bishop in his Hymns doth so often pray against under the several names of [...], &c. The Tempting Baud, the Corporeal Cloud, the Dog which barks and bites the Soul, Bodily Tempests; which is so considerable a hinderance, that (as Proclus hath observ'd, lib. [...]. in Timaum) all our disorders do spring either [...], i. e. either from the weakness of our Rational Notions, or from the strength of our fleshly Appetites. But since the Notions of our [Page] minds are near akin to God, he adds gallantly, [...], i.e. The Invincible power of God doth refresh our Notions, and comfort their weakness. 197

Hylotes, from the same [...], in the Third Book signifies the dull sympathy which the grosly-ignorant have only with bodily things. 121

Hyperenor, [...], Proud, Insolent. Riches usually make men inhumanely fierce. 9 b

Hypernephelas, [...], above the Clouds; no unfit name for those who take such wild flights of fancy in their Discourses, that no sober Judgment can follow them. One that speaks or writes mysterious Nonsense. 167

Hyperoncus, [...], very proud. 155

Hyperurania, [...], Supercelestial things, which the Gnosticks bragg'd that they were able to see. 302 b

Hypnotica, from [...], Sleepy. Sleep and Idleness are the supporters of Ignorance. 121

Hypsagoras, [...], a lofiy speaker, one that talks high. 152 b

Hysocardes; from [...] Height, and [...] the Heart. It notes Arrogance and overweening thoughts, by which a man is lifted up above a just estimation of himself. See Megalophron. 195

Hysterica, from [...], the Womb. A woman troubled with Suffocations commonly call'd the Fits of the Mother. 142

I

IAckleid, John Becold the Impious Tailour of Leiden, who caus'd so much trouble in Germany with his Enthusiasm and Villanies. 298 b

Jaldabaoth, one of the canting terms us'd by the proud Gnosticks. Vide Epiphan. 303 b

Jamnail, James Nailor, that Infamous Enthusiast, who equall'd himself to our Saviour, and had in his pocket when he was taken the Description of Christ which Lentulus sent to the Senate of Rome, which begins thus, Apparuit temporibus nostris, & adhuc est, homo magnae virtutis, nominatus Jesus Christus, &c. Orthodoxogr. Theolog. Tom. 1. pag. 2. 298 b

Iconecron, [...], the Image of the Dead. 17 b

* Iconium, from [...], an Image. It is us'd in the Third Book to express that sort of Religion which is only made up of out-sides: not reproving those who would have God serv'd with bodily Worship; (for so he ought to be, as we have declared Book 4.) but such as do neglect the Spirit of Religion, which is, to love God with all our heart, and to direct all our Actions to his Glory, making his holy Will the Indispensable Rule of our Lives. He dwelleth not so much in any Temple as in the Soul of a Good man, who, as Hierocles says most excellently, [...], i.e. offers himself for a Sacrifice, makes his own Soul the Image of God, and prepares his Mind to make it a fit Temple for the Reception of Divine Light. 131

Idiopathy, from [...] and [...]. It denotes mens particular Affections, peculiar Tempers and Perswasions, with which they are so inamour'd, that many times with much Passion and little Reason they condemn others who are not prone to sympathize with them. 171

Jealousie and its sad Effects. 59 b

Immortality of Humane Souls asserted. 355 b

Wicked men believe not the Doctrine of Immortality, because they hope not for any Happiness in the Eternal World. 372 b

Infidelity the Root of all Vice, especially the Unbelief of Immortality. Eurip. in Andr. Androm. [...]; Men. [...]. i.e. Do you think God is no God, and that there is no Judgment? Men. When that comes I will bear it. ibid.

Inganna, Craft. 31

Irene, [...], Peace. A Virgin which towards the further end of the Holy Rode presents Travellers with Garlands of Amaranth. Peace and Tranquillity are the Fruits of Perseverance in a good course of Life. 280

* Isosthenes, one that thinks himself able to equal the probability of Falshood with Truth, and to introduce a Sceptical [...], which, as Sextus Empiricus defines it, is [...], an Equality of Faith and Vnbelief. This Lucian meant by his Balance. [...]. i. e. To what use do you put these scales? I counterpoise Reasons, and equal the weight of Truth and Falshood: which is to endeavour to plague the World with an infinite Dissatisfaction. 136 b

K

KAlobulus, from [...] and [...], a Good Counsellour. 3.2

Kalodoxus, [...], one whose mind is inrich'd with noble Opinions and rais'd Apprehensions. 149 b

Kenepistis, [...], vain Faith. It is describ'd in Book 3. 115

[Page] Kepanactus, [...], the King's Garden. 177 b

A Good King describ'd. 47 b

Kiskildrivium, an insignificant word us'd by Erasmus in one of his Epistles, and is of as much sense in Speech as Transubstantiation is in Religion. 166

Klerotheron, [...], one that hunts for the Inheritances of others. 12 b

The Knowledge of our selves, the Cure of Pride, and how. 196

Krimatophobus, [...], the Fear of Judgment, an inseparable Companion of Sin. So that egregious Cheat of himself; Dii Dea (que) quàm malè est extra legem viventibus! quicquid meruerunt semper timent. Apud Petron. 155

L

LAòargyrus, from [...] and [...], one who greedily receives money, and will doe nothing without it. The name of a corrupt Judge. 32

Lady. A good Lady pictur'd. 3 b

Lampromeld, [...], partly bright, partly dark. Death represented by a River so call'd Book 4. for it is dark as it obscures the bodily Life, and bright as it draws the Curtains of Eternal Light which shines upon Good Souls in the other World. 281

Law of Nature. See Nature.

Lerocritus, from [...] and [...] Judge of Trifles. [...], one who is zealonsly busie about little things. 156

Lestocharis, [...], the Charity of Robbers. 15 b

Lestrygon. The Lestrygones were a barbarous sort of people, which Thucydides (lib. 6.) says he knew not whence they came not whether they went. They infested Sicily and Campania in Italy. Homer in Odyss. 10. tells us how they us'd Ulysses and his Companions. 25

Leucas, [...], a white Rock or Promontory of Epirus, not far from Actium, from which vain Lovers us'd to throw themselves, that they might be freed from the madness of impotent Passion. They seldom fail'd of their Cure, for they commonly broke their necks.

Et de [...] saltum Leucate minatur

Mascula Lesbiacis Sappho peritura sagittis.

Auson.

And Menander in Stobaeus lib. 10.

— [...]

[...]

[...].

87

Logomachia, Controversie. about words, by which Philosophy is made only [...], a vain noise of words, and Divinity [...], vain talk, as St. Paul saith. 160

Loxias, [...], a Name bestow'd upon Apollo, because his Answers were [...], oblique, double ambiguous. 298 b

The Love of God defin'd and prais'd in Philothea's Speech. 265

A Lover of God describ'd. 237

Lunia, the Country of the Moon, concerning which Lucian makes a pleasant story in his Book de ratione scrib. Ver. Hist. 230 b

Lusingha, Flattery. 80

[...], [...], a Destroyer. 155

Lysander, [...], one that delivers men from slavery. 288 b

M

MAngibella, a good Eater. 83

Mantimanss, a mad Prophet. 139

Marriage defended. 97

* Marriage of [...] and Agape, &c. which I have written in the close of the Sixth Book, is not to be understood in a common sense; neither would I have any [...] think that, if I had proceeded further in that Narrative, I would have written a story of vulgar Love. No, no; I meant what I have said not of the [...], the common Venus, as Plotin calls her, but of the [...], the Heavenly; and intended by the Marriage of Theosebes & Vrania to signifie the Union of Wisdom and Piety; by that of Alethion and Agape, the Conjunction of Truth and Love; by that of Nicomachus and Arete, the happy [...] of Vertue, which is the Reward of constant Endeavour; by that of Bentivolio and Theonee, the charitable sympathy of divine Goodness with the Afflicted: by that of Panaretus and Irene, the Holy Peace which our Saviour, the great [...], will make when he hath conquer'd all Enmity to his Excellent Rules, and destroyed whatsoever doth oppose that happy Tranquillity which his Gospel will bestow upon the World when it is obeyed. See Plotin Enn.6.lib.9.

Mataeogenes, from [...] and [...], an Ignoble person who sets his mind onely upon Wealth. 9 b

[...], [...], Labour in vain. 156

Medenarete, [...], one who esteems Vertue to be nothing. See the opinion explain'd. 156 b

And confuted. 344 b

Megabronchus, one that hath a great throat, from [...] and [...]. 105

Megalophron, [...], properly one who hath a Great Mind; but here it signifies one [Page] who hath high Thoughts concerning himself, and doth much rellish his own worth. 195

Meleta, [...], Care. 179

Metamelusa, from [...] and [...], one who takes thought afterward. It signifies in the Second Book late Repentance. 91

Metanoea, [...], Change of mind, second Thoughts. 199

Miasmasarkus, [...], Defilement of the Flesh with bodily sin, which the Ranters, modern Gnosticks, have patroniz'd as a more rais'd strain of Religion, as their Predecessours did of old. 168

Microcheires, from [...] and [...], Smallhanded. The old name of Polyglotta, which had much Religious Talk, but few good Deeds. 114

Misagathus, an Hater of good men. 333 b

Misokalon, [...], one who hates Goodness. 59

Misoplanus, one that hates Cheaters, takes pains to discover their Frauds and to unseduce the deceiv'd. 305 b

Misopseudes, a hater of Falshood. 67 b

Moira, [...], Fate, Destiny, to which Hypocrites are apt falsly to attribute their wickedness which ariseth from the choice of their own Wills, and is confirm'd by many Voluntary Actions. 153

Monogrammus, [...], a Picture rudely delineated. Monogrammi dicuntur homines pertenues & decolores; Nonius. So Lucilius, vix vivo homini & monogrammo. So Gassendus; who took so much pains to doe honour to [...], Monogrammi dicuntur Dii instar hominum macie [...]; metaphor a ducta à Pictura; qui [...] coloribui quasi corporentur, lineis quibusdam [...] antur conficientibus eam picturae speciem quam prisci Latini dixerunt sublestam, &c. Tully calls these Gods, Deos adumbratos, Lib. 1. de Natura Deor. I find not fault with Epicurus so much for that he said they had not Corpora, sed quasi corpora, which Tully gives us leave to call Nonsense; but because he made God with his Description not Deum, sed quasi Deum, which is rude Blasphemy. 112 b

Moralazon, a proud Fool. 297 b

Morogelon, one that laughs at the Follies of the World. 18 b

Moronesus, [...], the Island of Fools. 14 b

Morophila, one that loves foolishly, as many Parents do their Children, whilst they take much care of their Bodily Accomplishments, but neglect to perfect their Souls with Vertue. 92

Morosophus, an Half-witted man, one who hath a little wit, but makes a foolish use of it. 123

Morpheolus, from Morpheus, the Minister of Sleep, an Attendant upon Luxury, whom I have describ'd in a particolour'd Mantle, according to that form of Habit in which [...] (in Amphiar.) saith he was painted of old; [...], in a careless garb, having a white garment upon a black one, to signifie, as he thought, the Vicissitudes of Night and Day, which follow one another at no great distance; for except those who dwell near the Poles, that of Homer is applicable to all the World,

[...].

83

N

NArcissus, one in love with his own shadow. It is a common story, but too pertinent where I have applied it. [...], as Philostratus says, He lean'd over a Spring, taking Pleasure in the Contemplation of his own Beauty. What better thing doe they who spend their time between the Comb and the Glasse? as Seneca says. 80

Narke, [...], the Cramp-Fish, which benums the hands of those who touch it. Here it signifies dull Sloth, which throws the Powers of the Soul into a heavy kind of sleep, and makes it unactive. 178

* Nature. The Laws of Reasonable Nature Eternal and [...], not Customs of Men or Constitutions of Princes alterable at pleasure, but written in our Souls by God, and how.

Here I think it not inconvenient to insert two or three noble Testimonies of this Truth. Amongst the Heathens that of Sophocles is incomparable, who in Oedip. [...]. writes thus,

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...],

i.e. God grant that I may be so happy as alwayes to observe that venerable Sanctity in my Words and Deeds, which is commanded by those noble Laws which were made in Heaven. God is their Father, not Mortal Nature; neither shall they ever [Page] be forgotten or abrogated, for there is in them a great God who never [...] old. The like sense he hath in his Antigone. To this I adde that of Plutarch, who speaking of this Law, saith, it is [...]. i. e. A Law not written in Tables or Books, but [...] in the Mind alwayes as a living Rule, which never permits the Soul to be destitute of an interiour Guide. Of the Jews that of Philo shall serve for all, [...]. i. e. Right Reason is an [...] Law, not a mortal Rule given by this or that mortal; no liveless Precept written in Paper or upon Pillars, but Immortal, being engraven by the Eternal Nature in Immortal Minds. Of the Christians St. Paul calls it [...], Rom. 2. 15. Justin Martyr says, The Rules of it are [...] Origen, [...] Tertullian, Testimonium Anima naturaliter Christianae; Chrysostome, [...], i. e. A Law written in our hearts; an Eternal [...], which with the [...] Notions of Good and Evil is planted in our Souls; a Natural kind of Christianity; a Teacher dwelling in our Natures. Nature may be so perverted with Vice, that men will not acknowledge the Innate Notions of Truth. So Just. Martyr told [...], [...], being corrupted by bad Education, evil Customs, and wicked Institutions, they destroy their Natural Notions, and, as [...] phrase is, do [...], speak falsly of our Nature; and are therefore justly rejected by Aristotle as Incompetent Judges of Nature (Pol. 1. 5.) in these words, [...], i. e. we are to enquire concerning what is natural, of those who are in their natural [...]; and not of those who have corrupted their Nature.

202 b

Naupactus, a place to build Ships in. [...] was so call'd formerly.

Necessity. The Doctrine of Necessity destroys all Vertue. 104 b

Necrogaea, [...], the Region where departed Souls dwell. 36 b

[...] and Nemesis, from [...], Indignation and Revenge. 42, 66

Neurospasts, [...], Puppets, or things which though they seem to act of themselves, are only mov'd by unseen wires or strings. 148

Nicomachus, one that conquers in fight. In the Fourth Book he represents a Good man vanquishing all sorts of spiritual and fleshly Tentation. 178

Nynhapanta, from [...] and [...], All at present. The Tempter endeavouring to seduce Vertuous Persons out of their way to Heaven by the Allurements of this present World. 178

O

ODax, from [...], a Tooth. In the Third Book it signifies the sharp Remorses of an evil Conscience. 155

Ogdoads, AEonian Ogdoads, a wild phansie of the Gnosticks. Vide Scrofam aeoniam apud Tertullianum; & Bythi mensuras & [...], apud [...]. 302 b

Oictirmon, [...], a Merciful Person. 15

* Ommelion, from [...] and [...], a Sun-like Eye, a clear Understanding. Holy Souls have the most plain Visions of God. So Plotin Ennead. 2. lib. 9. [...]. i. e. [...] what purpose should we talk of looking towards God? That is worth nothing, except we shew also how we may come to see him. Vertue joyn'd with Prudence, when it is brought to Perfection, will shew God to us. 239

[...], [...], the Dream of an [...] The Captain of the Levellers, who lay the Foundation of their Designs upon vain Dreams and foolish Imaginations. 29

Ontagathus, [...], one truly good. 149

Opium, the juice of Poppies. I have put it by a Figure for Poppies themselves; but if any think it too great a Catachresis, they may put out [...], and write Poppies in the place of it. 69

Orexis, Appetite. The greatest Power which Tentations have against us, is from that Interest which they have in our sensitive Appetites. 178

Orgilus, an angry man, one of Bentivolio's Accusers. Anger when it is a little humour'd destroys Good will. 117

Orphana, [...], an Orphan. The story is but too applicable to many who by the Infidelity of their Guardians are us'd after the manner which is related. 55

[...]. See Arimanius.

[...], [...], one that makes a true Estimate of things. 24 b

Orthodus, [...], the right way. 29 b

[Page] [...], [...], form of Proscription us'd by the Athenians, in which the Name of the banished Person was [...] in a Shell. Epist. ded. b

P

PAmmachia, [...], altogether Contentious, full of Strife and War. 2

Pammegas, Very great. Simon Magus, who did ambitiously desire to be look'd upon as [...], and prevail'd so far as to be call'd [...] (Act. 8. 9, 10.) and to have his Statue erected in Rome with this Inscription, Simoni Deo Sancto, To Simon the Holy God. Just. Martyr Apol. 2. 296 b

Pammelaena, All dark. By this name the state of Ignorance is represented Book 3. 121

Panaretus, All-Vertuous. The Brother of Bentivolio and Vrania. Where Heavenly Light and Holy Love inhabit, they are accompanied with every other Vertue. 18

Pancratus, one who hath got an absolute Dominion over his Passions. 74

Pandacryon, from [...] and [...], one who can weep when he will. 298 b

Pangelos, one wholly given to Laughter and vain mitth. 80

* Pannychis, [...], Pervigilium, a Watching all night. The name of an immodest wench in Petran. taken from the nefandi [...], the Infamous night-Feasts which were celebrated in honour of Priapus and Venus. Etiam [...] vobis in animo est, [...] sciatis Priapi [...] pervigilium deberi? Pet. 298 b

Pansophia, All-wisdom. So the Impudent [...] inscrib'd some of his Books, and [...], one who knows all things. Of his Books he hath recorded these arrogant sayings: In his libris continentur non solùm omnia ad Coelestem & terrestrem eruditionem necessaria, sed quicquid [...] à mundi exordio [...]; ad ejus finem vixit, quicquid scriptum aut dictum, vel etiam scribi aut dici possit, quod [...] studere debent, &c. Confess. cap. 9. The Rosicrucian Brethren say some such things of their Founder. 303 b

Panstreblus, altogether Perverse. I have bestow'd this Name upon the filthy Ranters, the Gnosticks of these dayes, who have turn'd Religion into Atheism, and the Grace of God into wantonness. 139

[...], [...]. A Temple at Rome dedicated to all the Gods. It is put in the Third Book for Heathenish Idolatry. 133

Panthnetus, [...], one that esteems all things mortal, and fansies that the Soul dies as well as the Body. 152 b

Panurgus, [...], one who hath a crafty wit apt for any Design. 61 b

Parelion, [...], the Sun reflected, a round Cloud glistring with the Image of the Sun. 273

Parresia, [...], Freedom of Speech, Confidence. 118

Pasenantius, Contrary to all. A perverse man, who despiseth all others in comparison with himself. 152 b

Pasiphilus, a Friend to all men. 295 b

Pathus, [...], Passion, Affection, softness. 153

Peirasmus, [...], Tentation. ibid.

Peirastes, a Tempter. 178

Penia, [...], Poverty. 10

Perilype, [...], Grief. 80

Petalism, [...], a Mode of Banishment us'd in Syracuse, in which the Name of the proscrib'd person was written in a Leaf. Epist. Ded. b

Philadelphia, Brotherly Love. 201

Philalethes, [...], a Lover of Truth. 68 b

Philandra, a Lover of her Husband. 286 b

Philedones, a Lover of Pleasure. 152 b

Philopantas, a Lover of all men. 28

Philopseudes, [...], a Lover of Falshood, a Liar. 155

A generous Philosopher describ'd in the Person of Orthocrinon. 26 b

Philothea, [...], a Lover of God and Divine things. 259

Philoxenus, [...], Hospitable, a Lover of Strangers. 116

[...], [...], an Incendiary. 298 b

Phrictus, Dreadful, Terrible. 155

[...], from [...], Prudence. 201

[...], Prudent. ibid.

* Phylace, [...], a Prison. 171 b

In that place I have describ'd the sad state of Sinners in the other World. I hope none will be so dull as not to understand that I have taken many of those Expressions which I use there in a Metaphorical sense; herein following the Example of Holy Writ, where Fire, Worms, Darkness, and such like words, are put to signifie Spiritual pains.

[...], Pleasure, the Title of the Second Book, wherein a Voluptuous Life is describ'd and reprov'd. 69

Pierudor, [...], bitter Water, an Emblem of bitter Zele. 156

[...], a Sluggish person. 79

Pinodipson, Hungry and thirsty, Poverty. 2

Pirates, [...], a Pirate. 13 b

Pistalethes, [...], true Faith, which [Page] is describ'd. 201

Pithopseudes, one who persuades others to believe what is false. 208

Planaster, a wandring Star. 140

Pleonectes, [...], a Covetous person, one that desires to have too much.

Pleonecton, the same. 114

Pluterastes, [...], a Lover of Riches. 22 b

Plutopenes, from [...] and [...], a poor rich man, who never hath enough, enjoys or makes any good use of what he hath. 15

Plutocopia, from [...] and [...], a City whose Inhabitants take pains for nothing but wealth. 9 b

Pneumatodes, Spiritual. In the Third Book it denotes Spiritual Wickedness, Pride, Contention and Wrath, which puff up mens minds and swell their thoughts. 168

Polyglotta, [...], much Tongue. Religion is distress'd when those who pretend to it do only honour it in word. 114

Polistherium, [...], the City of Beasts: a name fit enough for the [...] of Theriagene. 12 b

Polymachus, [...], much given to Contention. 167

Polysemna, Very grave.

Polytheus, [...], one who worships many Gods. 133

Ponus, Labour. 16 b

Prince, a good Prince describ'd. 52 b

Proselenus, [...], Antelunaris, one born before the Moon. The Arcadians did long ago endeavour to make the World believe that the Moon was their Junior, and were therefore call'd [...]. The Scholiast of [...] ad illud 4. Argon.

[...].

Petronius gave this name by way of Jeer to an old Woman who was a servant to Circe. 154 b

The Providence of God in the Government of the World asserted and vindicated. 79, 80 b

Psaphon, a famous Cheater in Libya, who aspir'd to be worshipp'd with Divine Honour. See Max. Tyr. Dissert. 19. In scholio Dion. Chrysoft. he is call'd [...]. 310 b

Pseudelpis, false Hope. 16 b

Pseudenthea, from [...] and [...], false Inspiration, with which the World hath been often troubled. 115

Pseudognosis, [...], Knowledge falsly so call'd. 208

Pseudolus, [...], as Salmasius would have us reade it, one made up of Lies.

Pseudorcus, [...], a Perjur'd Person. 50

Psychopannyx, from [...] and [...], one who affirms the Soul when it is separated from this Body to be as void of Perception as the Eye is of sight in a dark Night. 152 b

Q

* QUintilla. One of this Name was a Companion of Montanus, who profess'd himself to be the Holy Ghost. She was not unlike the other two, Prisca and Maximilla, who left their Husbands to follow that unclean Impostor. From Quintilla the Montanists were call'd Quintillians: she deserves no better a Reason of her Name then some have given of Quartilla (apud Petr.) viz. quae ob quadrantem [...] copiam [...], i. e. parvi pretii scortum. 298 b

R

REpentance describ'd. 200

A Retired Life. 6 b

Rhexinous, [...], that Enervates the mind: a proper Epithet of Jealousie, which breaks and discomposeth the Spirit. 2

Rhipsaspis, one who throws away his shield and flies at the sight of an Enemy, as Demosthenes was reported to have done. 125

Riches contemptible, and amongst other. Reasons because they are usually given to the worst of men; so he,

[...],

[...].

86 b

Roccabella, the fair Rock, The lovely Mount of Temperance, upon which the Soul enjoys the Delights of serene Contemplation. 86

S

SAprobius, from [...] and [...], one of a corrupt Life, seduc'd to it by false Principles. 152 b

Scepticus, a Philosophical Seeker, one of the Pyrrhonian Sect, who believe nothing. ibid.

Holy Scriptures defended. 211. as also 165 b

Septicollis, [...], Rome, formerly so call'd from the seven Hills upon which it was built. 316 b

[...]. See his story in Plutarch, who among other things hath related what tricks he put upon the Superstitious Spaniards with a Tame Doe. 306 b

Sigalion, from [...], Silence. An Image upon the AEgyptians commanding silence with shut Lips. A God in great respect with Wise men. It signifies here that Silence which prudent men have alwayes warily kept in all Evil times. 180 b

[Page] Simmagus, a Contraction of Simon Magus, the Grand-father of the Gnosticks. 296 b

How Sin came into the World. 96 b

Siopelus, [...], one who can hold his peace. 61 b

[...], from [...], a dried Carkase. 17 b

Skiameliuses, [...], viz. [...], A shadow of a state to come, taking it in the same sense as it is us'd. Heb. 2. I have us'd this Name, because many Services of the Jewish Temple and other pieces of that oeconomy were but external Shadows of a more noble state of Religion. 131

Sophiarete, [...] and [...], Wisdo m and Vertue. 29 b

Sophron, Temperate. 225

Sophrosyne, Temperance, describ'd at large in the Fourth Book. 201

Sosandra, [...], the Name of a Good Wife, so call'd from preserving her Husband. 3 b

Staurus, a Cross; but Book Third particularly meant of the Cross of Christ, who by the one oblation of himself upon it abrogated all the Jewish Sacrifices. 132

Streblodespotes, [...], a Per verse Master. 150 b

Sympathus, [...], one who is Compassionately affected with the Miseries of others. 46 b

Synaxis, [...], a Convention or Congregation. It is taken Theologically for a Company of Christians met together to celebrate the Feast of the Lord's Supper, and to make a joynt Commemoration of his Death with all humble Thanksgiving.

T

TAano, [...], Those things which are above. 201

Takato, [...], Those things which are below. These two streams of the Spring Agathorryton signifie the good things which God gives with his right hand, as Wisdom and Vertue; and with his left, as Strength of Body, Worldly Quality, Riches, &c. For he is [...], and [...], the Spring of Springs, the first and best Good from whom all Goodness is deriv'd, as Synesius says in one of his Hymns. See Agathorryton. 201

[...], Miserable. 11

* [...], from [...], an Image, for so I rather derive it then from [...]. Figures made under certain Constellations according to the Superstition of the Syrians and Arabians, who thought them capable of Celestial Influences, and by looking upon which they thought they were able to divine concerning future things, as [...] Fagius observes out of R. D. K. in libro Rad. [...] [...] sunt imagines per quas futura [...]. The Jews call'd them Teraphim, Gen. 31. 19. which Laban nam'd his Gods, and Aben Ezra thought his Daughter stole them, lest they should tell her Father how her Husband order'd his Flight from him. They were made sometimes in the form of Men, such as Michol (probably) put in David's Bed. Those who desire to be inform'd further concerning them may reade Mr. Gregorie's learned Collections in his Notes upon 2 Sam. 5. And such as shall please to reade Dr. H. More's Mystery of Godliness, Book 8. chap. 15. will understand fully that the Doctrine of Telesms is a Supersticious Foolery, and that they have no natural [...]. 157 b

Tapanta, All things. Money is all to covetous men, who make Gold their God, hoping that will help them to all things; according to that of the Jews, [...], Money answereth all things. 9 b

Tapeinophrosyne, Humility. 192

Taraxion, from [...], perturbation, which doth usually attend worldly Designs. 9 b

Temperanza, Temperance, which is the great Panpharmacon, the true All-heale, which both prevents sickness and restores health. See it describ'd 201.

Tentation describ'd. 178, 179

Teraphims. See Talismans.

Terpsithea, [...], a Divine Joy. 239

Tetractys, [...], a famous secret in the Pythagorean Philosophy, which Hierocles hath explain'd in his noble Discourses upon the Aurea Carmina, upon that Verse,

[...],

and Plutarch, but after another manner, in Philosophorum Decretis. I have nam'd it in the Sixth Book, because the arrogant Gnosticks boasted that this [...] came down in a Womans shape from places which cannot be seen or named, and brought down Truth, and shew'd her naked to them, and gave them leave to talk with her. Vid. Epiphan. adversus Haer. Lib. 1. Tom. 3. & Irenaeum contra Gnosticos, Lib. 1. 302 b

Thanatus, Death. 155

Tharraleus, Bold, Confident. ibid.

Thaumaturgus, [...], one that performs miraculous Actions. Where I have applied it, the word signifies only one that doth some extraordinary Tricks above the reach of vulgar [Page] Wit, which he pretendeth to be Miracles. 152 b

Theander, a Divine man. 281 b

Thelgomenus, [...], one that may be led any whether, a plain person easie to be deceiv'd for want of Pudence. 296 b

Theonoe, from [...], a divine mind. 2 b

Theophila, [...], a Lover of God, and [...] also, dear to God, as all his true Lovers are.

Theoprepia, [...], a State worthy of God. The Title of the Fourth Book, wherein some things belonging to that State are discours'd, so far as the Nature of such a work as this is would handsomely permit. 177

[...], [...], one who contemplates, from [...], or one who takes care of Divine Matters, from [...] and [...]. I plac'd Agathorryton in this Hill, because the Spring of Life doth pour forth its streams most plentifully upon careful and holy Souls. 200

Theosebius, [...], a Worshipper of God. 201

Theostyges, [...], a Hater of God and odious to him. 333 b

[...], [...], degenerate Beasts. The Title of the Fifth Book, in which many brutish Opinions and ignoble Practices are related. 1 b

Therodes, [...], Brutish, as the Poor common'y are for want of Education. 11

Theromachia, [...], a Fight with Beasts. The brutish Appetite is an Enemy to the Divine Life. 176 b

Thrasymachus, [...], bold in Fight. 36

[...], [...], a Name given to Crates (in Diog. Laert.) because he went into every House to teach Vertue. 19 b

Timautus, [...], one who honours himself. 114

Trimalcio, [...], a very soft and effeminate Person. Some think that under this Name Petronius Arbiter did describe the Luxuries of Nero. 79

[...], [...], a Tormenter of men. 121 b

Tuphlecon, Wilfully blind. 150

[...], blindly Confident. 122

[...], Constantinople. That piece of my story is not Romance. 316 b

V

VAghezza, Beauty, Loveliness.

Vanasembla, a Vain Shew. The Title of the Third Book, in which many things extoll'd in some places as Eminent parts of Religion, are discover'd to be no such matters. 111

The Vanity of Humane Life. 17 b

Vdemellon, one that believes there is nothing to come after this Life. 152 b

Velleda, a Woman in Germany highly accepted of the People for her Predictions, because she prophesied Success to the Germans, and Ruine to the Roman Legions. Tacitus Lib. 4. Histor. 299 b

Vendetta, Revenge. [...]

Veneriola, a Wanton. 83

The Nature of Vertue describ'd. 341 b

Virbius, Bis vir, one who hath Life twice bestow'd upon him, as all good men have when they are made partakers of the Resurrection. 341 b

The Union of all Vertues in Vraniae's Speech. 274 b

Vrania, Heavenly Light, from [...], Heaven, or [...], Light. See Bentivolio. 18

The true Use and Estimation of the Life which we have in this World. 42 b

Usurpers seldom escape Punishment. Eurip.

[...],

[...],

[...].

340 b

W

WIckedness ever unhappy, especially in the end.

— [...]

[...].

Pind.

91 b

Y

YOuth Undisciplin'd usually Wicked and Unhappy. See [...]. 92

X

XEnodochium, [...], A receptacle for Strangers. A House alwayes to be found in Philadelphia, that is, a Country where men love all their Neighbours as Brothers. 175 b

FINIS.

[Page]

Information about this book

Title statement

Bentivolio and Urania in four bookes / by N.I. D.D.

Ingelo, Nathaniel, 1621?-1683.

Edition statement

1660

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

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Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-11 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A67906

ID [STC]

Wing I175

ID [STC]

ESTC R16505

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

12340439

ID [OCLC]

ocm 12340439

ID [VID]

59865

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(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A67906)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 59865)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 920:2a)

Source

— Bentivolio and Urania in four bookes / by N.I. D.D., Ingelo, Nathaniel, 1621?-1683..

Extent

[30], 283 p.

Printed by J.G. for Richard Marriot, and are to be sold at his shop ...,. London :: 1660.. (Reproduction of original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.) (Epistle dedicatory signed: N. Ingelo.) (Index: p. [21]-[30].) (Errata: p. [30]) (With: Bentivolio and Urania, the second part, in two books / by Nath. Ingelo. London : printed by J. Grismond for Richard Marriott, 1664 (Wing I179).)

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