[...]
The Innocent Lord
Who but a Joseph could resist the dart
Of such a tempting beauty, witt, and art
And haue noe fiery wound within his hart.

THE INNOCENT LORD; OR, THE DIVINE PROVIDENCE. BEING The incomparable History OF JOSEPH. WRITTEN Originally in FRENCH, and illustrated by the unparallel'd Pen of the Learned De CERIZIERS, Almoner to my Lord the Kings brother. AND Now rendred into ENGLISH BY Sir WILLIAM LOWRE Knight.

London, Printed by S. G. for Charles Adams, and are to be sold at his shop at the sign of the Talbot near S. Dun­stans Church in Fleetstreet. 165 [...].

THE TRANSLATORS APOLOGIE.

Gentlemen and Ladies,

YOu may judg me little Souldier, less Courtier, and least of all Lover, by the order of my title in this Dedication. I must confess civility would oblige me to preferre the fairer sex, but the History here displaies not the [Page] vertues of an Innocent Lady, but of an Innocent Lord, not of a Genevieva, but a Joseph; this I hope will excuse me; I cannot doubt of your judgements, and therefore shall not need many words in the be­half of this work; the same favour you afforded to my former translation, I presume cannot be wan­ting unto this, since it hath some advantages a­bove that, wch may justly challenge a prehemi­nence; [Page] the Authour is the same, the frame and impression newer in the Original, the History Ca­nonical, the several passa­ges as pleasant and as pas­sionate, and the Discourse as elegant, and as full of variety. A Romance well penn'd, may be tolerated; an Authentique story as well rendred, should be cherished; but a Divine Legend ought to be reve­renced & adored, though in a simple dresse, especi­ally [Page] when so magnifi­cently set forth by so e­minent and ingenious an Artist as de Ceriziers; if it loses any thing of its lu­stre, I must impute it wholly to my unfortu­nate Version; yet pardon small faults (if you meet with any) and let my mo­desty obtain this privi­ledge, that you will read it over advisedly, and then censure freely, and spare not

Your humble servant WIL. LOWER.

TO MY LADY, THE COUNTESSE OF CHALAIS.

MADAM,

I Protest in the first place, that though I offer you this work, I seek not either the effects of your benevolence, or the protection of your power, because I feel my heart as clear from interest, as I know my soul exempt from fear. I have had sufficient good fortune, not to finde hitherto in the address of my works, but the sole thing which I sought therein, which was the honour to [Page] render my testimony publick upon the esteem of some particular persons. Though it seems that my present con­dition should excuse a more mixt in­tention, and the change of life that I have made might give me thoughts lesse noble, I protest yet once again, that I look not upon either your de­fence, or your benefits. I give li­berty to all the world to examine my writings, without pretending any safeguard against the Academy; but I request you that without consider­ing my offering, you would deign to suffer the affection that consecrates it you. You should not deny me this honour, since it is no longer free for me to obey you, though you your self should have a will contrary to the in­clinations which your excellent merit gives me. Your generosity hath pre­vented me with so many favours, that it is impossible for me to retain that testimony of my resentment. Not­withstanding without declaring my self more openly upon the motives [Page] of so just a gratitude, permit me Ma­dam, to say that one of your bounties alone is capable to ravish from me all the heart that I have, and to ravish it from me everlastingly. You have de­sired to know me in a conjuncture, wherein many persons, whom I belie­ved to have gained either by my servi­ces, or by their promises, have feign­ed not to know me. You apprehen­ded not that my misfortune was con­tagious, nor that my misery might be troublesome to you: Your courage extended it self unto me even in an estate, which rejecteth very often the most generous courtesies. In which to speak the truth, you have done that which belongs not but to the greatest souls, who never withdraw themselves from an unfortunate party, provided that he be innocent. Though I should not love that little vertue which you suppose in me, your judgement would sollicit me to be amorous of it; inso­much, Madam, that I have you the ob­ligation not only to believe me, but [Page] also to render me vertuous. Certainly if beauty be the glory of bounty, (as Plato will have it) I judge by that lau­dable profusion, which you have u­sed in my behalf, that yours how per­fect soever it be, is unfaithful, since it sheweth not upon your visage all the treasure of your soul; and that you are much better, then you appear fair. I hope from the mercy of God (notwithstanding any crosse that may come unto me from fortune) that he will continue me the good motions, which his Grace inspires me; and that for the favourable thoughts, which you have of them, he will give me the means to publish to all the world the just cause that I have to be all my life,

MADAM,
Your most humble, and most obedient servant De CERIZIERS.

TO THE READER.

READER,

I Pretend not to make thee a Pre­face greater then my Book; there needs but a word or two to say unto thee, that this Patriarch is but one of the Infants of my wit, and that thou ought­est to see the others, if thou cherishest the true History. I promise thee not all those whom God promiseth to his servant Abraham, thou wouldst have then more cause to fear then to hope, because I should be lesse obliging then troublesome. Expect all those whom thou desirest, since I am resolved to give thee as many of them as thou wilt receive: I will not stop my de­sign but where thou shalt bound thy desire. Thou shalt finde a style more extended then [Page] in my reflections; but thou wilt judge also that if the Discourse requires sinew and point, the ingenuity and the words apper­tain to the History. I husband thee my wit following the nature of the subjects which I handle, deny me not neither thy attention, nor thy patience. I perswade me that thou wilt not have the scruple of those, who give all the force and goodnesse of their thoughts to the robe and profes­sion of their Authour; as if the dew of Heaven falls not but upon the mountains, and the depth of the valleys were deprived of that sweet influence. It would not be without ingratitude, if I should deny that little capacity which I have, to the Reli­gion which hath bred me; but it would be sottishnesse to believe that I should have left there my reason, being obliged to come forth from thence. This misfortune might be feared of a person, who should not have had piety for a motive of his change; for my part, I expect recompence for it rather then punishments. Those who know me, will judge, that I have not acted but by good principles. One should judge unwor­thily [Page] of the courage of Joseph, to believe that the persecution of his brothers, or the ambition of greatnesse▪ had conducted him into Egypt. The onely necessity to nourish his Father, whom the Providence of God had rendred poor, obliged him to quit the land of Promise. I adore that Providence, which hath charged me with the same duty, and I conjure it, if it be for my good, and its glory, to clear the truth thereof. I a­bandon without trouble my fortune to a goodnesse, to which I referre willingly the cares of my salvation: Saint Paul per­mits the wise to judge of all things, I have no mind to limit their power: What se­verity soever they use in my behalf, I re­spect their judgement without distrusting their justice. For those who have not recei­ved the same Authority of the Apostle, and of their prudence, I as little seek their approbation, as I fear their censure. Thanks unto God, all those that judge are not of the Parliament; one may mock at their prate, if they cannot defend it. As I despise generously the liberty of fools, who make themselves arbiters of the most im­portant [Page] affairs of the world, I reverence with submission the examen of those that resemble thee. But if this short Declara­tion renders me not worthy of thy esteem, and that thy curiosity cannot be satisfied from my own testimony, addresse thee to the R. R. P. P. Jaquinot, le Cazre, Saint Mary, Marquenat, Dagonel and Ricueil; I assure me that thou wilt un­derstand from them that I have done without crime, what I think I ought to doe in conscience. I have received too much honour in their company to fly it, I have lived innocently enough to abide there: my departure is the tyranny of an indispensable necessity, and not the humour of a ridiculous inconstancy. But if I have not found in Religion a succour which I seek in the world, assure thy self that some other reason then my defects, hath hindred the effect of the most ardent of my desires. After the suffrage of these great men which I have observed, because they have examined my change, I assure me that no body will condemn it, but those who have neither the interests of Fathers or Mo­thers, [Page] nor the sense of true children. My dear Reader, attend the rest of my Apology, from that which remains of my life; the honour which I shall endeavour to conserve me amongst good men, shall lay the foun­dation of all the praise that I pretend from thy good will. I tell thee this, be­cause I desire to keep me in thy memory, protesting that I should be very sorry that my style should please thee, if my conduct might displease thee.

JOSEPH, OR, THE DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

NEver saw Egypt a fairer day, then that which began the glory of Joseph: the Heaven communicated new lights to illustrate the apparel of his triumph; and the Earth seemed to paint her self to appear beauteous to the eyes of this new God. The trum­pets made so pleasing a noise, that all the houses became so many Eccho's to repeat it. The tape­stries were no more the ornament of the walls, but the litter of the horses, which trampled up­on indifferently both the purple and the silk; it would be hard to finde all the Mines of Gold, which shone in the streets of that proud City; the pearles and diamonds passed for common stones. What need I say that the Heroes and souldiers were cloathed with cloth of gold and cloth of silver, the beasts of charge and E­lephants being covered therewith, would not leave that advantage unto man; the Princes of [Page 2] the Court were so glorious, and so proudly a­dorned, that without appearance of deceit, they might have been taken for Kings. One would have thought that the Ladies had bor­rowed other visages then their ordinary ones; all was changed, whilest our slave led the heart of Pharoah in triumph. This spectacle had no­thing in it of low, as no body had mean exta­sies. But perhaps the glory of so magnifick a pomp rather wearies your eyes, then recreates them; and to consider longer these marvels, would but augment your trouble. The Sun is alwayes fair, notwithstanding one hath often­times more pleasure to see him rise on the top of a mountain, then to admire him in his Meridi­an; because his first raies suffer themselves to be look'd upon, whereas it seems that that great ex­cesse of light, with which he is gloriously en­compassed, is but to hide him from our eyes, or to punish our curiosity. Perhaps the Infancy of our Patriarch will please you no lesse then his perfect age, and his first vertues then his full perfection: and as there is an all-particular Providence that made him passe from contempt unto glory, so I would fain make him appear mi­serable at first, to the end that you may consider him with more pleasure in the happinesse of his fortune.

It was in the fourteenth year of Jacobs ser­vice, that Rachel was mother of another child, [Page 7] then that of her servant Bilhah, and saw her sel [...] payed for all her prayers, wherewith she impor­tuned Heaven. This childe-bed made her more happy, though lesse fruitful then her si­ster, forasmuch as shee possessed more in this onely son, then Leah had in all hers. If the benefits of Grace surpassed not infinitely those of nature, it would be hard to judge which of the two had been more liberal to him; and without doing wrong to the one or the other, it might have been said that he had all the ver­tues of his father, and the beauty of his mother. So many graces perfectionated his body, that all which could have been wish'd him, was no more the object of a reasonable desire. Often­times the neighbours would come unto the house of Laban, to see onely his visage, (which dissipated the blackest sorrowes) and to carry unto their house the contentment which they fonnd in his company.

That which most powerfully ravisheth hearts, hath a lustre more glorious then that of the colour, and is fixed to something more noble then the body. An Ancient saith, that beauty is the facility of the eyes, though to speak pro­perly, it is ordinarily but the ruine of souls, or at best but the perfection of women. Our lit­tle Infant had other attractions, since he posses­sed that beauty, which is not beloved, but of pure souls, and of him who glories to be the [Page 4] Spouse of them: It is true, that his age see­med not yet to be that of vertue; notwithstan­ding it appeared so visibly on his visage, and in all his actions, that one might think it was a part of that spirit which animated them, or if it were any thing separate, that it was rather born with him, then gotten by the custome of practising it: above all, there was seen so rare a modesty in him, that all his companions could correct themselves by his example, and regulate themselves by his conduct. It was she that opened, and that shut his eyes; it was shee that made him speak by civility, and be silent by discretion: it was she that counted his pa­ces, and that compos'd his countenance: it was she that governed him so absolutely, that he never offended the meanest of the servants, not so much as with one word spoken in con­tempt, or escaped by precipitation; this good quality rendred him amiable unto men, and his piety unto God. Never rose he, or went to bed, but he made his little devotions, and though he could scarce pronounce the name of God, he adored the Majesty of him. It was a pleasure which drew tears of joy from his fa­ther and mother, to see him pray with so good a grace; and to speak truth, even those who had no interest in his good inclinations, would be troubled not to please him. Who could behold without ravishment, a childe of five [Page 5] or six years to adore God with an affection so instant and recollected, as if he had had no i­magination, or that his imagination had been determined to this onely action? To see him on his knees, his hands joyned, his eyes halfe shut, one would have thought that it was a statue of marble, if those lips had not given some motion to his prayer, or an Angel, if he had not sighed sometimes. I speak not of the re­verence with which he honoured his parents; the belief thereof is easie through the sweetness that rendred him pleasing to all the world. One might produce many proofs thereof, but it sufficeth me to assure that there was no cho­ler so kindled, nor rage so fierce that would not be changed in his presence. Jacob knew it well; this good Patriarch vexed with sorrowes, which for twenty years had not suffered him to breath; besides, believing to have bought two wives, and some sheep too dear, resolved to take his leave, since that his father in law refused him. Behold then this holy man con­strained to cover himself with the same dark­ness that Thieves and Robbers hide themselves under: hee departed in the night with his Train, for fear the brightnesse of the day might publish that which he would keep secret, (I leave that which arrived during this flight to Laban, as not belonging to my subject; this man which was to wrestle with God, feared [Page 6] the encounter of a brother, whom his vertues had made an enemy to him. His former mena­ces, that fury, which rendred him more sa­vage then a Bear, the hair with which he was covered, gave him more fear of his hate, then blood and nature assurance of his love.

Notwithstanding chusing rather to hazard once his life, then to lead it alwayes in so pain­ful labours, he fixed himself to his first design, from which all the considerations that he had, could not divert him. After having thought of the means of his reconciliation, the cruelty of Esau seemed not unto him an invincible passion. That thought which hee approved most of all upon this subject, was to divide his Train into two Bands, and to send them suc­cessively to the encounter of his brother: but the secret of the Artifice was to put Joseph and his mother in the last, to the end that their beauty mingled with the sweetnesse of so piti­full a spectacle, might change the heart of this barbarous man, if the massacre of those that preceded it, nor the consideration of blood had not stopped his fury.

I know not what Magick an innocent beau­ty useth, but we see the effects as admirable, as the causes thereof are secret and little known: how many times have we seen Tyrants become Idolaters of those whom they persecuted, and take the subject of their love, from whence [Page 7] they drew the motive of their hate? The Ti­gers themselves, and the Panthers, have they not quitted their nature, to take sweeter senti­ments then is necessary to devour innocents? The Lions and the Leopards have rendred them homage, humbling their cruelty before those whom they thought to devour: they have adored their victime, and their prey; the artifice of Jacob was not then evil, since hee endevoured to take his brother by that which gained the most savage beasts. Notwithstan­ding, God disposed thereof otherwise, and because he would not divide with any one the acknowledgement of that benefit, he would that he should owe all the obligation thereof to his goodnesse. Esau becomes man, and re­ceives him with caresses, who expected nought from him but persecutions. It was at the sight of this happy Canaan, that Jacob seemed to live another life then that which he led in Me­sopotomia; and though two great Rivers give it its name and fecundity, that land notwith­standing appeared unto him more faire and more fertile then that where appeared the first Paradise of man. The joy to have no more Esau, the hope to embrace the good Isaak, gave so sweet sallies to his heart, that hee thought he should have need of some misfor­tune, to moderate his joy. Whilest that they travelled towards Hebron, they perceived a lit­tle [Page 8] Town situated on the browe of an Hill, which defended it from the North. Our Pa­triarch no sooner saw it, but he commanded all his people to put themselves on their knees, which he first did himself, to give them exam­ple of obedience. This command could not be without reason, coming from so wise a man. Notwithstanding, Rahel took the li­berty to ask it him, which obliged him to tell them, that it was the place where the Messias should take birth, and begin that which God onely could finish. Alas, how difficult is it for prosperity to last long, and how hard to finde a happinesse constant out of that residence which is to be eternal? Jacob began to be no more miserable, when the most sensible of all his afflictions arrived unto him, it was the death of his poor Rahel, who could not give life to her Benoni without losing it her self. I leave the regrets and the tears, which followed her death; but I cannot passe in silence an action that preceded it, since it touched Joseph. His good mother seeing that her life would hence­forth advantage him nothing, desired that the last moments thereof should be useful unto him: Having then caused him to come to her, shee leaned upon his bosome, and moistening his visage with her tears, she spake unto him in this manner.

My son, I cannot die without bidding you [Page 9] adieu, and wishing you a blessing, which I beseech the will of Heaven to accomplish. I am in a condition, where interest makes no body speak; therefore if I leave you any ad­vice, I suppose you will not believe that any consideration of mine comes to mingle there­in.▪ I have alwayes as much loved your vertue and good inclinations, as your person; it is therefore I desire you but so much life, as they shall last. It is not the fear of your inconstan­cy, that makes me speak in this manner, but the ardent desire which I have of your perfe­ction. Make then your vertue to grow with your age, and never think to have enough of those goods, whose abundance can make no excesse: Let the service of our great God bee your principal occupation; be never wanting to the respect which you owe to your good father; and if you owe any thing unto her from whom you derive your birth, know, that I transferre all the right thereof unto him, to the end to augment your respects and your services. You have a great number of bro­thers, let love tye you more unto them then nature, and let the honour which you beare them be a mark of your good will. Never give their actions an ill interpretation, and if any one of yours displease them, endevour to amend it. Keep alwayes your spirit prepared for injuries which you may receive; perhaps [Page 10] this advice of mine is not unseasonable: Ha­ving so perfect a resemblance with your father, I fear that you should resemble him also in this. The affliction of the younger brothers is one of the inheritances of your house; the son of Hagar could not endure the son of Sarah; E­sau persecuted your father in the belly of Re­becca; take heed that the same happen not un­to you; but if God permit it, think that your affliction shall be rather a testimony of his love, then an effect of his hate. Adieu my dear sonne, and retain the last words of your poor mother.

There is nothing more true then this opi­nion, which will that an innocent life ends alwayes with an happy death. Rahel had scarce ended the last word of those which shee left to her son, but she ceased to live, with so much constancy that it was easie to judge, that the fairest face of the world, feared not that which is esteemed the most ugly. But certain­ly if her courage shewed the contempt of her death, the tears of her friends witnessed enough how precious her life was to them. The poor Joseph, who had received the soul of his mo­ther upon his lips, remained long time in a sound upon her body; and as their embrace­ments had straitly united them, one would have believed that death not able neither to se­parate them, nor chuse them, had not offen­ded [Page 11] the mother without hurting the son. O how happy had he been, if that death had dured more then a quarter of an hower, since he must not live longer but to suffer, nor suffer but to instruct himself from the experience of his meaner evils, how he should prepare him­self for the miseries of slavery. Let us not engage us in the regrets of this desolate fami­ly; the silence of great griefs makes them bet­ter comprehended, then the Discourse that one endevours to make thereof; the eloquence of a few sighs is stronger then that of many words. Jacob had never so much trouble as to leave that which rested to him of his dear wife; notwithstanding he must quit it, and receive for consolation the confidence to be more aided by her intercession, then by her presence. And then being perfectly submitted to the will of Heaven, he consented that it should enrich it self with the most precious of his losses, and that it should encrease its felicities with his miseries. These considerations, and time having given some comfort to his grief, he continued his way towards Hebron, where he was no sooner arrived, but the good Isaak ran to meet him; (if to goe so fast as one can may be said to run) What pen is capable to describe the caresses, which were sweet enough to leave no more bitternesse in the heart of Ja­cob, and to blot out the remembrance of 20. years travels?

[Page 12] All the children of this holy Patriarch par­ticipated of this encounter, but Joseph took the greatest part thereof; there was not one of them that admired not the Majesty of that Venerable old man, who had never been so, if the Angel had permitted him to obey entirely, and if God had not loved him better for of­fering, then for victime.

Some days being passed away in feasts and rejoycings, every one resumed the cares of good Husbandry. Isaak was very glad to see that idlenesse never found his nephewes at lei­sure, and that their diligence received not such soft temptations as those of sloth; but his joy was perfect, when he observed in Joseph that couragious vertue, which had almost made him the Martyr of Abraham, though Abraham should not be the Tyrant of Isaak; and to say true, it was a thing very considerable to see with what attention this little innocent stu­died the desires of his parents, and how care­full he was to know their inclination. Of­tentimes his obedience prevented their com­mand, for fear they might have the trouble to speak, and hee the blame to know their will without accomplishing it. The difficulty rendred his obedience more ready, and if he found excuses, it was to cover the imperfecti­on of another, and not to flatter his negli­gence.

[Page 13] All those that saw him without envy, saw him with love. The father who had long time dissembled his contentment, resolved to give him testimonies thereof, and to make them appear with more lustre, he caused a melley coat to be made him, where the blue, the carna­tion, the white, and the other colours, were so perfectly mingled, that every one could judge that art hath those beauties which surpass the natural. Infancy pleaseth it self more with that which shineth, then with that which pro­fiteth. Our young man held yet of that age; so ware he not this coat but with the sallies of an innocent joy, but too simple: poor child, you know not that to cover you with this coat, was to charge you with the hatred of your brethren, and that the love of your father should be the chief cause of your misfortunes. This favour was so grievous to the eyes of the other children of Jacob, that they could not long dissemble their displeasure. Nothing was heard but plaints and murmures in their house; some of them were bold enough to say, that he loved this minion like a Legiti­mate, and his eldest like Bastards; it was not hard to fore-see the evil consequence which so many ill words promised. Isaak▪ blinde as he was, saw it well, and to bring some sweet remedy to this evil, he was of opinion that Jo­seph should withdraw himself for some days [Page 14] from the presence of his brethren; this coun­sel was thought good, and the means to exe­cute it easie.

It was supposed that the children of Bil­hah, and of Zilpah, would suffer Josoph more willingly, then those of Leah, who knew too well the advantages of their birth. Behold him then made a Shepherd as well as his bre­thren; the innocence of this life gave him such perfect joyes, that he would scarce change his sheep-hook for a Kings Scepter: The sense of these delights made him believe that he had not lived until then; and that to amuse him in his fathers house, they had made him to see the pictures of that which he had before his eyes in the fields. The Meadowes produced him not more flowers then pleasures; it was from thence that he took occasion to admire the rare perfections of God, and to say unto him in the excesses of his devotion, Oh my God, how fair art thou! since that a little Tract of thy incomparable beauty can make us to love the Earth. How rich art thou! since thou drawest such precious treasures from the dirt.

There was by this Meadow a Wood, where many Brooks seemed to take pleasure to re­pose in the shade; at least their flight was so slow, that the eye could scarce judge from whence they came; and whether the same [Page 15] roots which fixed the poplars in this pleasant abode, did not retain them here also. Every day a great number of Birds invited our Pa­stour to seek there the fresh; and very often the heat of the mid-day constrained him to goe thither, though the sweetnesse of this Musick had not allured him. This solitude pleased him infinitely, because he had means to sigh there at his pleasure, and to send a thousand times a day his heart into Heaven. I believe that he had taken root in this Wood, if ne­cessity had not sometimes diverted him thence, and if he had not taken pleasure to wander up­on the bank of that fountain, which was the mother of so many rivulets, and the source of so many pleasures.

It was there that he purified his soul, not with the waters of the Fountain, but rather with the tears of Devotion, which he ming­led therein. After having passed a part of the day to see the Trees and the Birds to swim in this water, he remained the Evening upon its Banks to consider the Stars, which seemed to descend from Heaven to bathe themselves there. But Joseph had nobler thoughts, and though his discretion would conceal them carefully, the excesse of his love made it break forth without designe. My God, (cryed he) that I have not a soul so disposed to receive the impression of thy holy graces, as this water [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [Page 1] [...] [Page 2] [...] [Page 7] [...] [Page 4] [...] [Page 5] [...] [Page 6] [...] [Page 7] [...] [Page 8] [...] [Page 9] [...] [Page 10] [...] [Page 11] [...] [Page 12] [...] [Page 13] [...] [Page 14] [...] [Page 15] [...] [Page 16] entertains the image of all the objects that present themselves there? And then taking a­nother cogitation, he said, Thou wilt then, Love of my soul, thou wilt give me the fore­tastes of the Beatitude, which thou preparest for me in Heaven: I march already upon the Stars, and I have under my feet that which shines over my head; is it not to teach me the contempt, and the innocent hate of the fairest things, to the end not to love but that, without which nothing is fair? If it be thy designe, it is my desire; if it be thy will, I consent thereunto, and embrace it, so much the more willingly, as this inclination is conformable to my duty. His thoughts were yet better then the words with which he ende­voured to expresse them.

Thirty days slid away in a life so full of de­lights, when an unlucky accident came to in­terrupt the course thereof. Joseph having stay­ed one day too long in the Sun, whose heats were then excessive, returned home with a vi­olent Feaver; his brothers fearing, if more evil should happen, that their father would suspect them of some malice, or at least would blame them of negligence, would send him to He­brou, the most conveniently that it was possi­ble. If Jacob was sick with this dear childe, I must leave the judgement thereof to those who have, and who love children: So it was that [Page 17] the good care which was used to procure him health, put him soon out of danger, and his father out of apprehension. The joy of this recovery was not long, forasmuch as Joseph having discovered a crime, which must not have name in the History, since it hath no or­der in nature, his brothers kindled the more their hatred against his vertue: To make him feel some effect thereof, they formed a­gainst him the most blackest & sottish calumny that could be imagined. The good opinion wch Jacob had of Ioseph, was an ill disposition to the successe of their design. Notwithstanding he must hear all that which rage would vomit forth of unjust against the vertue of this Inno­cent. One told him that it was no marvel if this minion drew all his good will to the pre­judice of those that should divide it with him, since it was an effect of his Magick, and not of his merit: that the familiarity which he had with the Devils was not to be doubted, since his prudence had taken so little care to cover it, that an whole Province could know it. For my part, (said one of them) I have often­times seen him speak to the Moon, and make the Trees change place: Another assured, that he surprised him in the Wood, where he made an infinity of tears with a rod, with which he drew the souls from Hell: A third swore that he had made him see upon the sur­surface [Page 18] of the water, and in the nails the ima­ges of all that which he desired. There was not one of them that indeavoured not to tell some fair lye, and to give evil impressions of him whose vertue was odious unto them. But certainly their malice and his innocence rui­ned the faith of this calumny, in augmenting rather his glory, then furthering his contempt. Slander is very impudent, yet not enough so as to look upon a face without shame, which it indevours to sully without cause. Ioseph was absent when his brothers represented him in such evil colours; nothing rendred their ma­lice more bold, then the pretext that they took of his piety, and of the devotions which he practis'd. Behold an accident that seemed to aid their intention, and give some shadow of truth to that which could not have the light thereof.

A few dayes after Jacob invited his children to his Table, to the end to finde the means to reconcile them in that common rejoycement; but he considered not how farre their hatred went, and that envy is not pacified, whilest she sees prosperity, where she wishes nothing but miserie.

After many discourses, some one having set forth that oftentimes sleep represents us things, the event whereof is conformable to the Ima­ges that one hath had thereof. Ioseph taking [Page 19] the word, began a discourse which ended not with the approbation of all the company; for though it was innocent, it was not pleasing.

My brethren, (said he) since the occasion presents it self, give me leave to recount unto you two or three of my dreams, and be plea­sed to hear the pleasant imaginations that I have had some days since; it seemed unto me one of those nights, that we were in a great Plain, covered with the richest Harvest that one could desire, and that each of us having bound a sheaf, yours encompassed mine round about, and did reverence unto it. Never had I a more pleasing illusion then this, because you would have said to see them, that they had reason so to doe, and that my sheaf was the Queen of all the others.

Some days after I had another dream, which puts me upon the hazard to be thought foolish in my sleep; for me thought t [...]at the Sun, the Moon, and eleven of the most glit­tering Stars fell from Heaven, and prostrated themselves before me: their brightnesse see­med to be obscured in my presence, as if the glory of my visage had had the power to do to all those lights, what the greatest of all the Stars causeth to be done to the lesser, with this difference, notwithstanding that the Stars hide themselves for fear to court the Sun, whereas the obscurement of their raies was an humble [Page 20] homage which they rendered me. Whilest our young man related that which he had seen in his sleep, there was not one of his brothers that hoped not but their calumny should be propped with these dreams. It was all the fruit which they gathered from these sheaves, and the only brightnesse which they drew from that Sun. But as Simeon made reflexion upon that which these dreams might signifie, he cryed out with a voice that made sufficiently appear his evil heart. Perhaps we shall be your servants; his furious looks made up the rest of his discourse. The poor father, who saw his indeavour succeed contrary to his intention, and who penetrated enough into the mysteries of those visions, judged it fit to dislike them in apparence, to the end to content those, who held themselves offended therewith.

You may be ashamed, Joseph, to relate these fooleries with so much complaisance, as if they were true Histories. Do you not blush to have an imagination that makes the sheaves to go, and the Stars to dance? You should have concealed, if you had been wise, a thing which cannot bring you but confusion and en­vy; and then turning himself towards the o­thers: you have no reason to expound so ill the dreams of a childe; do you not see that there is no apparence to give the sense as you interpret them; if they were reasonable, I [Page 21] should have the same interest as you. For if you are the Stars, I am your Sun, and if I am a Sun, is not Rabel that Moon which eclipses my lights, since she hath lost all hers? But alas, her sorrowful death hinders her much to increase, and to advance the glory of her mise­rable son. This sweet remembrance drew so many tears from the eyes of Jacob, and molli­fied so his heart, that compassion changed al­most the hearts of his children, and made them forget their murmure. Let us not busie our selves to describe the artifices which this good father imployed to settle peace in his house. When he spake to his eldest, he pick'd out his fairest words wherewith to sweeten their exas­peration: On the contrary, he composed himself with so much severity for the innocent Joseph, that his brethren believed easily his dis­grace. This policy having taken away or di­minished their envy, all went happily enough; but Jacob desiring that this good correspon­dence might not be for a day, prayed his chil­dren to go to Sichem, to the end to withdraw them from the occasions of contention. The necessity of affairs was the pretence of this voi­age, though this desire was the true cause thereof. Some time after their departure, he judged it expedient that Joseph should visit them, for fear that they should take suspition of their remove, and that they might not be­lieve [Page 22] that this Favourite was only kept at home with their Father to receive his Cares­ses with more safety. This resolution being setled, he commanded him to chuse fruits, and comfitures to carry to his brethren. There is I know not what prudence in us that seems to fore-see, and advertise us of our ill fortunes: Joseph found no difficulty in this obedience; notwithstanding he represented in his ordina­ry simplicity, that the night pass'd, he belie­ved to have seen seven or eight Wolves, which pursued a Lamb, whose ruine had been certain had not a generous Lion undertaken its defence and scattered them. This vision made the good Patriarch weigh the design of sending his son to Sichem, notwithstanding the rescue of that Lion assured him: and then he judged not fit to take all the dreams of a child for myste­ries. Beh [...]ld then our little Shepherd, who disposed himself to go towards his brethren, and who bid adieu to those of the house: a­bove all he embraced his poor father so strait­ly, that he could scarce separate himself from him; he received his blessing with such sweet tears, that the sense thereof passed even to the heart of Jacob. Adieu, Joseph, adieu; since an all-particular Providence conducts you. You cannot fail in your obedience, although you may much suffer: Oh if your good fa­ther knew how many tears this Voiage will cost [Page 23] him; if he knew how many evils hang over your head; if he knew that you are that Lamb which you spake unto him of; if he knew that your brothers were the Wolves, which would tear you, without doubt he would not expose thus your life to their fury.

Let us accompany our Pilgrim, and if it be possible, let us not go from him. Sometimes he turned himself towards his fathers house: To see his countenance, one would judge that he left it with regret, and that not able to goe there, he sent there his sighs. He approached notwithstanding to Sichem, and at the same time to his death, and misfortunes. He with­drew himself from his father, and with the same pace from his contentments. One might judge that he saw all this: but he chose ra­ther to be miserable then disobedient. At last he arrived at a field where he thought to meet his brethren: but finding them not, he took a way which led him into so fearful a solitude, that any one, as well as a young man of sixteen years, would have been affrighted; a leaf trembled not without making him tremble; every precipice was unto him a sepulchre. Fear perswaded him easily, that the rocks raised not themselves, but to fall upon his head, and that the deeps opened not themselves but to bury him. These apprehensions will last as long as the Forest. As he engag'd himself in another [Page 28] Labyrinth, & wandred in a stubble field, he met with a man who demanded him, where goe's Joseph? The astonishment to hear himself named by an unknown person, made him a little pensive; notwithstanding he replyed, that he sought his brothers, where any one (that would do him the favour) should shew him them. I cannot (answered the stranger) shew you precisely the place where they are; yet I have heard them say, that they would goe unto Dothan. After this answer, he took leave, when this unknown said unto him, desire you nothing should be made known to your father Jacob? I hope to see him again very speedily, replyed Joseph; that cannot be (answered the stranger) as he was carelesse on his way, Jo­seph continued his, making reflection on the salutation, and last words of this man. The curiosity to see him again, made him to re­turn; but though he looked all about very care­fully, he saw no body, which gave him many divers conjectures, not able to discern the true from those that were not so. In this perplexi­ty, he perceived the Troop of his brothers, who reposed at the mouth of a Wood. As he was near enough to be heard of them, he salu­ted them with all the civility possible; Sime­on who was the most cruel of his persecutors, rendred him no other complement but this: Behold our trifler, behold that fair dreamer; [Page 25] well, let us revenge us at this instant of all the injuries that he hath done us, to teach him how so many sottish and ridiculous imaginations have profited him. Fear not to stain your hands in his blood; this action cannot be an homicide, since it will be the just vengeance of so many crimes. His words having gained his brothers, he advanced towards Joseph, he seised him by the hair, and giving him kicks with his feet, he prepared himself to give him death. Our innocent Victime trembled un­der the knife, and seeing that he could not se­cure his body, he recommended his soul unto God. His eyes were glued unto Heaven, his hands joyned, and his heart so full of resigna­tion, that it appeared on his visage, and in his discourse.

My brothers, (said he) I refuse not to die, since you will have it so; I pray you onely to pardon me that which renders me unworthy of your mercies. It is true, that if the sole in­tention can offend, I am not culpable, mine having always been innocent. But that the sincerity of my intentions may not be conside­red, I will be unworthy of your affection, since my actions have displeased you. It is better to confesse a crime, then to blame you of injustice: I condemn my self, provided that that justifie you. Strike, my brother, strike; notwithstanding I conjure you, if I [Page 26] am criminal, that your pardon, and my re­pentance may make me die innocent. Oh how a man, to whom cruelty and massacre are pas­sed into a nature, hath trouble to receive the sense of pity! Simeon who had done his ap­prentiship in Sichem, lifted up already his arm to plunge death into the bosome of Ioseph, when Reuben stopping the blow, cryed out, I must not live to see Ioseph murthered, so evil an acti­on shall never have my consent: I would that wherein he hath offended us, his youth should excuse him, and his tears perswade us.

Whilest he said this, Ioseph had opportuni­ty to dis-engage himself of Simeon, and to em­brace the knees of Iudah, whose heart capa­ble enough of pity, grew tender at these words. My brother, have compassion of the poor Iacob. These four or five words were worth him no lesse then his life, forasmuch as Iudah was in consideration amongst his bro­thers, whose wills were already divided upon the design of this murder. Nature had not only given him a supple and agile body, she had also chosen him an excellent soul; and to the end that her benefits should be entire, his tongue was capable to expresse neatly the thoughts of his spirit. It was therewith that he serv'd himself to change wholly his brethren, and to make them to be Wolves no longer: behold his Discourse.

[Page 27] How now (said he) shall it be said that the Nephews of Abraham should be Parricides, and that the indiscretion of a child should make us the murtherers of a brother? A word ill spo­ken, an extravagant dream, should it give us a resolution so enraged, and a will so criminal as to stain our hands in humane blood? I will not excuse Joseph, for fear to make your design appear unjust: but suppose that he had an in­tention to procure us evil as truly as we have received it; Tell me, if it were an Arabian that had offended us, could we do more then take away his life? If a wild beast had torn us, should we not be revenged in cutting his throat? This here is not an Arabian, his sweetnesse witnesseth that he hath other quali­ties; It is not a savage beast, nature hath gi­ven him those senses, which have nothing of savage in them. It is one of our brothers, and though his actions have rendred him unworthy of that name, our goodnesse should make him capable of our favours. And then can we put him to death without shedding our proper blood, and strike him without receiving his blowes? If he be malicious, are we obliged to resemble him? Certainly I understand not that his example should serve us for law, and though he had done us outrage, the pardon of an injury is glorious, when the revenge thereof is easie. But he hath forgotten that which he [Page 28] was; let us think of that which we ought to be. He hath conspired against our life; let us punish him in conserving his: He hath taken our honour from us, with most unjust calum­nies; let us leave him live to amend. Lastly, though we should take from him that which he can keep no longer but by our clemency, the world not knowing the equity of this action, will condemn the design thereof. And who can give it a good sense, having no obligation to presume of our innocence? Jacob, I am sure that it shall not be you, yea, I am assured that you will not approve an action wherein you are outraged. Me thinks I see this poor old man oppressed under the resentment of this sorrowful news; me thinks I hear his sighs and sobs, with which he accuses his misery. Hath he not griefs enough, without we furnish him some in so lamentable a subject? I conjure you, let us have pity of his evils; and if we are loth to save Iosephs life for the love of him­self, let us give it him to conserve that of our father. Let no man say, that a conceal'd crime is not much lesse then a known innocence, and that he that sinneth not before men, cannot be judged thereof. Every one of us hath a thou­sand witnesses, if he hath a conscience; the stings which follow a crime, do shew that no­thing can be done without being discovered. But suppose that the Fields and Forests have [Page 29] neither ears nor eyes to espy our actions: Sup­pose that our consciences could not produce any testimony against us. If he who is called the God of vengeance, and who will punish every sin with his hands, should demand ac­compt of this, what could we answer? It is he that pierceth the deeps; it is he that sees the most secret thoughts: there is not darkness enough to cover an action from him, nor cun­ning to disguise the malice thereof unto him. His eye discovers what is done above the Fir­mament, observes all the actions of men upon the Earth; and though the night vails them sometimes, she never buries them. Though we should go to offend him unto the Centre of the Earth, we should find there his Justice. And though this death were equitable in being your selves the Judges, he will have so just rea­son to punish you, as you will have none either to complain, or to blame him. Let us refer the right to revenge us into the hands of him who forbids it, and let us not stain ours in the blood of our brother. This clemency will deliver us from the reproaches of our own con­science, Ioseph from death, and our good fa­ther from a long train of miseries, which would make him either to die soon, or live long time in languishment.

Behold our little Innocent delivered from the hands of Simeon; but see an accident, which [Page 30] put his life into new dangers. Levi great fa­ther of all the Priests of the Law, willing, perhaps, to begin his sacrifices by an accepta­ble Victime, remonstrates that it was a perilous design to give life to an enemy, whose death one had balanced: That Ioseph not believing himself guilty, would never hold himself ob­liged; and that it was imprudence to have made him know a will, which for his part could not have any effect, but an irreconcilea­ble hatred. As these reasons began to shake those who inclined to sweetnesse, Reuben ad­vanced a means to save him, though in appea­rance it seemed that it would destroy him. The death of Ioseph is most just, (said he) but I finde the fashion shameful: I cannot consent that we should be his executioners, let us con­tent us to be his Judges. There is a Cystern in this solitude, let us cast him in there; it is better to famish him, then to foul our hands with so ill blood as his. This resolution was approved, without considering if it was judi­cious. The strongest but not the soundest party carried it: They drew this poor Inno­cent into the desert, they took from him that Coat, which had been the chief cause of his misfortune, they tumbled him into the Cy­stern. Each retired himself to his affairs, Io­seph remain'd plunged in the dirt of that infa­mous retrait, and in the sadnesse of that cruel misfortune.

[Page 31] Well, my God, even hitherto thou hast suf­fered malice to reign: Ioseph hath been cul­pable, because no body hath defended his in­nocence; is it not time to make the Light­ning of thy Thunders appear upon those offen­ding heads, who have meditated this outrage, and the sweetnesse of thy Providence upon him that merits it? Thou hast interest in his justification, since thou art the Protector of the afflicted; if he had not been devout, he should not be miserable. At least the pretence to ac­cuse him had been wanting to his Tyrants, if he had not had piety. Perhaps this unfortu­nate young man hath not yet tasted bitternesse enough. Oh my God, if it please thee, cast thy eyes upon him, I doubt not but thy heart which is nothing but love, but thy love which is nothing but tendernesse, will be touched with the sense of his misery, and with the de­sire to ease him of it.

Truly it is much for an humane spirit to re­present reasons unto God, to perswade him: Do we not know yet that he pleaseth himself in the sufferings of those, who receive them chearfully? and that their plaints are his con­tentments? Ioseph had already suffered much; the envy of his brothers had furnished him with malice enough to exercise the fair vertue of the afflicted. The ill words which they gave him, their calumny and their cruelty, were [Page 32] assaults rude enough to make him sigh. It was that which he did continually in his fathers house; it was that which he renued in the Cy­stern with such pitiful accents that he must have had an heart more hard then marble that would not bee touched therewith: behold some of his plaints.

Alas! must I for being obedient be there­fore miserable? and for witnessing my respect incurre thy indignation? My God, thou knowest that I was never guilty of the sins of which they accuse me, and that if I have offen­ded any one, it hath been either through ig­norance or simplicity. It is true, that my fa­ther sometimes expressed more affection to me then to my brothers; but must his goodnesse make me suspected of malice, and the Caresses which he gave not but to my Infancy, make more then the moity of my crimes? I do not say this to accuse thy goodnesse, which cannot fail, nor to justifie my innocence, which can­not be perfect, if thou use all thy rigour. Though my vertue should be without spot, thy only will would render my affliction lawful, and the fault of my enemies pardonable. I die willingly in this prison, and will no longer draw a languishing life, which is not pleasing to thee. Let hunger consume me, let the ser­pents tear me, it shall make nothing against my desire, since nothing arrives against thy Ordi­nance. [Page 33] Onely (my God) I conjure thee to forget my faults, and to have pity of the soul of that poor culpable wretch, who dyes, either to satisfie thy justice, or to obey thy holy and adorable will.

Whilest Joseph sighed, our Pastours who were gone to gather together their Flocks and Herd, came all to the place where the rendez­vouz was appointed. Reuben only was want­ing; for he stepped aside into the wood to be able safely to draw his brother out of the Cestern: His absence was not suspected of that good in­tention, having himself given the counsel to cast him in there. As he thought on the means of this deliverance, his brothers, who were on the High-way, perceived afar off a Troop of Ismaelites, who seemed to advance towards them. As soon as Judas understood that they were Merchants, it came into his thought to prolong Josephs life, since that he had not pow­er to warrant him from death. My brethren, (said he) the Image of that miserable creature appears alwayes before mine eyes; I believe if he dye in the estate wherein we leave him, that the remembrance of his death will be hence­forward a sad phantasme that will trouble me night and day. Behold, a fair occasion not only to punish, but also to profit by his malice. Let us sell him to these Ismaelites, our revenge shall be more safe, since they withdraw them­selves [Page 34] ordinarily towards Egypt. This propo­sition pleased, and was generally received of all the others, Judas accompanied with some of them ran to the Cestern. In the moment that he arrived, our innocent Joseph entertain'd himself upon the thoughts of the amorous Providence of God; as he saw in the bottom of the cave som one, that seemed to approach unto him, he easi­ly believed that it was death; he knew notwith­standing that it was the shadow of Judas, who commanded him to hold fast by a cord to be the more easily drawn forth. He obeyed up­on this belief, that they could not finde a cru­eller death, then that which was sure unto him in this pit. They led him on the way where the Ismaelites were arrived, and treated already of this purchase. Having seen how he beha­ved himself, his graceful carriage, and his beau­ty, gained so sensibly their hearts, that a load of gold would not have displeased them for this Merchandise; but those who knew not the merit of Joseph, cared not to set on him so high a price. They left him for thirty pence, as S. Augustine assureth it; may be to the end that this figure should accord to the truth, and the shadow represent perfectly its Sun. The Merchants could apprehend that this young man was not robbed, since they gave him ra­ther then sold him. Notwithstanding the de­ceit being to their profit, they counted readily [Page 35] that which they had desired of them. One of them observing their mirth, not to appear ei­ther sots, or deceivers, said unto them, Sirs, It is simplicity to deceive ones self, malice to deceive others. The bone-mine of this young man might make us to be thought fools for selling him so cheap. To the end that you have not this opinion of us, nor take a worse, I would fain advertise you of his qualities. Know that you never saw one more gentle, but take heed that the Magick, in which he excels, do not take him out of your hands. This ad­vise made them not repent to have hazarded the little which he cost them; notwithstanding the belief that he was a Magician, gave them a little more care then they would have taken of him otherwise. The poor Joseph fearing that there could not arrive unto him a greater mis­chief, esteemed that of slavery sweet enough, dissembling by the serenity of his countenance, the sadnesse of his heart.

Let us leave him with his Masters, and re­turn we to Reuben, who perhaps lost himself in the solitude where we left him. The Evening of this Journy began to approach, and the sha­dows as it were to prepare the Earth for the darkness of the night extended themselves deep­ly into the field, when the best of all the bro­thers of Joseph came to the Cestern. He lean­ed on its banks, looking of all sides, if he [Page 36] could see him whom he sought; but having perceived nothing, he called Joseph: belie­ving that he was deceived, he fixed his sight more curiously upon all the places of this Ca­vern; and seeing no more there then at first, he redoubled his voice, but Ioseph answer'd not. It was then that Reuben imagined the Serpents, and Vipers which were in great number there­about, had destroyed him. It would be hard to describe the plaints which he made upon this belief, accusing sometimes the perfidious­nesse of his brothers, and now his own wick­ednesse. A thousand sighs issued from his mouth, and as many tears from his eyes: if he should have remained long by this Cestern, there had needed no other rain to fill it but that of his eyes. But (said he) thy regrets can prevail nothing upon death; she is as deaf as blinde: Let us not lose words unprofitably, and since that my sins have caused this losse, let us shew more patience to suffer it, then we have express'd courage to hinder it. As he had fi­nished this word he put himself in indevour to seek his brothers, whom he found driving their Herds towards the Village: As far off as they could hear him, he cryed out, we have no bro­ther more, Ioseph is dead. These three words made all the company stop, who seeing on Reubons countenance the marks of his grief, took from him the errour wherein he was, ad­ding [Page 37] that necessity had constrained them to make this traffick. To ingage him in their fault, they gave him three of those silver pieces, with which they had been paid. All the night was passed in consulting on the means to cover their crime. The best expedient on which they advised themselves, was to kill a Kid, and to dip Iosephs coat in his blood, to the end to make Iacob believe, that some wild beast had devoured him in the desert, protesting with horrible Oaths, that he who should say other­wise, should not be recompensed for that piety but with death.

I assure me, my dear Reader, that you will have much trouble to see the poor Iacob in this encounter without tears, whether they be yours or his; he was sate before his door with the little Benjamin; when his children saw him, each of them composed himself so perfectly unto sadness, that one would have believed that they resented the true effects thereof. Si­meon who was to make this evil discourse, had not only disguised his visage, but his artifice was passed even unto the heart, to draw thence the sighs of the Crocodile: He had also medi­tated the simplest words that he could chuse, to the end to make no study nor policy appear in his speech. Being then come to this good Patriarch, he cried out with an accent very pi­tiful: Oh my Father, we have no more bro­ther, [Page 38] Ioseph is dead; and then drawing forth the Coat which he carried, behold all that which a cruel beast hath left us of him. Know you not the fair robe of the most amiable of your children? This was here the last word of his discourse, forasmuch as he had prepared so many sighs and tears, that the rest thereof see­med to be smothered under their abundance. To represent perfectly the first effect which this news wrought upon Jacob, it is necessary to lay a statue of marble before your eyes. The blow being not expected, it did like a Thun­derbolt whose clap suspends all our powers, until we have made reflection upon our own danger. This Image is lively enough for that first assault of grief, but we must have other shapes to represent him, when he had a little look'd upon the subject of his affliction. This poor old man taking the lamentable reliques of his son, cryed out, Ioseph is dead, my son Ioseph is no more, and then considering the spots of blood in the Coat: Oh cruel mon­ster, I may well say, since so much sweetnesse could not perswade thee that cruelty it self is thy proper nature. Perhaps I dream, and this is not the robe of my son, yet it hath the work thereof: It is the same, and where are you then Ioseph? Oh my dear Ioseph, you are dead. But if you are no more, should I live, my life being not but yours? I perceive by [Page 39] this rent of the side, that the wild beast hath planted his murtherous teeth in your innocent heart. Must thou then inhumane monster, must thou attach the source of all my loves: Alas, Ioseph is no more.

Behold all that which our afflicted Patri­arch said, making appear that his grief was true, seeing it was not eloquent, and that he suffered many evils, since he express'd them but very little. All the inhabitants of Hebron who indevoured to comfort him, had no o­ther answer but this, Ioseph is dead, will you have me live? no, no; keep your reasons for some other, who hath lesse cause to lament then I. I will that my tears accompany me even to my Tomb, and if the dead could car­ry their passions thither, I would that the grief my be immortal, and that it might make the moity of my soul. Adieu pleasures, adieu Ioseph, adieu only Ioseph, since I bid adieu to all that which is sweet and amiable in this life, in bidding you adieu. This was the only complement with which he received his comforters; soon after, as if he were returned from a long trance, he added: But it may be that my son hath quitted his robe, and that this beast hath found it. Sottish reason! thou indeavourest to deceive mee; and whence comes this blood? and why this rage against an inanimate thing? You would have belie­ved [Page 40] seeing these good, and his evil intervals, that nature restrained of grief, took breath, to the end to be more sensible of it afterward. So it was that Zabulon not able to behold longer the displeasure of his father, took a resolution to discover the secret to him, if the fear which his brothers gave him of a cruel death, had not shut his mouth. This silence was not a vertue, since to the treason against Ioseph it ad­ded the hazard to make Iacob dye. But since that our discourse can neither wipe away, nor describe the tears of this desolate father, let us permit him that which the most cruel Tyrants forbid not to the afflicted, and let us follow his miserable son into Egypt.

When the Ishmaelites were arrived to the Fountain of Shilo, which is near unto Bethle­hem, our slave perceived a Pyramid erected up­on a Tomb, which he knew to be that of his mother. The desire to give a last kisse to the marble, which covered her holy reliques, made him take his course towards that place. The Merchants who saw him stretched out upon that Tomb, had some suspition that he was a Necromancer, and that he spake to the dead, according to the belief that was given them of his Magick. Whilest they entertained themselves in this thought, Ioseph indeavour'd to discover his unto Rahel. Alas, my good mother (said he) if you keep yet that pitiful [Page 41] and loving heart, which you had formerly, will you not make it appear unto me at this present that I am loaden with these chains, with the most sensible misery, that could assault a strong patience? I am assured that your ver­tue gives you a great power with the God of Abraham; could you better imploy it then to the relief of Innocents? I desire not that my merit be the motive of your benefit, because that being so little, I cannot expect from it so notable a succour: It shall be if it please you, your goodnesse, which never found any thing difficult, provided, that it was reasonable. I desire not that God would punish the sins of my brethren, I love better their repentance then their death: I wish not that my life be pro­longed, a sweet death seems more desirable un­to me then a languishing life. Behold then the subject of all my devotions: Grant, my ami­able mother, that this stone, open it self, and permit me to dye in the same bosome, where I began to live. This favour is great, if you measure it according to the esteem that I make thereof: But then it is he whose birth wip'd away the tears of seven years, that demands it; it is he to whom you wished so many blessings, whereas you see me charged with so many mis­fortunes; It is in a word your son Ioseph: can you refuse him this favour at lesse rate then to be no more mother?

[Page 42] As he pronounced these words, his eyes ba­thed the Tomb, and his sighs made his masters understand sufficiently that he had more affli­ction in his heart, then design of Magick in his action. Having drawn him notwithstanding from this Sepulchre, where it seemed that love had tyed him, they continued their way to­wards Egypt; but it was not without thinking of his actions, and without weighing all the words of our Captive. Above all some obser­ved with much astonishment, that this young man gathered up certain little stones by that Tomb. The most judicious of these strangers seeing I know not what of extraordinary upon the visage, and in the discourse of Ioseph, be­lieved assuredly, that though he had the con­dition of a slave, he had not the birth of one. This thought gave him the curiosity to de­mand of him, why he fixed himself upon that Tomb, and who he was. The young man taking the liberty wch they gave him to speak, replyed.

Sir, If I went away from you as soon as I perceived that Pyramid, I did it not upon any apprehension not to obtain that favour from your courtesie, but the remembrance of my dear mother preventing all my other thoughts, took from me that of my duty, and carryed me farther towards her then I had permission for. Know then, that my Father passing some ten years since by Bethlehem, which you see, my [Page 43] mother was surprised in this Land with the throwes of child-bearing, of which a few days after she dyed. My Father who had al­wayes loved her, as she deserved, would yet wit­nesse it after her death, erecting her this Pyra­mid, where he graved the name of his dear wife, and that of all his childreu. The young man ended his discourse, when his master commanded him to tell the place of his birth, his name, and that of his parents: he did it with so good grace, that it was sufficient to win the heart of an Arabian, and to deserve to be freed of the chains with which he was loa­den.

One might here demand why these Ismaelites took no resolution to bring him back to his Father. The question is not so easie, as it seems at first. For to say that they believed not the discourse, which he had made them, the good usage which he received from them, shewed wel that they held him not for an Impo­stour. Was it that they knew not Iacob? This reason cannot be good, since he was nephew to Ismael their Grandfather. Perhaps they apprehended the vengeance of those who had sold him; what probability for that, since their force was equall unto theirs? Shall we believe that the fair parts of Ioseph might make them hope a great profit by his sale? I con­fesse that interest can much upon a merce­nary [Page 44] soul, but from whom could they hope more then from a father, who loved perfectly; then from a father who knew well the merit of such a son; then from a father, who al­most lived no more, in that he supposed Io­seph was dead. Though we should have brought all the conjectures, we should not have touched the true reason. I love better to reject the small appearances of my reasoning, and have recourse to that Providence which governed all the fortunes of our Ioseph; Providence which sometimes takes pleasure to blind all the wisdome of men, to the end to conduct her designs, by ways as amorous as they are un­known. How many times have we seen the wise men of the world, and those wits which we flatter with strength and intelligence, to loose discourse in the events, whereas infancy could speak Learnedly? God pleaseth him­self sometimes to make us confesse, that wee have no light, but what he thinks fit to com­municate unto us. We need not wonder then if these Ishmaelites saw not the advantages wch the deliverance of Ioseph would bring them, since God concealed them to make his designs succeed. Whilest we divert us thus pleasingly, Ioseph changes Country, and becomes a stran­ger. Some have written that he was sold twice before he entred into Egypt. That which hath made them to erre, was that they were [Page 45] ignorant that the names of Ishmaelites, of A­rabians, and of Madianites, were not but one and the same people. Howsoever it was, with­out engaging me in these difficulties, willing to unfold them, it is certain that our Mer­chants steer'd right to the Royal Town, where they believed that fortune would sooner at­tend them then any where else. Being arriv'd there, their first care was not to admire the su­perb buildings of that famous City: Every one hath his thoughts, and his divertisements, those of the Merchants are to procure them­selves riches. The occupation of ours was to expose presently their merchandises, and though the Master was troubled to resolve himself that Ioseph should be the richest piece thereof: Notwithstanding the desire of mo­ney carried him for this bout, above the consi­deration of his pleasures. It is true that he put so great a price upon him, as could buy a score of other slaves, and which would have driven away all the world, if his merit had not been as visible as his graceful behaviour. One day these Ishmaelites being upon the point to depart, a Lady of condition passed by their shop: As she perceived our slave, she com­manded her Coach to stop, and having consi­dered him, an Eunuch told the Merchants that they should not depart the Town till they had received my Ladies Orders. It was not hard [Page 46] to obey a Lady of that quality; So the stay was not long, for Potiphar sent them at the howre a Page to command them to come to his house, and to bring with them that young Cananean, whom his wife had entertained. The Kite flies not more swiftly to his prey, then these men of money rendred themselves where they hoped to find theirs. They spake without delay of the price, which appeared not excessive, because they had no sooner seen Ioseph, but they bla­med the Ishmaelites for not making the esteem of him which they ought. His countenance shewed well that he was not of the Village, and his liberty which he had free amongst his Irons. Potiphar asked him, what he could do? To which he answered with an incredible mode­sty, that he could obey; this reply was so much more pleasing, as it was lesse expected. This Lord who took pleasure to hear him, would engage him to other answers. What then, cannot one command thee any thing so hard that is not impossible for thee? My Lord, replyed Ioseph, obedience consists not in doing, but in willing, so that if one com­mands any thing above our power, our weak­nesse is rather seen then our vice. If I com­mand thee to adore our Gods, added Poti­phar? That would be impossible for me, re­plyed our slave, since you have not any. Sup­pose that they be not so as thou wilt, I can or­dain [Page 47] thee to render the same honours that we do to the Crocodiles. Then I would not o­bey, because my obedience would be a crime, by reason of a duty more pressing then the ob­ligation that I should have to accomplish your will. Whilest Ioseph gave these couragious answers, Potiphar fixing too curiously his eyes upon a face of seventeen years, took a passion for this slave, which is too filthy to be named, and without diminishing any thing of the price, told forth an hundred Crowns of gold to his Masters. God stayed not long to punish the rashnesse of a man that would profane a thing which was consecrate to him. S. Ierome assures that concupiscence was so quenched in this Lord, that not only he could not seek the for­bidden pleasures, but also he was not capable of the lawful. Perhaps the Scripture hath ta­ken occasion from thence to call him Eunuch, which could not be before, since he had a daughter ten years old.

This accident cooled the body of Potiphar, not his affection: On the contrary it increa­sed, insomuch that he took a perfect knowledge of his good qualities. Vertue makes it self al­ways to be cherished; so must it be granted that being more fair in a fair body, she hath charms more powerful, and attractions lesse avoidable; Iosephs Master learn'd this truth from his experience; for having continually [Page 48] this young man before his eyes, and not igno­rant of his perfections, by little and little he formed himself a necessity to love him, and from that love a most perfect confidence. A­mongst the good qualities with which he ren­dred himself commendable, he had one that seemed not to be of his age: It was a pru­dence so ordered, that one would think it old from an age. It was she that rendred him hap­py in Potiphars house, inasmuch as he trusted him with all the government of his house, and with the intendency of all his affairs. This confidence was not dammageable, since Ioseph was an Intelligence that could neither be sur­prised in his conduct, nor corrupted in his manners. Never suffered he himself to be van­quished with the desire of wealth, nor wearied himself to practise it. The hand of an Angel was not more clean of avarice then his; and though gold hath I know not what of glutto­nous, he could not be catched therewith. He made the riches of his Master to profit, with­out diminishing those of his neighbours. His debtors could say, that it was advantageous to them to have such a Creditour. To see the wealth of Potiphar, one would have said, that all the superfluity of Egypt flowed into his Pa­lace, and that this fair part of the world was not fruitful but for him. Judge now if this servant was used like a slave; and if his Master [Page 49] had reproaches for him. The other Dome­sticks drew not the same satisfaction from Jo­seph, forasmuch as his cares were a continual censure of their negligence. Sometimes they had temerity enough to blame a vertue which they could not imitate; but Potiphar was not disposed to their murmures, and the integrity of his oeconomy made their envy appear. Not­withstanding the assurance which he had there­of never made him insolent: On the contra­ry perswading himself that he ought as well to conserve the peace of that house as his own in­terests, he prevented the other Officers with all sort of good offices. If he presented himself any benefit, it fell by his addresse into other hands then his; making more reckoning of a friend, then of a present. Never demanded Potiphar of him an account of his companions deportments, that he had not good to say of them. This industry gained him by little and little the most savage, and the most jea­lous.

A man that treats thus with his inferiours, fails not ordinarily of the respect that he owes to his Lord: Ioseph might say that he was rather adored, then that he received honour thereby. His fortune might make him believe that he was his Favorite, notwithstanding he never thought himself but his slave. The af­fection which they bare him augmented his [Page 50] reverence, in stead of lessening it.

I have said that Potiphar had a daughter, but I have not yet said that she was so born unto good, and that all her inclinations were so innocent, that Ioseph not able to hate verue, cherished the visage thereof in his young Mi­stresse. The effects of this love were all chast and all holy, as well as their cause. As this Gentlewoman began to grow up, she began to be considered as the fairest and richest match of Egypt. Her house was ordinarily filled with young Lords, who came to make themselves slaves unto her, who would have no servants. Ioseph having known this incli­nation, and observed that the heart of Asseneth rejected all that which her eyes attracted, in­devoured to fortifie her in that resolution. When he met her aside, and that he could not be heard of her Followers, he told her so many marvels of chastity, that she deliberated from that time forward to remain always a Virgin. Observe this passage of Gods Providence, who distasted this Maid with the love of all those that sought her, to prepare her to an affection which you will presently admire.

But it seems that fortune was weary to ob­lige our Intendant, and that she feared to ac­quire the name of constant, if she obliged him longer. And to speak truth, I should love [Page 51] much better to be alwayes miserable, then not to be happy, but to resent more livelily my misfortune, and to creep in the dust, then to see my self lifted up to fall into a preci­pice. There is no beast how fierce soever he be, who becomes not gentle with us: Mis­fortunes seem to be of this nature, since the most bitter render themselves sweet by their familiarity. Poor Joseph how happy had you been in your misfortune, if they had left you to the chain; the custome of suffering would have taken away the sense of your pains, or at least it would have diminished the sharpnesse thereof.

Hitherto we have not spoken of the satisfa­ction which the wife of Potiphar had from the services of Joseph: We have said that all those of the house lov'd him perfectly, shall it be she alone that hath no heart? Oh would to God that she were all of Ice for him, her hate is more to be desired then her affection. They assure that Love hath no eyes, or if he have, he sees not a whit; this cannot be said of those that love. For if the object of their passion be present, it possesseth not only their thought, but as if all their looks belonged to it, it draws them so powerfully, that reason governs them no more. And that which is to be admired, they are so clear-sighted, that they find in that object the perfections [Page 52] that are not there. Every part is a miracle of nature, and though oftentimes that very thing, from whence they derive their love, is that which gives hatred unto others, it must be that all their comparisons come from Hea­ven, and that the names which they give them be robbed from the Angels, or from God. But retnrn we to her who must make the filthiest part of this History, and which we would have left out if the Holy Ghost himself mar­king all its particulars, seemed not willing to illustrate the glory of Joseph by the shame of this infamous woman. It is not then but too true, that he was loved of her, who owed all her heart to Potiphar, which she could not di­vide without losing it altogether. I confesse notwithstanding that her first affection had taken birth from his fair qualities, and that she was in the beginning honest; but degene­rating afterward into a filthy passion, she fixed her self lesse to the merit, then to him that possessed it. Behold as it happeneth often­times, that Vertues ingender Vices, and that the Sun produceth the shadows, which he must dissipate. Joseph perceived not so soon the malady of his Mistresse, forasmuch as he saw nothing amiable in his person, and that he had too good opinion of Cyrene, to conceive an evil one of her. It is thus that charity thinks of her neighbour, loving better to feign perfe­ctions [Page 53] in him, then to consider his defects: she doth that here which she would find All the words of complaisance which she used, were taken for a simple acceptation of service, and for a civility, which the Nobility never deny to the meanest persons.

This woman perceiving the sense that Ioseph gave to her flatteries, declared her self all open­ly, not letting any occasion passe to witnesse to him her love. She had no praises but for Joseph; all that which he did was approved, his least words were mysteries, and though she needed not to feign much to find him fair, her passion rendred him to her more amiable. If this evil had not been gone so far, there might have been means to cure it, and to give some excuse to a woman, who had no modesty. For to speak the truth, one must be extreamly cold not to be warmed by so fair a fire, and strong to make defence against so charming an ene­my. His beauty was a powerful attraction, e­ven for the souls that were not weak. The de­formity of these Moors and Aethopians, who were in the same house, serving him for um­brage, raised his lustre the more. What mar­vel was it then that a woman made like the Mi­stresse of Joseph, should suffer her self to be taken by so many enticements!

Our holy young man knew at last the evil gain that he had made; and as all was contrived [Page 54] without his consent, and against his desire, he indevoured to bring to it all the remedies that his wisdome judged necessary and profitable. The presence of the object is the support and nourishment of that disease, which they call Love; he was not ignorant of it, therefore withdrew he as much as he could from this Lady. But if necessity obliged him to do any thing in her presence, he restrained all the good grace of his action, for fear that it might be a new motive to her tendernesse. His artifices staid not there; for as he knew that they re­mained without fruit, being angry with him­self for the fault of another, he punished it in his person. He fasted, wore the cilice, and practised other mortifications, to the end to take away the handsomenesse from his body, and the beauty from his visage, which seemed to prepare him this persecution. He that kin­dles a fire, ought to quench it; when Love is unlawful, his birth is shameful, his murther commendable: the Parricide is the true fa­ther thereof; for who kills it, obliges it.

The more our Saint applied industries to dis-engage his Mistresse, the more his Mistresse invented new plots to surprise him. All her actions carried design; her looks were capable to bring impurity into a pure spirit, and to make a savage to love. Her countenance was so smooth, that it could give tendernesse to the [Page 55] most austere vertue. Even her carriage, when it appeared simple, was affected. I speak not of the sighs, with which she indevoured to shake his constancy, nor of certain papers, which she made sometimes to fly into his hands. I care not to trouble your chaste ears with the evil discourses that she held forth unto him; but to the end that you may know the strength of a great soul, I will give you part of his an­swer. The wise Physician draws Antidotes from the most cruel poison; the good Christi­an instructions from the most evil actions.

This unchaste Lady having one day declared unto him the passion that she had for him, and indevoured to draw his consent to her shameful design, he said unto her couragiously. Ma­dam, I should never have thought that a wo­man of your quality should be of your humour, and that you could have filthy passions in a condition, which obliges you to have none but noble. To speak seriously, I believe that your proceeding is not but artifice, to understand if I am as foolish, as I am young. I cannot ima­gine that a Lady, who is as it were in all the eyes of the world, who conserves hitherto so clean a reputation, who hath kept a perfect fi­delity to her husband, and who gives one of the fairest examples unto Egypt, should receive the thoughts that one might condemn. Par­don me, if I complain of the experience which [Page 56] you would make of my faith, and if I tell you that I think not to have so ill husbanded the affairs of my Lord, that I should be prodigal of his honour, which I know to be the most precious of all his wealth. Grant notwith­standing that your passion be as true, as you command me to believe it, I will not fear to tell you, that it shall always be more easie for me to dye innocent, then to live unfaithful. Should not my head most merit the Thunder­bolt of any mans under Heaven, to betray a person, whose trust obliges me to be a good man? What water would be pure enough to wash me of the spot which so wicked, and cri­minal an ingratitude would cast upon my repu­tation? My Master hath commanded that e­very one obey me in his house, (she only ex­cepted, who must command me here, what ap­pearance is there of acknowledgement of so many benefits from the most sensible outrage, that he could expect from his most cruel ene­my? But though the consideration of my duty would not take from me the liberty of so black a crime, and that your passion would abandon you to the meanest of your servants, I have higher thoughts to hinder me from being Traitor and Adulterer both together. If the God which I adore, were like unto yours, who sees not but the hay of his cratch, the assurance not to be perceived, would take from [Page 57] me the fear to be punished. But alas! his eyes pierce into the deeps, and his justice cannot suffer the least faults without punishment. Let us hide us to offend him, we shall do the same as if we should shut our eyes, to hinder a Lynx from seeing us. Let us retire into the solitudes to assure our sin: His hand will go along to take us, to punish it. The night and darkness are not more cloudy, and obscure to him then mid-day; nor the two ends of the world more distant from his Majesty, then the Centre of the Sun, where he hath chosen his habitation. What impunity can one hope in offending a God, who knows all things, and pardoneth nothing? Suffer me then, Madam, to live innocent in your house, or if my life cannot be pleasing to you being vertuous, give mee leave to seek one, where I may be acceptable being faithful.

If the passions would become sometimes tra­ctable unto reason, this discourse was wise e­nough to correct that of Cyrene; but these motions of the brutish part of man would be no more the Tyrants of his soul, if they should obey judgement; and the spirit would be absolute, if it had no longer Rebels in it's Empire. Expect not then change in Joseph's Mistresse, if it be not that these sparks kindle into a coal. Love hath this evil quality, that he stubbornly disputes against the remedies, [Page 58] and encreaseth like the flames by the agitation of all that, which is contrary to it. The re­sistance of this generous Champion was not capable to change so evil a design, nor to heal her, who took pleasure to be sick; On the con­trary, his modesty made her impudence to en­crease, and his refusal augmented her importu­nities. As we see sometimes the water to kin­dle the fire by a secret vertue, to which the Philosopher gives a name, without knowing its nature. Yet considering that her lascivious glances were no darts to vanquish the courage of Joseph, and that all the beauty which she borrowed from the fucus, and from art, could not enter into that chast heart, nor slide it self into his soul, she had recourse to other charms then her own, endevouring to make her self be­loved of an Angel, by the assistance of the De­vils, Egypt hath always been the mother of Sorceries; and if the History thereof may be believed, the Devil never found a Province, which had like dispositions to his Impostures. This poor miserable of whom we speak, ha­ving added to her former deceits great number of love-potions, and known that the vertue of Joseph was a counter-poison to all her venom, resolved her self to have recourse to a Sorce­resse, who boasted to gain all hearts, upon whom she should have design. Love, how ex­tream is thy violence, since thy motions carry a [Page 59] soul even unto Hell! How deep is thy blind­nesse, since thy obscurity extinguishes in us the fairest lights of the Heaven!

Behold then the wife of Potiphar, who came into the house of the Witch, with one sole Confident, and under an unknown habit. Vice hath sometimes the discretion to cover it self; but it pretends by this modesty to give it self more liberty, not to hinder the scandall, or to punish its malice. As soon as she saw this Proserpine, she said unto her, My good mo­ther, you know already the cause that brings me to you. The gods have not communicated unto you all their knowledge, that you should not see my disaster: I come to her who holds their power in her hand, and who hath as well as they the will to succour the miserable. Make me to resent the effects of your pity; and since you change beasts more savage then that cruel one who makes me dye, give him a moi­ty of the flames that consume me, or commu­cate me the Ice that congealeth him. If the acknowledgement of it can pay a benefit, you may be assured, that neither the power nor the will shall be wanting to me in this occasion.

My daughter, (replyed the Sorceresse) I know the cause of your coming, I know the evil that torments you, and am not ignorant of the remedy, which shall cure you. Have only a firm confidence that there is nothing [Page 60] impossible to the force of my charms, and I will lose all my credit, if you lose not all your inquietudes. Before three days be past you shall triumph on your Rebel; follow me. Having ended her promises, she conducted her Victime into a Closet filled with Skeletons of dead born infants, with skins of Serpents, with Images of wax, with blood, and with an infi­nity of such like moveables. After having filled her spirit with illusions, she put a pouder into her hand, which she should use in making it also to be mingled in Josephs meat. More­over she gave her a little piece of Virgin-parch­ment, marked with Characters written in Rere-mouse-blood, to the end to sow it into some part of his clothes. Demand not if these drugs cost dear, for nothing is chargeable to the person that loves. Profusenesse follows ordinarily Love, and poverty follows that this traffick being finished, she, who was to receive the profit thereof, returned secretly to her house, and made in few howers that which was ordained her. But Hell is too weak to o­verthrow a party, which Heaven supporteth: Its artifices could nothing against a simplicity, which the Providence of a God governeth, nor the flatteries of a woman, nor the drinks of an Apothecary, nor the Characters of a Sor­ceresse, could corrupt Joseph. He remained firm in the midst of his persecutions, his [Page 61] heart burned not but like the Seraphins, his spirit remained clean from filthy thoughts, his imagination it self received not any evil color. The love of his God made him to hate his Mi­stresse; and because he could not please him if he were not innocent, he indevoured to displease her, in refusing to be culpable. So generous a constancy should cause confusion and coldnesse in this Cyrene, and vanquish so many foul importunities; but a passion ne­ver stops it self, but in the precipice, where it must fall. When reason speaks unto it, she is not heard, because it hath no ear: When prudence shews it its duty, it despiseth it, be­cause it hath not the force to acquit it self thereof. When one represents it its punish­ments, it mocketh thereat, because it believes them not. It will not be healed, because it thinks not it self to be sick.

Cyrene obstinately persevere no more, you cannot bend this young man: you will lose him absolutely, if you indevour longer to gain him: Commonly those that will give love by force, cause nothing but aversion. This impudent pursued, and as if she had ill orde­red her artifices, she began them again. She returned to her eyes, and to her carriages, she studied new gestures, and sought out counte­nances more lascivious. Ioseph guard your self, behold the last and most dangerous of your [Page 62] combats; if you yield, your last victory is lost. Your brothers are not your cruellest e­nemies, this persecution surpasseth theirs in malice; the more sweetnesse she hath, the lesse assurance you ought to have; if she flatters, she will destroy: if she speak pleasingly to you, she inforceth her self to seduce. The praises of this woman are more to be feared then the calumnies of Issachar, and her allurements more redoubtable then the hatred of Simeon; be­cause those ruine their love, whereas these pretend to corrupt your vertue; because those endevour only to put you into disgrace with Jacob, and these desire to draw the anger of God upon you; because those have not put you but into a Cestern, and this here hath de­sign to open Hell unto you. Lastly, the worst effect of those could only separate your life from your body, and the most deplorable misfortune of these is to separate your soul from God.

It is not unto Joseph that it is necessary to represent all these reasons, the inclination that he hath unto good fortifies him more then our discourses. Let us consider this couragious young man, his vertue deserves to be regarded in this encounter. Potiphar was to assist at the Feast of the great God Apis; to render his de­votion more glorious, he would that all his Family should accompany him thither. Joseph [Page 63] who was not accustomed to adore the Calves, found a pretext, which seemed to oblige him to stay at home. Cyrene who saw so fair an occasion would not lose it, feigning then some indisposition; her husband, who loved her ten­derly, commanded her to keep her bed. Oh what a dangerous beast is a subtile woman, and what means she hath to dissemble when she goes about it. Would you believe that Potiphars wife seemed to bring much resistance to do a thing, which she desired with passion; shee sighed so tenderly, that one would have belie­ved that she would dye of devotion, and that they should be constrained to carry her to the Tomb, if they led her not to the Temple. She must notwithstanding consent to the will of her husband, which she did more through incli­nation, then duty, and keeping with her one only of her women, she commanded the others to follow her daughter. As Potiphar was de­parted, and that she imagined the solemnity was at the point, which might assure her, she commanded her Gentlewoman to call the In­tendant: This Confident, who was instru­cted, went readily to his Chamber, and said unto him that my Lady would speak with him. Poor Joseph, discover you not this plot? per­ceive you not this gin? His innocence is not subtile enough to suspect evil intentions in a sick person. He ran presently, and found his [Page 64] Mistresse half out of her bed, who entertained him with certain things, of which I desire you should not have the thought. At last these words not able to perswade this generous heart, she seised on his garment, and pressed him with kindnesses that seemed to force him. Our yong man, who knew well that the victory of this enemy consisted in the flight, left his garment in the hands of this Infamous, and got to the stairs. Cyrene not able to suffer this contempt, changed all her love into hatred, and cryed out with all her strength for help; being be­reaved of the shame which she should have, as well as of her clothes, she would cover her self with the Cloak of an Innocent, who could not ward her. Oh how ingenious is fortune when she will afflict any one!

As Joseph was on the midst of the stairs, he met his Master, who was returned from the Temple upon some necessity. Potiphar seeing him without hat, all troubled, and out of breath; on the other side hearing his wife cry outright, that they should stop that Trai­tour, he conceived a violent suspicion against his innocence. They seised him, and at the same time led him into his Mistresse chamber, who held yet his garment in her hands: As soon as she perceived her husband, she said, in shewing the spoils of that enemy, that she loved too much: Truly, Sir, behold the fair [Page 65] fruits of the confidence which you have of that slaves fidelity: It was not enough for him to be prodigal of your goods, if he inde­voured not to defile your bed, and to blast shamefully my reputation. Scarce were you departed, but this Perfidious came to make to me a request, the sole thought whereof fills me with confusion; but having not found that facility in me which he imagined, he indeavou­red to draw by violence, what he could not obtain with my consent. Behold the marks of his impudence, which you must punish, if you will not have me dye. This word ended, Cy­rene feigning that grief overcame her, left her self to fall backward, with all the signs that might be to deceive, and make a diffidency be­lieved.

I leave you to think what rage jealousie kind­led in the heart of Potiphar, what cruelty this rage inspired him with, what revenge this choler meditated. One death is not enough to punish an evil thought, which he never had; he would have him to live an Age, if he had the means, to make him to dye every day. What (said he) ingrateful Viper, is it thus that thou acknowledgest so many benefits, which thou hast never merited? May be that thou wouldst punish me for having put my fa­vours into his hands that would ravish my glo­ry? The effect of this outragious design, was [Page 66] it the affair, that kept thee at home, or the pretence of that painted piety, which hath so long deceived our simplicity? Oh I will make thee to feel that a slave cannot do grosser faults, nor have greater temerities, then to have a mind to bee Master. Drag hence this Mon­ster.

They led him away without resistance, chu­sing rather that his innocence suffer, then to see Cyrene justly afflicted. They striped this chast young man; he permitted that they should take away his clothes, but not his shame: They offended him with sharp words; he held his peace, but more through discretion, then want of courage. They tore him with scourges of the whip, the blood streamed down his body, and some tears from his eyes; but he kept all the constancy in a great soul. They discovered his bones through the violence of his dolours; he desired not to live, he feared only that death would not finish the occasion of his merit. At last they put this poor innocent in a condition, which would have given more compassion then love to his Mistresse. That face which possessed so many attractions, was all disfigured; his eyes which could convey innocent flames into hearts, have not lights e­nough to see. That body all made of Lillies, and which appeared rather snow then white, was no more but a spectacle of horrour for the [Page 67] wicked, and a subject of pity for the good. Would to God that all those effeminates, whom the Cloth of Holland hurteth, that those wantons, who cannot sleep but upon the Ve­lure, that those infamous Ravens whom lust keeps always in breath, could see our Joseph in this pitiful estate. I would say unto them, this young man whom you see is not tyed to this pillar, for being convicted of any shameful crime; but for not being able to love any thing but vertue: Learn of him the resistance that we must bring to an evil action, and how farre forth our fidelity must go. Say not, that it is impossible for you to suffer that which he en­dured, I do not believe that they have persecu­ted you yet to the blood; and though they should, your delicacy would not excuse you, since Joseph was not of the Village. His birth owes nothing unto yours; his education had nothing of the Countrey; his blood was sub­tile; his age invited him to the pleasures that destroy you. The fairest temptations come to seek him; he had no need to corrupt the cha­stity of a Maid, both by money, and by artifi­ces: He could only but desire, and have, con­sent, and enjoy; and yet O miracle of purity! he remained firm in an age where all the world is shaken, inflexible in a condition, wherein the most part of men do bend, and victorious in an occasion, where no body fights without [Page 68] difficulty, and overcomes not without dam­mage.

Strange thing, my dear Auditours, that Love should produce hatred. Truly if we may judge of the consanguinity by the resemblance of the humours, we should conclude that these two passions are enemies rather then allies; it is for all that too true; that his fair Mother puts sometimes this ugly daughter into nature. I confesse that the birth thereof is monstrous, and appeareth but seldome, it appeareth not­withstanding; and though that it be difficult to see the reason thereof, it is easie to see the ex­amples. Cyrene loved Joseph tenderly, and now she persecutes him: I wonder not at that; that which surpriseth me, is that her hate should spring from her love. The Trees thrust not forth always the boughs, which are natural to them. The Animals bear sometimes bastard-young, and which are strange. With­out doubt this happeneth, when the principle of these productions is mingled. But how though can hate be born of love? Love pro­duceth but love, when it concurs with the e­steem of its object; but if it joins it self to its contempt, it conceives hatred. When we be­lieve they fly us, because they despise us, our passion revolts, and in stead of being sweet, it is embittered. What marvel though the wife of Potiphar persecute Joseph? In the first [Page 69] place she revengeth her love, which she sees re­jected; Secondly, she hides her impurity, which is discovered. Voluptuousnesse not able to content this passion, which seeketh but plea­sure, choler inspires her with rage, which che­risheth nothing but blood. It is a dangerous Monster, an heart that desireth to be loved, and which one cannot love. I apprehend but lamentable things for our slave, since he refu­ses to love his Mistresse.

Whilest I am diverted from my subject, I perceived not that they took Joseph away; let us endevour to find him again, and not lose one alone of his good examples. But alas! I see him in a prison, where the light enters not, but when the door is open; I see him loaden with Irons: I see him amongst Thieves and Robberss: I see him in the horrours of a cruel Captivity. He hath carried notwith­standing all his patience into this infamous re­trait, all the vertues would accompany him thither; and though the fatal spectacles of death, which he had before his eyes, might shake a great courage, his shewed in the sereni­ty of his countenance, that he had not learned to yield unto mean afflictions. His cruel do­lours could not make him to confesse by one sole sigh that he suffered, nor that his patience was assaulted: He spake not, but through the praises which he gave unto God. His discour­ses [Page 70] made nothing appear of an abated courage; if he complained sometimes, it was only to say,

O my God! who thought thou hadst the secrets to change punishments into pleasures; and make sweetnesse to be found in the bitter­est gall? I begin to blame my little experience, and to wish ill to the ignorances of my youth. When the cruelty of my brothers made me a slave, I thought my fortune ruined; when that blinded man began to look upon me favoura­bly, with Potiphar, I praised my good fortune; & I see now that that first accident was the first source of my joyes, and that happy beginning the fatal cause of my ruine. It is at this present that I know the advantages of misfortune, and the dangers of prosperity. My vertue appear­ing too fair, hath been tempted by my bro­thers, and cherish [...]d of my Mistresse: Their hate hath conserved me, her love hath almost destroyed me: O desirable chains, how I love you! Sweet Providence, how I adore you with all my heart! I cherish you, precious chains, because you are that which settles my salvation, because you are that which renders my vertues firm and immoveable. If you load my body, you adorn my soul. The torment which you give me, shall not make me re­nounce the glory which you gain me. I a­dore thee, amiable Providence of my God, for­asmuch [Page 71] as thou hast conducted me upon the thorns without hurting me; for that thou hast made me to tread upon the roses without seducing me; and above all, I adore thee for that thou hast brought me here by those ways wholly desirable, since they put my little ver­tue in a place where it may conserve it self, and not be destroyed. I confesse that the bles­sings which I taste, are not desired, but it is be­cause they are not known: For my part, whom thy goodnesse favoureth with this important knowledge, I conceive so perfectly the merit thereof, that I begge no more of thee, O my God, but that thou wouldst continue me my pains and my affliction, to the end to prolong my joyes and my contentments. I will suff [...]r all my life, provided that it be with innocence, and that thou wouldst receive some satisfaction from my languishments.

Behold near the very discourse of Joseph, whilest he had cause to complain, and it was put to the test, if vertue could be grieved: that of this illustrious Captive being wholly cou­ragious, imployed it self rather to combat the vices, which are found in prisons, then to de­plore poorly his condition. Who admires not that those persons who touch death almost, and who have always the gibbets and punish­ments before their eyes, should make the place of the impenitence the school of an evil life! [Page 72] Ordinarily the prison is not more filled with ordure, then with vices, sin makes the most deplorable misery. Impatience, murmurings, swearing, and blasphemies are taught here as a Science proper to that estate. Joseph wanted no wit, but he had not any to retain that les­son; On the contrary, taking the liberty which vertue should always have even in Irons, and Chains, he corrected sweetly their evil life, making them to apprehend that the Di­vine Justice would abandon them to the hu­mane, if their repentance appeased not its choler. It was by such like instructions, that he changed these souls of dirt, and made rea­sonable creatures of those that were not so.

The vertue of this new prisoner being profi­table to the Gaoler, he was soon beloved of him: and though commonly this sort of peo­ple have souls of Iron, yet Josephs wrought up­on him so, that he gain'd himself an opinion of his merit. The Gaoler visited him often, and took a singular pleasure in his conversati­on: But behold what made up the good opi­nion which he had of him, and put him well forward in credit; the Gaoler being one day entred into the Chamber of our holy Patri­arch, Joseph perceived his sadnesse, and as he was gracious, he said unto him: My Master, me thinks that you have not to day your plea­sant humour? Truly (replyed the Gaoler) [Page 73] I have no cause to be very well content, my poor wife suffers such cruel pains since yester­day evening, that he must not bee her husband that can see her without pity: I fear that this child-bed will be her last, and that the throws which labour her, will thrust her into the grave. At these words Joseph remembring himself of his mother, who dyed of such tor­ments, bestowed some tears on the affliction of his Master, and to contribute to his comfort something more then compassion, he offered him certain black stones, and said unto him. My Master, carry readily this succour to your wife, and I promise you that she shall no soo­ner use it, but her pain shall be appeased.

The Gaoler without disputing the quality of those stones, took them to carry them to the sick, who had not scarce handled them, but she was happily brought to bed of a son.

I observed the place where Joseph took these stones, but I have not told you that God had given them in favour of Rah [...]l, the vertue to facilitate the Couches of those, who were in travel with child, which many writers have observed. Doubt not that this benefit acqui­red not the good will of the Gaoler to his prisoner, his wife her self would see her preserver, and thank him for the assistance which shee had received from his charitie: From that time forward it was an ordina­ry [Page 74] thing to see Joseph at his Masters Table, who had such a confidence of his fidelity, that he trusted the other prisoners to his con­duct. Admire you not the goodnesse of our God, who delivers his servant sweetly from misery; but attend yet a little, and you shall confesse, that it belongs but to his Providence to unwinde the Labyrinth of our misfortunes. There was in this prison two Lords of Phara­ohs house, the one was his chief Baker, and the other his chief Butler, both of them faln with his disgrace into a prison. I know not for a truth, the cause of their misfortune; but if you will believe the Rabbines, who please themselves with fables, we shall learn from their dreams a fair instruction. Some of these Sages assure, that Pharaoh being one day at Table, one serv'd him up bread, wherein he found a little grain of sand, and a Cup of wine, wherein there was a flye drowned. This Prince extreamly incensed against them, who should have care to foresee these disor­ders, commanded that they should be thrown into the bottome of a Dungeon, to repent themselves there at leisure of their negligence. I believe that this is but an invention of their wit, yet we have here a perfect Image of the inconstancy of Princes in their affection. It is too much that a Flye passe before their eyes, to change them. The least fault provokes them; [Page 75] who is not their Slave, is a Malefactor. If a Courtier be not always in humour to serve, if he adore not all their thoughts, he is culpable enough to be punished; he must flatter, or pe­rish. They drive him from the house, and ve­ry often from the world; at least a sudden anger pays a long servitude with death, or with banishment.

To return to Joseph, it is certain that hee brought a particular care to acquit himself of the charge which was committed to him. He visited often these poor wretches, endevouring to render their condition better, and more supportable by the sweetnesse of his usage.

There is I know not what pleasure to re­count our miseries, and to put our displeasures into the bosome of a friend: This comfort being easie, our prisoners used it, entertaining one another with their fortunes, even some­times with their dreams.

As Joseph had found them one morning more sad then ordinary, he sate down by them, and asked them what cause they had to be me­lancholy: Seigneur Ioseph (replyed the But­ler) I have for some time sweetned my evils as well as I could, and suffered them with some patience. But since three or four days, as if my evil would exulcerate, I feel new touches of dolour. The day puts but objects of horrour before mine eyes; the night forms me phan­tasmes [Page 76] of all her shadows, and fills my soul with affright as well as the world with dark­nesse. This very night I had a dream, which gave as many fears as I gave it divers interpre­tations. It seemed unto me, that I saw a Vine stock that divided it self into three branches, loaden with very fair grapes, which I pressed into the Kings Cup to present it him. I took an extream pleasure to serve my Prince, when a noise awaked me.

Sir, (replyed Ioseph) your dream need not to be longer, to be good: The conjecture is so favourable, that I fear not to tell it you. The three branches, which you have seen, de­note that you shall be yet three days unfortu­nate; after which, you shall enter again into the good graces of your Prince, by the favour of his good graces into all your Honours. I cannot deceive you longer then three days; if you find me a liar, count me a Villain; but if the event prove true, I desire no other recom­pence of you, but that you will speak a good word for me unto Pharoah, and procure me my liberty. You suppose to oblige herein a Slave, but you shall oblige the son of the chief of the Hebrews.

This good Prophecie pleased so much the chief Baker, that he believed to have as hap­pily dreamed as his companion, and promised himself by the resemblance of the visions, an [Page 77] event equal unto his. I thought (said he) that I carried this night upon my head three baskets full of all sorts of bak'd meats, and of most exquisite Viands. I know not what presage I may draw from an accident during this occupa­tion. Though these delicates were not for the birds, they eat up notwithstanding all that which was exposed to them. Ioseph, who de­sired not to say but good words, expressed e­nough by his reservednesse, that this dream promised no good unto him who had had it. Notwithstanding the importunity of the Ba­ker, constrained him at last to tell him, that he had seen his misfortune, and that the King would cause him to be hanged within three days, leaving his body on the Gibbet to serve for food to the Crowes. If this explication was believed or rejected, I cannot say; but I am certain that the interpretation saw nothing that was not found true, and that the successe proved its experience.

We have a little to observe, that the dreams had shewed to our slave some one of his adventures, the encounter of those which we come to hear, was one of the causes of his good fortune. It was hereby that the good fortune of Ioseph began, because that God willing to dispose Pharaoh to the greatnesse of his faithful ser­vant, he sent him two Visions, which busied all the wits of Egypt, without giving content to the King.

[Page 78] One day this Prince keeping Court and o­pen Table to his subjects, related unto them what he had dreamed the precedent night; but as he found no body that could give him the knowledge thereof, the Butler, whom pro­sperity had made to forget the benefits of Io­seph, bethought himself at last of him, and of his experience. Without fearing the blame of so black an ingratitude, he said to his King, Sir, in putting your Majesty in minde of my prison, I must necessarily confesse me crimi­nall, since your justice cannot fail. This con­sideration might oblige another, but me to con­ceal a good advice, for fear to repeal the re­membrance of an infamy; but I who am ve­ry glad to confesse my crime to publish your clemency, and who hold my conservation more assured in your good will, then in ver­tue it self, am not careful to hide from you a thing, which may be advantagious to your contentments. When I was in the prison, from whence your goodnesse delivered me, I met there a young Hebrew, who upon the discourse which I made him of one of my dreams, assu­red me of all the events which I saw in my for­tune. I think, if it please your Majesty to send for him, that he will declare unto you the true sense of your dreams. The King who de­sired passionately to be cleared upon this sub­ject, commanded presently that hee should [Page 79] come forth out of prison. Our slave never thought himself so much in a dream, as when he saw a great number of persons about him, of whom some presented him rich ha­bits, and others cut his hair, that he might appear before the Prince with decency. When he was accoutred according as was conveni­ent, they conducted him towards Pharaoh.

As soon as the King perceived him, he judg­ed by his countenance, that this man was not made for a slave; and after having asked him many questions on his birth, he said unto him, that one of his Courtiers had given him so good testimonies of his knowledge, that he hoped satisfaction from thence. To this, Io­seph, who had put himself on his knees, an­swered, that his capacity was so little conside­rable, that it would be to deceive himself, to expect great succours from thence; but that he adored a God, who had too much goodnesse to fail him at his need. The King approving this modesty, replyed; Friend, I pray thee not to excuse thee upon thy ignorance; and if thou knowest the truth, think not that it shall be odious to me, if it be not pleasing. I will make more accompt of thy freenesse, then of all the disguises with which thou mayest flatter me. I understand that thou canst divine the future times by the present; tell me then, I pray thee, what my dreams signifie: Perhaps [Page 80] the common brute hath already acquainted thee with them, notwithstanding that the cir­cumstances may not change thy judgement, be­hold all the particularities thereof. One night it was represented me, that I walked upon the bank of Nile, from whence I saw come forth seven fat kine, who afterward went to feed in the Marishes far distant from the bank of the River: And it seemed unto me, that I had never seen fairer beasts then these; but whilest I considered them, I perceived seven others very unlike unto them, for they were so lean that their skin scarce covered their bones. Cer­tainly if they had not had motion, I should have taken them for Skeletons, so anatomis'd were they; their ribs were so apparent, as if they had been naked. If hunger could appear to the eyes, and that she could content her self to feed on sand, I should have thought to see her under this figure. Whilest I admir'd the extream meagernesse of those beasts, they be­gan to run towards the first with so much swiftnesse, as if rage had provoked them. That which gave me most astonishment, was to see that almost in a moment, they devoured these fat kine, without so much as one that escaped. This is not yet the end of my visions, for at the same howre I saw grow up as it were un­der my feet a stalk of Corn having seven ears rank and goodly, but as if they were to run [Page 81] the same fortune that the beasts of my first dream did; I saw seven others so blasted and withered, that they dryed up the others so quickly, that one would have almost believed that their presence made them dissolve or va­nish, rather then perish.

As the King had ended the recital of his dreams, Joseph, who was very attentive to this discourse, took the word, and said unto him: Sir, since it pleaseth your Majesty to permit a poor slave to speak in your presence, and that you desire to hear the truth, although it should not be advantagious unto you, I will tell you freely, that your two dreams have not but one and the same sense, and that God is willing to confirm you by this double vision in a belief which I will give you. Your Majesty is not ignorant that the fertility of Egypt comes not but from the overflowing of the River that waters it, and that his waters diffuse not them­selves so much to cover her with her flood, as with riches. Moreover, you know that the height of his inundation is the measure of her abundance, and of her want, from whence in my opinion is sprung that common saying of your people, that six cubits of flood mark but her miseries, and that fifteen or sixteen shew the delights thereof. This being so, I hold for assured, that the seven first kine sig­nifie seven years of unparallel'd plenty. And [Page 82] on the contrary, that the others represent the sterility that is to follow them. Two circum­stances make me this interpretation reasonable enough: The first is, that your Majesty hath seen these beasts come forth out of the same place, from whence proceeds your abundance, and that they scattered them very far into the Country. From whence we may gather that the River will effuse it self very far into the plain, to carry thither the fertility. Those [...] ­ther seven lean kine, being not far from the bank of Nile, shew that his inundation shall not extend it self farther, and consequently all the rest of the Land shall remain barren; in such sort that these last years shall consume the abundance of the former. I will not be thought true, but by the event of my presage, not­withstanding if your Majesty would take a very profitable counsel, I could wish that you would appoint a man, who should have the Intenden­cy of your Granaries, and the power to build new throughout all the Towns of your Em­pire. And there (if I may be believed here­in) let him lay up the fifth part of the grain, which shall be superfluous in the former years, to supply the want of the following years.

It cannot be said with how much applause this advice was received of Pharaoh, if it bee not that the honours and benefits which he did him were not sufficient testimonies. Having [Page 83] then praised his prudence, he gave him his Sig­net, and then taking off a great Chain of gold from his neck, he put it upon Joseph's. He commanded likewise that there should be brought him a garment of silk, and his se­cond best Chariot prepared for him, ordain­ing all Egypt to have him in the same venera­tion that they had his own person, who pre­tended no more love from his subjects, then he desired thereof unto Joseph. Behold then our slave, Vice-Roy of the most flourishing Pro­vinces of Africk, and acknowledged preserver of the people of the East. Behold, how all the Court of Pharaoh conducted him through the Town, raised upon a Chariot of triumph. The Heraulds cryed, that every one should bow the knee before him; no body failed to render him this honour, for the will of the Prince, and the natural graces of Joseph, constrained them to this homage.

What can these petty spirits say now, who cannot but murmure, and who blame all the conducts of God, which they cannot compre­hend? Will they complain that he leaves his friends to suffer, seeing he abases them not, but to exalt them? Heretofore they had pity of Joseph, who is it that bears him not envy now? They fled his miseries, who desires not his honours? The Hebrewes persecuted him, all Egypt honours him: His brothers took from [Page 84] him his Robe, Pharaoh gives him the Royal Mantle; Potiphar puts manicles on his hands and neck, Pharaoh adorns him with a Chain of Gold: He offers him a Scepter for that Sheephook wch he handled. We have seen him in a Cestern, and in the darknesse of a prison; at this hower the Marble and Porphyrie is not matter rich enough to build him Palaces. Oh Providence of my God! How much better is it to follow thee amongst the thorns and briars, since thou leadest to felicity, then the favour of men, since that conducts only to the Abysmes.

Whilest Joseph triumphed in the Palaces, and Streets of Memphis, Potiphar, who knew no­thing yet of his fortune, met him in the glory of this pomp, which made him adored of the Egyptians. If ever a Malefactour charged with many enormous crimes, was surprised with the presence of his Judges, it was but an I­mage of his astonishment; but the admiration was not the only passion of his soul, for the me­mory of what was passed gave him some pres­sing fears; he remembred that he had firmly persecuted him, who could then punish him. The sweetnesse of Ioseph seemed to give him all kind of assurance; but the crime whereof he had suspected him, appeared unto him so black, that he could not hope for pardon. I leave you to judge if the diversity of these thoughts did put irresolution into his design. [Page 85] Having notwithstanding slipped himself out of the presse into his house, he related the pro­sperities, and the power of Ioseph to Cyrene, who conceived the same fears that her husband did. It was at this time that the apprehension of death was stronger then that of infamy; for this poor woman considering rather in Io­seph a pitiful Saviour, then a rigorous Judge, had more confidence of his goodnesse, then fear of his justice. Upon this resolution sudden enough, but for all that judicious, she cast her self at her husbands feet, confessed unto him the artifices which had made Ioseph guilty, and besought him to pardon a fault, which shee would never have done, if she had not seen the most amiable of all men. Besides that, she would wash away this stain with her blood, and offer her self to the vengeance of the Vice-Roy for to free him thereof.

Potiphar was much astonished to hear the practises of his wife, notwithstanding her re­grets pacified him, and the abundance of her tears drowned all the remains of choler, which might yet be in a body already cold with age. Jealousie, which sees but the present, repre­sents not the pass'd with the same colours as formerly in the heat of his first amours. The honesty which he had always observed in Cy­rene, perswaded him easily, that though shee had been constrained to love Ioseph, she would [Page 86] never have been so much as solicited to look upon another. Behold him then resolved to go to the Vice-Roy of Egypt, and by the confession of his errour, to implore his mer­cy. But who can believe the Caresses which Joseph made to his old Master, and to his wife, when he saw them at his knees, to finde there the pardon of their fault, or to submit their life to the rigour of his justice? Fear had painted the image of death upon their visage, and so tyed their tongue, that all what they could say, was to confesse themselves crimi­nals. Then our Patriarch exercising the first effect of his power upon the resentment of his injuries, raised them, and by the abundance of his tears, witnessed to them, that he had no­thing but love, and tendernesse in his heart.

My friends, (said he unto them) I conjure you to forget what is pass'd, and to expect as much of my affection for the future, as if I were your son. I am obliged thereunto both by duty, and by inclination. It is to you that I owe my prosperities; it is with you that I will divide them: Perhaps if I had not been miserable, I should not be now happy. If a storm should drive me unto the Port, I should blesse it, and I should love him that would cure me, would he empoison me. You have failed, the one through too much zeal, the other through too much love: These two persecu­tors [Page 87] are too amiable for me to disoblige: I pardon that excesse to the weaknesse of our nature. I chuse rather to believe that my mis­fortunes were arriv'd me from the Providence of God, then from the malice of men. For my part, who am the subject of all these in­constancies of fortune, so far am I from keep­ing any resentment against you, that I desire henceforward to have no better friends then my first Masters. The truth of my words shall be known by the effects upon all occasions wherein you shall employ me.

Joseph no sooner finished his discourse, but he began his liberalities, offering to Potiphar a Chain of Gold, and to his wife a Rose of Diamonds; his daughter was not forgotten, for he sent her by one of his Gentlemen, two rich Pendants for her ears, which equalled not for all that the price of his affection. Since this first sight he never ceased to oblige them, as if he had design to do them as much good, as he had received evil from them.

A little while after this interview, death sur­prised Cyrene, as if she had not stayed but to see her Innocent, to take away her life. After her decease, Potiphar was capable of the chief dignity of Egypt; he was possessour thereof, since he was furnished therewith at the recom­mendation of the Vice-Roy. Heliopolis ren­dred the same honors to the God Mnenis, as [Page 88] Memphis did to the God Apis; and to speak the truth, there is no more reason to honour the beasts in one place then in another. It was then the dignity of the high Priest, which Poti­phar exercised in that Town of the Sun; and though Joseph would rather have seen the Calves at the shambles, then upon the Altars, he judged it fitter to put this superstition into the hands of his Master, then to charge ano­ther therewith, because he knew him more ca­pable to deride it. The care which he had to ruine the Idols, justified the care which he took in appearance to establish them. It was a truce which he made with the gods of Egypt, and not a peace that he concluded; he gave him­self leisure to think of their destruction with safety.

Let us leave this high Priest departed with all his family, to go exercise his charge, and let us stay to consider the conduct of our Inten­dant. I know that Philon represents us him as the example of a faithful Minister, and that a great Cardinal makes him the Idea of his Mo­narch; but I can say that he had something more then the qualities which are necessary to the one and the other, since he wanted not any perfection that might compleat a man. He needed not to seek the model of a wise Favo­rite out of himself; the perfect Courtier was in his person. He possessed the heart of his Master, [Page 89] but he managed it not but to bring it to doe good to all the world; so that his hands were but the publick Conduits of his Princes favors. He could take every one in his humour, hee would buy those that would not give them­selves: The most rude and savage spirits found sweetnesse in his, and if the enormity of the crimes required some rigour from him, it was but with regret that he was just, loving better to correct vice by the repentance then by the despair of the guilty. All Egypt was no more but a great family, of which he was the father, procuring with an incredible care that abun­dance and delights might be there without luxury. This design succeeded to him so well, that they must goe more then an hundred miles, to finde one miserable or one vicious. For as felicity was established in this happy Country, the good manners met here also: all the mo­ral vertues reigned there, excepting those which cannot exercise themselves but in misfortune, or which suppose imperfections and defects in their objects. Never did policy arrive more perfectly to her end, which is to make as many happy as she hath subjects, then at that time, having the wisdome of Joseph for soul and Intelligence. Pharaoh tasted this good fortune; for he was loved of his people, he was feared of his enemies. The strangers could not give more solid foundation to their repose, then to [Page 90] gain them the good will of Ioseph.

But it is time to admire one of the miracles of the world, and to consider these prodi­gious Pyramids, which hide whole Provinces with their shadow. I am not ignorant that there are some Writers, who assure us, that these proud Obelisques were the monuments of the Kings of Egypt, and that these excellent works were made but to cover magnificently dust and ashes. I know well also, that there are other some, who make our Ioseph the Authour of them, and that they should be the publick Granaries, which he caused to be built in e­very Town, principally at Memphis, and about Babylon.

Whilest that more then an hundred thousand hands were employed about these buildings, there was but the head of Ioseph that laboured, to see if the exe [...]ution answered to the de­sign, and if the work were as perfect as the I­dea, he took leave of the King, and visited all Egypt. It was during this course that he knew Heaven took care to marry him, and that God would not that virginity should be lon­ger one of his vertues. It will not be from our purpose to observe the Providence of him, who disposed thus the will of our Patriarch.

I have said, that Potiphar had a daughter endowed with a rare and ravishing beauty, and whose incomparable perfections invited a great [Page 91] number of Lords to her suit; but though she gave love to all the world, she took it not from any person. I know not whether she esteemed the bravest of the kingdome unworthy of her alliance, or if naturally she could not love a man. At least, might one judge that there was contempt or inclination in the care which she took to fly their encounter? Since the time that her father was retired to Heliopolis, she de­voted her self to the service of Diana, and pro­mised her that she would only then cease to be a Virgin, when she should cease to be the great goodesse of the Forrests. This vow was im­mutable in her opinion, because she knew not that the false idols were mortal things. How­soever it was, this poor maid served this false Divinity with more Religion, then many per­sons serve the true God, who hath recompen­ces to make himself beloved, and punishments to make himself feared. The only pleasure that she sought; she found in solitude: Ne­ver did she desire of the Theatres, nor of the Comedies made her go forth: the dances and balls, and those other divertisements of the Maids, were not a temptation strong enough for her: Her shadow was her most ordinary com­panion; but if sometimes she released her self of this great severity, seven young Gentlewo­men of her age and humour pass'd the time with her. All their employment deriv'd it self [Page 92] from Books, or a Garden which was seen from the windows of their abode. Art never ren­dred a place more pleasant then that, where all the delights of Asseneth were enclosed.

I would fain describe this fair desert, since this great Lady took pains to improve it. The ground of the Platform look'd upon the rising Sun, which look'd upon it again with so much complaisance, that one would have said his raies had nothing to do in Egypt, but to paint its flowers, and to ripen its fruits. This fair Star made not gold here, but he infused no less favourable influences, then those which are ne­cessary for its conception.

There was in the midst of the Garden a Fountain, whose waters being received into a Conduit of white Marble, imparted themselves through little gilded Pipes unto all the partiti­ons, as if nature provided against the danger that the Sun might blast the flowers in behold­ing them too long. The Earth feeling it self touch'd by Virgin-hands, became not there­fore barren, if it were not in the midst of the Alleys, where it bore nothing but sand. You would have said, that she reserved her humour to form the Violets, the Lillies and the Roses for her Mistresse, and that all her occupation was to obey her. The herbs came where she desired, and their complaisance was so per­fect, that they seemed to fear to be fruitful a­gainst [Page 93] her mind. The Trees were content to bowe without resistance, constraint being un­necessary to hold their branches, because they were naturally so supple, that art laboured not to accommodate them. To see the bushes form themselves into all kind of animals, the Juni­per, to shape it self into Bears, and the other Plants to take the figure of Birds, you would have believed that this fair Magician had chan­ged the Beasts into Trees, or that the Trees were transformed into Beasts. It was she who had fashioned a Chasse of Rosemary, and of Lavander so naturally, that you would have sworn these dogs would be gone, if their roots had not stayed them better then their leases. Of the other side the Hares stretched themselves so ardently to the course, that they seemed to apprehend their taking. It was she, who had mingled the windings of a Labyrinth with so much artifice, that the most direct would have gone a great way in a very little space, and run a whole Country in a Garden-plot. It was she, who during the most cruel rigours of the Winter, conserved a little Summer to ripen the Oranges, and the Citrons, even when they began to corrupt in other places. From this Garden, which was but for delights, one descended into a Green, where of one side was nothing to be seen but dwarfs, and of the other but giants. The last seemed to raise [Page 94] themselves above the other Trees, and to pre­sent their branches to the heat of the Sun, to the end to cook the first-fruits for their Mistress. The first changed themselves almost all into fruits, witnessing despight that they were too little to render her great services. But all the beauty of the flowers was but a weak ray of those which they endevoured to paint in their leaves; and the fecundity of the Trees shew­ed alone that a Virgin is not barren when she will.

Behold the exercise which employed the daughter of Potiphar, when hee understood that the Vice-Roy came to descend to his Pa­lace, to take there his lodging. Doubt not but this news was pleasing to him, since he held his fortune from his liberalities, and hoped the increase thereof from his magnificence; for he had no sooner received it, but he went forth to meet this dear guest, whom he enter­tained with those caresses and respects, that can better be conceived then expressed. This was no more that slave, whom they would tear in pieces: This is no more that perfidious servant, whom he had caused to be cast into the bottome of a Dungeon▪ Ioseph being arri­ved at the Palace of Potiphar, that fair Nymph of whom I have spoken, came to salute him. I leave the ceremonies of this Interview to a­nother Writer, only I cannot conceal that this [Page 95] man, who had so little flesh, and who look'd upon women as if he had been all spirit, could not see her without loving her. But surely the flame that warmed him, burnt him not; his thoughts were pure, as his flame was in­nocent. There is no need to be a Divine, to conjecture the correspondence which he found in the inclination of Asseneth: This stubborn beauty who could not love but the flowers, and who sought no other conversation but that of the Trees, acknowledged that Joseph was too fair not to be loved. Notwithstanding her affection was so well ordered, that it never exceeded modesty; so had she not to defend her self from an Innocent, but rather to receive the chast vows of an Hero. It is true, that thinking her self obliged to Diana, she ende­voured wisely to quench the first sparks, for fear to engage her self in a suit which she judg­ed impossible. This was the beginning of the fair amours of our holy young man, who knowing that God would have it that Asseneth should be his wife; and on the other side his inclination finding it self conformable to the will of God, resolved to speak of her marri­age to the high Priest. As he walked one af­ternoon with him, taking him by the hand, he held him forth this discourse. My dear Ma­ster, (it was the name that he gave him for the most part) perhaps you will think it strange, [Page 96] I tell you that I have a design to seek your daughter, and perhaps will reply, that you can­not suffer one of your slaves should desire to be your son in law. Notwithstanding if you will consider my present condition, without thinking of that which is pass'd, I believe you will not find much presumption in my desire, and I may hope for approbation in your spirit. It is true, that a fortune made up in haste, as mine, is not ordinarily assured, and that we see as many disgraced as favoured. So that it is not upon this consideration that I ask your consent; I have better reasons to make you ac­cept of my suit, without owing any thing un­to favour. I am descended from a family, which will be no shame unto yours. My birth merited a better fortune then those Irons, which by disaster, or rather by the Providence of God, I met with in your house. And to speak unto you more clearly, I am an Hebrew, son of that great Jacob, whose merit is respected of all Palestine. My Ancestours are illustrious enough to communicate me some glory with the blood which I derive from them: I speak nothing to you of my person, fearing to dimi­nish the esteem of that which comes unto me from those famous persons. At these words Potiphar was seised with so sensible a joy, that he could not command himself a longer atten­tion; taking then the word, which he had [Page 97] snatched, taken away from Joseph, he cryed out aloud. And what Sir, think you me insensible in this point, that there should need reasons to perswade me to my happinesse, and my Daugh­ters? I look not upon your present fortune, nor the glory of your Ancestors. I not only con­sent, but I desire with all my heart the honour of your allyance. Your vertue is worth more then your fortune. Your merit weighs more in my spirit, then that of your Fathers; laying aside all that which is out of you, I desire sim­ply nothing but you. I cherish a thousand times more your perfections, then your trea­sures, and the ornaments of your soul, then those of your body. God is my witnesse, that if I had been bold enough to desire great things, that I should not have had courage e­nough to look upon the good which you pre­sent me. Asseneth is too happy, in that you have vouchsafed to abase your eyes on her, all her race will publish for ever your goodnesse, and I, my good fortune. From this time forward I desire that you be master of my fortune, that you dispose of my estate, and that my Daughter resigne a half of her heart unto you, having no other will but yours. Notwithstanuing Sir, I would not that you should doubt of my sin­cerity, if any vain superstition should obstinate her to reject her good. The spirit of women being not sometimes capable of reason, is so [Page 98] neither of change, though one may say, that their sex makes the greatest part of the Worlds inconstancy. Their imagination is sometimes an eternal Law, and their resolution a decree, which hath the same necessities with destiny. I fear that Aseneth may be a little opinionate upon a certain promise, which obliges her (saith she) to live alwayes a Virgin, if she be­lieve me, this scruple shall not exercise much her spirit; for besides that, the chief law of Children is to obey their Parents, by right of nature; I will make her free of that obligation, by the power which I hold to conserve, or re­lease that of our Gods.

This good Father knew not that his Daugh­ters will had already consented to the allyance of Joseph; for as soon as she saw him, she found her affection engaged. So many charms ap­peared not without making this precious Con­quest: there are clandestine mariages of the heart as well as of the body, and often times it happeneth, that without considering a person with attention, one loves by destiny. That vi­sage which was but one and twenty years old, presented an object too ravishing to this young Lady, not to ravish all her soul, so many at­tractions gave her rather a necessity then an in­clination to the love of his person. Yet must she make the showes and difficulties, which are or­dinary in these encounters, where the women [Page 99] endeavour only to hide their desire, and not to extinguish it. When her Father spake unto her of this suit, an honest blush covered her cheeks, and as he pressed her to give consent thereunto, her plaints witnessed that it was but with re­gret that she obeyed Potiphar. Poor girle, how confounded would you be, if your tears instead of dissembling you should betray you? why would you that one should force from your mouth what you give so willingly from the bottom of your heart? it is ordinary with this sex to teach even the eyes to lie, and to give Hypocrisie to the simplest countenances.

Our Vice-Roy knew too well these little policies, to be put off with that affected cold­nesse: on the contrary, as he found her one day a part, after having praysed her modesty, he declared unto her, without any artisice the pu­rity of his intentions, and leaving all the fool­ish complements of love unto those, who have nothing better, he assured her, that her allyance was in truth the most ardent of his desires, but yet that he knew so well to moderate his affe­ction, that she should not be constrained to ren­der him any complaysance to the prejudice of the reverence of her Religion, and therefore if she were loath to quitt hers, that he would in­deavour to change his love into respect. But I cannot perswade my self (added he) that the feare to displease a statue of brasse, or one of in­sensible [Page 100] wood, should obliege you to the con­tempt of my affection. Your Gods have no­thing good but their matter, and if the Artifi­cer who created them, had made them of dirt, their Majesty would be as adorable, as their stuffe would be precious. It is true, that I can­not well deceive my self in the opinion of your belief, and that such a wit as yours should suf­fer it self to be surprized in the worship of those Divinities, who have filled Heaven with nothing but thefts and adulteries. I speak not of Venus, whose impurities are adored, nor of your Apis, who cannot render his Oracles without bellowing, since he is an Oxe. That Diana whom you serve, is she not an incon­stant in the Heaven, a courser in the Woods, and a fury in hell? I would not believe that you should think the onyons and leeks which are eaten by the hoggs, nor the Crocodiles which devoure men, should be Gods, since the impuissance of the first cannot conserve them­selves, nor the cruelty of the other do good. Is it not true, Madam, that you have long con­demned these false Divinities, without having yet happiness enough to acknowledge the true. Behold the time wherein you may be devout without Idolatry, and adore God, without of­fending him; it is principally that which I seek, assuring you that I desire not so much to [Page 101] be your Husband, as to give you our great God for bridegroom.

Asseneth having thanked Joseph for the zeale which he witnessed to have of her salvation, received the offers of service which he made her; and to prove unto him that his Religion pleased her as much as his allyance, she made a sacrifice to the true God of all the Idols which she adored.

If I were in a humor to write of visions; Vincent de Beauvais would shew you one in his mirrour, where you might admire the provi­dence of God in the instruction of his Elect; let those who desire it, seek it; for my part, I have too many assured truths, to hazard my self in publishing dreams. Never was Potiphar more content then to understand the success of his guest, who had gained a soul unto God, when it was thought he endeavored only to gain a body to his passion. If he would have answer­ed his desire, this mariage which was to be concluded, should have been consummate; but Joseph judged prud [...]ntly, that it ought not to be done without the consent of the King. Being then returned to Memphis, he besought him to approve his suit. Pharaoh who desired but to tie Joseph to his State, liked this design, and to hasten the execution thereof, he dispatched a Courtier to Heliopolis, who carried order to Potiphar and his Daughter, to render them­selves [Page 102] readily to the Court. I will not stop at the entertainment which the King gave them, nor likewise at all the magnificences which ho­eoured this nuptiall. Every one may suffici­ently imagine, that they were not mean, seeing a puissant Monark was at the cost, his favourite the subject thereof. And then I remember, that srom the entrance of this History, I never pro­posed to my self to speak of the greatnesse of Joseph; but in as much as it declareth this truth, that God leaves us not to suffer, but for our glory. This feast being made for the whole Court, Joseph and his wife continued the con­tentments thereof as long as they lived. They lived happy, in that they were content; nothing troubled them, because they knew to ac­commodate all things to their fortune. This continual prosperity charmed not so the Vice-Roy, that he thought not of his Masters affairs, leaving him the care to do his own. His house was the source, from whence flowed the pub­lick felicity; but whilest Egypt possessed all the delights of the earth, the rest of the earth be­came a great solitude, and they began to ac­knowledge that Joseph had prophesied. The Famine ran over all the neighbour Provinces, presenting it self already upon the frontiers of this happy Empire. At last notwithstanding a­ny resistance that her reserver made, he could defend no longer then seven years this Nation, [Page 103] his wisdom must yield to that providence, that will make it desolate. The famine entered therein, to continue her spoils without sparing the most considerable fortunes. After having consumed the Corn, she devoured the whole fields, constraining the people of this Country to sell that which they possessed, to live. In so much, that in few years Pharaoh saw himself Monark of a great Kingdom, and proprietory Lord of that which he possessed before but by homage.

Let us leave Egypt a little, and passe we into Canaan, as being a long time since we depart­ed thence. Perhaps we shall finde a corner in Jacobs house, to secure us from that cruel who kills without triking, and who besiegeth not those whom she will take but inwardly. I fear she hath some intelligence in this Family, at least I see not there that good chear as former­ly. Every one fearing the future, becomes good husband of the things, whereof he had been prodigall. And the magnisicence that produ­ced it selfe outwardly, was then a virtue secret and interior. Our holy Patriark willing to prevent death, and cure an evil which could not yet make it self felt but by the apprehensi­on of falling under it, commanded his Chil­dren to dispose themselves to a voyage into E­gypt. Each of them consented to do by obedi­ence, what he should have been obliged to do [Page 104] shortly through necessity. But where go these ten offenders? if they seek their Judge, Joseph is in Egypt: if they will die, famine is not more redoubtable then death. Oh sweet providence of God, how equitable art thou to refer unto Joseph the revenge, or the pardon of his inju­ries! and to make those proud heads bow be­fore thy faithful Servant. The Saviour of Egypt was in the Palace, when a Page advertized him that certain strangers defired to do him reve­rence. As he was of a humour to obliege all the world, he entered without long stay into a Hall, where he found the Children of Jabob? who put themselves presently upon their knees to adore him. Their visage and their language made them known without difficulty; but if they were known, they could not take a happy Prince for a miserable Brother. Our Canane­ans having declared the necessity, which brought them thither, Joseph considering them as if he had observed something of suspition in them, asked them from whence they were: to which answering with much fear, they replyed, that they came from Canaan. The Vice-Roy making himself other then he was, said unto them as a man in cholar. Without doubt you are spies, that come to understand the state of the Kingdom, to serve your selves upon our weaknesse, and the necessity, where­unto you believe the famine hath reduced us; [Page 105] but your design shall turn only to your ruine, and then making sign to his Guard [...], he com­manded that they should put the traytors in prison. Judah who saw himself assoon seized on, as they had command to seize on him, would defend himself, but with the submission of a low reverence, which was waited on with this discourse.

My Lord, I cannot perswade my self, that a man full of equity should cunclude that a sus­pition renders us criminalls: being just as you are, we hope to appear innocent as we are. If you can take us in a lie, we will confesse the treason, of which we are accused, and we con­sent to suffer the punishment which it shall please your Excellence to ordain us. We feare not your torments, because we know your ju­stice; we are of Chananée, Sonnes of one Fa­ther, who lives at home with our youngest Brother. We had another Brother, but misfor­tune having made him fall into the paws of a savage beast, hath ravished him from us. Ne­cessity hath constrained us to seek wherewith to live, in this Country, where all things a­bound by your wisdom. Behold all the arti­fice of our design; if you discover any other secret, we are in your power. Truly you had (replyed the ViceRoy) true reason to believe me very simple, should I esteem you innocent upon your own deposition: where shall one find the [Page 106] guilty, if it be enough to deny the crimes? and who shall be innocent (replyed Iudas) if to ac­cuse be sufficient to convict. There needs not so many words (answered Ioseph) the effects will witnesse better the truth of what you say, then all your Protestations. One of you shall return unto Canaan, and bring hither your youngest Brother, whom you assure liveth there: if he come, I will believe you without crime: if you fail to bring him, I sweare by the safety of my Prince, you are spies. As Ioseph had spo­ken this with a tone of voice somewhat moved, he commanded that they should be cast into prison, where they should remain three dayes; but as he had a heart all full of tendernesse, he had not courage enough to keep them there longer; chusing rather that his sweetnesse should punish them lightly, then to permit his justice to treat them according to all the right that it had to be severe. And then the fear which he had that Iacob might need something in the mean time, made him resolve to send them away. Having caused them to come forth out of prison, he spake to them in this man­ner.

Though you see me habited like an Idola­ter, I am not, thanks unto God, of their opini­on; I know the Gods of Egypt, but I love the God of Canaan: the fear of those never gave me liberty to offend this. Since you make pro­fession [Page 107] to honour him, I will witnesse unto you the feare that I have to offend him, I promise that you may all return home to your Father, excepting him; (pointing unto Simeon in say­ing these words) he shall serve as caution for your return; behold the only means to make me believe that you are true. O God how an affliction fitly sent hath power to bring men un­to reason! those who could not repent them­selves of their cruelty in three and twenty yeers of prosperity, began to open their eyes, and to acknowledge that their present misery was a punishment of their passed fault. It is reasona­bly (cryed out Reuben) that we suffer at this time justly what we have formerly made our Brother suffer without justice. I told you often, that his blood would make us blush, and that Heaven would not pardon us a sin which na­ture forbad us: if you had had then pitty of Joseph, God would have had some now of our affliction; but it is no time now to be wise, Heaven is not satisfied alwayes with repen­tance, it will sometimes that the punishment follow the crime. All that we can do to suffer profitably, is to suffer with patience, and with­out murmure. Reuben would have said more, because he thought not to be understood by him, who spake not to them but by an interpre­ter; but Joseph not able to see their teares without mourning, retired himself a little [Page 108] from their presence, to give that liberty to his eyes. In the mean time he caused their sacks to be filled with the best wheat of his Granaries, and sent them away, keeping him whom he had designed, and causing him to be loaden with Irons in the fight of his Brothers, to the end, that the feare of his death might obliege them to bring him Benjamin.

Some one may curiously demand why Jo­seph witnessed more severity unto Simeon, then to his other Brothers? the response is not diffi­cult, since it was reasonable that the most cri­minal should be the most punished, and that he who had said these words (behold our dream­er) should digest at leasure the malice thereof. We must not think neverthelesse, that his pri­son was accompanied with its ordinary incom­modities. Since Simeon could assure with truth, that he had never been more happy, then when he was to be miserable.

Let us follow a little our Pilgrims, and take up their entertainment; all their discourses were of Josephs death, admiring that the justice of God made use of the famine to discover and punish their sin. As they were arrived at the first Inne, and that Zabulon had opened his sack to provender their Asses, he was very much a­stonished to see in the mouth thereof, the same peeces of gold which he had given for the price of this wheat. His Brothers surprized with like [Page 109] astonishment as he, began to feare that there might be deceit in this liberality, and that the Kings Servants had put this money into their sacks, to render them guilty. Notwithstanding their consolation was in their innocence, and all their confidence in God, who without doubt would not permit that the malice of an­other should be punished in their Persons. Put­ting themselves then into the hands of him, who lets no body fall, they continued their way with so much diligence, that they arrived in He­bron before they were expected. Jacob was ex­tremely glad to see them in full health; not­withstanding when he perceived that Simeon was not with them, fear seized this poor old man with so much excess, that there was no­thing but his silence that could express it. But if the absence of Simeon made him fear, one might say that the design to conduct Benjamin into Egypt would make him die. What (cryed out this good Patriark) will you bury me alive, and take from me a good which nature gives me almost against my desire? suffer me to live, may be you intend to see me languish the rest of my dayes! I have one only Sonne that con­solates the loss of Joseph, and of his poor Mo­ther, and must I loose him! Oh my God, how happy had my condition been to have had no Children, or to have had some more fortunate! I had had then but my misfortunes to bewaile, [Page 110] whereas now I see me obliged to take the best part of those that afflict them. Joseph hath sa­tisfied the cruel hunger of a savage Beast, and his Brother, to appease ours, must be exposed to the desire of a Barbarian, who, perchance, will take pleasure to torment me in the person of Benjamin. What know I if he obliged not all my Children to present themselves to him, to invelop them under one and the same ruine, and to extinguish the name of Israel upon the earth? Reuben seeing the sorrowful plants of his Father, replyed to him, my dear Father, the subject which you take to afflict you, seems not to me just enough to abandon you in this manner, since it is only supported the vain apprehensions which your affection forms you. This Vice-Roy whom you represent as a ty­rant, hath nothing savage in his nature: his courtesie would be capable to take from you all your fears, if you knew it. And then what likelihood, that he whom Egypt adores as their Saviour, should take pleasure to destroy eleven wretches, whose death can give him no assurance, nor their life suspition: for my part, I would rather hope the effects of his good­ness, then go to prevent the evils which per­haps will never come unto us from his rigour. Have we not already a testimony of his genero­sity, in that he hath sent us back with his bene­fits, and our money?

[Page 111] Alas, how weak is your discourse (replyed Jacob) that which you call benefit, is that which I name an Artifice. Are you so young, that you know not that it is ordinary with traytors to flatter, when they will hurt; and to give fair words, when they have evil thoughts. If you had observed curiously the customs of Egypt, you would have seen that they load the victimes with flowers, and that the Crown which adorns them, is the presage of the death which threatens them. Speak no more to me of your design, if you desire that I live. What then my Father (said Reuben) would you ra­ther expose ten of your Children to a certain death then to tempt a hazard, which may hap­pily succeed? Simeon is ingaged upon our faith; we will never suffer that the subject of his con­fidence be the cause of his ruine: if the peril be evident, we desire that it be common. Ben­jamin who had heard this discourse, besought his Father to permit him to render that proof of his love to his Brothers. That if he should die with them, he should have this consolation, to have had Children so streightly united in af­fection, that death which divides all, could not have power to separate them. Every one liked this thought, and praysed his resolution; there was none but Jacob, who witnessed by his tears, and his sighs, that he consented not thereunto but with constr [...]int. Reuben who suffered not [Page 112] without pain the sorrow of his Father, and who resented all his griefs, protested to him, that in case any evil should happen unto Benja­min, he would give him leave to slay his two Sonnes. Judas made almost the same protesta­tion that his eldest did, adding that he would render himself pledge for him life for life. Af­ter this long contestation, as they emptyed the sacks for the second voyage, every one was a­stonished to finde there his money, but there was not one who gave not the glory of this benefit to the liberality of the Vice-Roy, to the end, that Jacob might conceive good hopes by this universal applause. Behold th [...]n this good Patriark, who embraced his Children with so much tenderness and tears, as if he had been condemned to see them no more. Above all, taking leave of Benjamin, one would have thought that he said adieu to all his content­ments; notwithstanding the displeasure of this departure, hindered him not to think upon the necessities of this voyage, and to command his Sonnes whatsoever prudence could give them of good advice.

My Children (said he to them) if my life be yet considerable to you, I conjure you to have care of yours; since the same accidents which touch you, passe even to my heart; indeavour to avoid them with discretion. Trust not so much to the sweetnesse of that Prince, whose [Page 113] goodness you prayse unto me, that you should not feare to provoke him. The affection of the great ones of the earth is so delicate, that very often there needs but a touch to break it. The words that we say unto them should be of silk to please; which is found true in all persons of condition; but principally in regard of those whom fortune hath elevated. They fear so much contempt, that they seek adoration, as if their greatnesse appeareth not, but by the op­pression of the lesser. Let your demands be humble, and your answers modest. Whatsoe­ver shall become of your life, make no use of a lie, to make you appear true; because this monster is known alwayes by some place, and though he presents a pleasing visage, his lower parts are deformed: how fair soever a Devil be when he shews himself, he hath alwayes the tail or foot of a Beast. But though that vertue may steed you more with this Prince then any other thing, fail not to offer him of my part this little of our best mirrhe, of our Theriack, and of all that which you shall judge to be rare in Egypt. Presents dispose the hearts of those whom we desire favours; if we fear their an­ger, they tie their hands, and stop the evil ef­fects of their power. I am of opinion, that you should take twice as much money as is necessa­ry for your employment: you know not whe­ther they did not tempt your fidelity, when [Page 114] they put into your sacks the same peeces of gold which you brought. Rendering them freely, it will be a testimony of your honesty, and perhaps an effect of justice. Behold my dear Children, the last words of y [...]ur poor Fa­ther, if your prudence conduct not this voy­age with so much discretion, that the good suc­cesse may prolong my pilgrimage upon earth.

After this long discourse, and many tears shed of one part and the other, all the Brothers took their way towards Egypt, where they arrived after much pains. When they entered into the Palace, Joseph was by chance at a window, from whence he perceived them. As he knew Benja­min amongst the rest, he commanded the Stew­ard of the house to get the dinner ready, be­cause he would eat with them. In the mean time, he conducted our Pilgrims into a great Hall: but having conceived some fear before they entered, they declared unto him, that they had brought the money which they had found in opening their sacks: Upon which the Stew­ard having assured them, to make their joy compleat, he brought them Simeon. I leave the caress [...]s of this interview, and the Comple­ments which were made reciprocally. The feast being ready, Joseph appeared and received their presents with much testimony of good will. As he had entertained them, he asked them if [Page 115] their Father lived yet, and if that young man was their youngest Brother; Judas having an­swered yes, that good Prince fixing his eyes upon Benjamin, felt himself pressed to the heart so tenderly, that he retired into his Cabi­net to hide there his tears. After the course of them was stopped, he came to them again to wash. They had layed a Table for the Vice-Roy, and for his Wife, who knew all the myste­ry. Another for the strangers, and the third for some Egyptian Lords, who could not see their gods, to be eaten without indignation. This ceremony was accompanied with two circum­stances, which gave much matter of thought to our Cananeans. The first was, as St. Ephraim reports, that Joseph striking with a Rod upon his Cup, commanded that Reuben should take the chief place, according to the right of senio­rity; and then striking eleven times, he named the others, and caused them to be seated accor­ding to the order of their birth. If this first ac­cident surprized the spirit of the strangers, the second merited no lesse admiration. After that all the meat was served, Joseph sent by an Es­quire a plate of his service to each of his Bro­thers, and when it came to Benjamins turn, he caused him to carry him five. This proceeding gave astonishment to them all, notwithstanding no body darred to demand the cause thereof. This good cheer made them forget the design [Page 116] of their voyage, but the Vice-Roy had given order that their sacks should be filled. The next day, being up betimes in the morning, they took leave of their benefactor with words, which witnessed enough, that they were not ingrateful. As they were a quarter of a mile from the Town, Benjamin who travelled last, heard a noise like the trampling of horses, of which he had not almost advertized his Bro­thers, but they saw a little after ten or twelve Horsmen, who with swords in their hands came upon them in full careere: the confusion of their cry gave them as much fear, as the shining of their semiters; notwithstanding their inno­cence assured them in some manner, until that the Captain cryed unto them to stay.

To understand their fear, it was requisite to see their visage, where it was painted, and to consider how one sole word rendered them immoveable. Truly Sirs, said the Steward of the house, behold such an acknowledgement as I never heard; to steal the goods of another, after having received from him all kind of courtesies, is to pay benefits in a new fashion! were you not content to carry away the sort of Egypt, but you must steal the Cup of my Lord? these words surprized so their spirits, that no body could answer except Benjamin, who re­plyed unto them with a modesty which mark­ed enough his vertue. What probability is there [Page 117] that we should be culpable of this crime, after having brought back again from the further­most parts of Canaan, the money which we might have kept without suspition and with­out fear. His Brothers taking the word, cryed out with thousand Protestations of their inno­cence, that they consented that he who had done this robbery, should be condemned to death. They took them at their words, and presently made search for the offender, visiting the sacks in order, even till they had opened Benjamins sack, where the Cup and silver Voider was found. It were necessary to see a malefactor when his witnesses have convicted him, so that he can speak no more for himself, to comprehend the apprehension of Jacobs Children. Benjamin seemed to be the most cul­pable, and the Egyptians made shew to desire none but him: yet his Brothers followed him, rather to revile him with injuries, then to serve him in this occasion. One blamed his artifice, another taking his out-rages farther off, re­proached him that he held this vice of his race, and that he might well take away the Cup of their benefactor, since his Mother had likewise stolen away the Gods of her Father; and that the ambition of Joseph would have ravished the right of the legitimates. From words they would have come to blowes, if the Steward had not said unto them, that the [Page 118] judgement of that affaire appertained not unto them.

Who can expresse their confusion, when the presence of Ioseph constrained them to abase their fight? never were they more ashamed, and never seemed Ioseph more offended. As soon as he saw them, he said unto them with an accent full of sharpnesse: is it thus then that you acknowledge the benefits, wherewith you are obliged unto me? knew you no honester means to requite me? since it is not in your power to be good, you should addresse your selves to some other then to him, who better then any man of the world knows the secret thoughts of men: have I not sufficiently made appear unto you, that I am not ignorant in the art of divination? Iudas taking the word re­plyed to him modestly, It wonld be to adde impudence to our misfortune, if we should pre­tend to excuse him: notwithstanding, though we be more unfortunate then culpable, we con­sent all to our condemnation. Your favours had too much obliged us to serve you: let us die since we have done the contrary: that shall be, if it please your Highnesse the punishment of your slaves. The Vice-Roy interrupting his discourse, and faining to put himself in choler, said unto him. What have you observed any thing in me, from whence you might judge me capable of injustice? I know as well to [Page 119] make the difference of the Innocents, as to pun­ish the offenders. Return all into your Coun­trie, and let him, who is convicted of this dis­order remain my slave. It is not reasonable to ordain a general punishment to a particular fault; why should you undergoe the pain of a theft which you have not so much as known? Iudas who apprehended death lesse then this sentence, approaching Ioseph with much humili­ty, represented to him that his poor Father li­ving not but with the soul of this young man, he would die as soon as he should believe him dead. That he was engaged to bring him back again unto Canaan; at last he concluded with these ardent words. It is by the tears of this feeble old man, that I conjure you to permit the return of Benjamin. But if your justice will make an example to the wicked, I offer my self willingly to suffer the punishment of his sinne, loving better to lead a miserable life in Irons, then to see my Father languish the remainder of his dayes. At the same time Benjamin cast himself at his feet, and shewed himself more eloquent with his eys then with his mouth, be­cause he shed more tears then he uttered words.

But is not this dissimulation enough, will he jest longer? no, Joseph could no more, his eyes were full of tears, and his heart with sighs. This good Prince not longer able to command [Page 120] his joy, made sign with his hand to his people to depart, and then breaking out into sighs, which love and grief hindered to be intelligi­ble, he said unto them the best that he could. I am your Brother Joseph, doth our Father live yet? as soon as he returned to the liberty of speech, his Brothers lost it, for fear sent back into their spirit, all that which their wit had invented to the ruine of their preserver. Joseph perceived it, and to dissipate their apprehensi­on, he used the sweetest and most gracious words that his goodness could pronounce. Fear not my Brothers, I am Joseph, yes my Bro­thers, I am that Joseph whom you sold to the Ismaelites. Perhaps you are troubled, or afraid to believe it; you might have cause for it, if prosperity could change me, and your conduct accuse you. I am your Brother, and you are the Authours of my good fortune▪ It is the provi­dence of God, that hath conducted me into Egypt for your comfort, since you have been the cause of my glory, my power shall not be the motive of your fear. I have wherewith to re­quite you; without you I had never been the Master of Egypt. I rather look upon the design of Heaven, then the intention of your malice; fix your thoughts rather on my love then on your hate: consider lesse my arm then my heart. I am Joseph your Brother. But lest there should arrive any inconvenience to our good [Page 121] Father, return speedily to him, and assure him that his Sonne lives, and that he lives for the consolation and succour of all his. As he had ended, this amiable Brother cast himself on Benjamins neck, mingling his tears with his, which he did to all the others, kissing them with much love and tenderness. All this passed not so secretly, but the Court and Pharaoh had knowledge thereof. The King extremely joy­ful to have a new means to oblige his Minister, commanded that those strangers should be brought to his Palace, where they were treated magnificently. Nothing was spared to render them fitly unto Jacob, which they had order to carry to him, to the end, to receive the honours which his age and quality merited.

Who can conceive the thoughts of that good Patriark, when his Children assured him, that his much beloved Joseph lived, and besides that he raigned in Egypt. Surely the Scripture saith, that it happened unto him, as unto those who have fair dreams. During their sleep, they ima­gine that they are Kings, that they possess Mountains of gold, that all the delights of the world come to cherish them; and in the morn­ing they see their Castles, their Scepters and their Crowns vanish with the shadows of the night, leaving them only the pleasure to have been sweetly deceived. This comparison ex­presseth not ill the cogitations of this reverend [Page 122] old man, who could not take the true History of his dear Sonne but for a fair dream, and a pleasing illusion. But who cannot but accuse Joseph of hardnesse, to have so long time lived in delights, without thinking on the misfor­tunes of his poor Father? who condemns his Conduct, blames the providence of God, who would hide the greatnesse of this Patriark, to make it shine forth with more glory. May be he permitteth also that the little wisdom of men intervene in this affaire, to the end, to pu­rifie the merit of the one and the other, by a patience of three and twenty yeers.

Whilest we permit our spirit to sound the counsels of heaven, Jacob arrived at Thebes, which began to be the Town of the Heroes, since it lodged so great a man, scarce was he entered therein, but he commanded Judas to go to the Court, to advertise Joseph of his com­ing. It was no sooner signified unto him, but he departed, and came to Goshen with all his Family. The inability to express the joy which Jacob received from the life and fortune of his Sonne, dispenses me to speak of their first inter­view. Their extasie was so sweet, that it ravish­eth me my self, and permits me not the liberty to admire it. I cannot notwithstanding but wonder that this passion, which hath often­times killed those whom grief could not over­come, had not destroyed an old man, who was [Page 123] more feeble, and loved more then many others, who have witnessed their extreme content by their sudden death. Sometimes this good Fa­ther was seen hanging on the neck of Joseph, now he embraced his Daughter in Law: and then as if the caresses and kindnesses were all to the Children, he kissed amorously Ephraim, and Manasses. The affection of the one and the other being in some fashion satisfied, Ioseph thought it fit to visit Pharaoh, before his Pa­rents should present themselves at the Court. As he separated himself from them, he coun­selled them, if the King should offer them any aboad, to chuse no other but Goshen. Two Reasons made this advice to be approved, the one, because it was the richest Country of the Kingdom: the second, that they should be withdrawn from the Court, where prosperities being alwayes envied, theirs should not be without jealousie: besides, that the Egyptians had in horror that kinde of life, of which Ja­cob and his Children made profession. This Counsel approved, the Vice-Roy returning to Memphis, gave Jacob leysure to taste his good fortune, & to admire the sweet providence of God, who is pleased to do miracles, to comfort his faithful Servants.

Pharaoh having understood that the Father of his favorite, was at Goshen, commanded that they should haste his voyage: being in his [Page 124] presence, this Prince who was full of goodness, gave him all the entertainment with which he supposed to be able to oblige him. Above all the honour which he rendered him, and the re­spect which he shewed him was remarkable: never entered he into his Chamber, but he went to receive him at the door, and if he stay­ed there any time, his seat and that of his Ma­jesty had nothing that could separate them. To speak truth, this civility shewed much good in­clination in the disposition of Pharaoh: not­withstanding we must confes, that he did not get all the honour which was due to this reverend old man. The day that Jacob was to depart to retire himself unto Rameses, a City in the Land of Goshen, the King admiring the vigour of this body, which had already suffered the win­ters of more then an age, and indured the vexa­tions of a thousand incommodities, asked him what age he was, to which this good Patriark answered, that it was a hundred and thirty yeers since [...]e saw the world; but that his age was not almost but the infancy of his Ancestors: upon this answer he took leave of the King, with the acknowledgements which so many courtesies required. Pharaoh who knew as per­fectly the sanctity of Jacob, as he respected his merit, would not let him depart from him be­fore he had received his benediction, making more accompt of the good wishes of this wise [Page 125] old man, then of all the favours that he had done him.

Joseph having conducted Jacob into Goshen, gave his Master much admiration, when he asked him what colour he would have his sheep; because that his Father who had the care of them, knew a secret to cloath them in his livery. If this proposition surprized Pha­raoh, the experience which he had thereof should give no lesse astonishment. It was then in the innocence of the Country, and amongst the Lambs that Iacob lived seventeen yeers, the most contented and happy life that could be desired; but at last God would recompence so many travels, the merit whereof he already possessed: having made him understand his will, he soon gave advertisement thereof unto Ioseph, who hasted unto Goshen with all his Fa­mily. It is not my design to touch all the cir­cumstances of this death, but to report only that which concerns the glory of Egypts preser­ver. Two dayes before he rendered his soul, he called his dear Sonne, and after having re­commended to him his other Children, he de­clared to him, that God would for the glory of his name, that he should be the chief of two Tribes, in the person of his Children, and that to render them worthy of this favour, he desi­red to blesse them. Ioseph having made them to come, and placed Manasses at the right [Page 126] hand of his Father, and Ephraim at the left, according to the order of their birth, our good old man crossing his arms, changed his right hand upon the youngest, and layd his left hand upon the eldest. Ioseph was astonished at this change, untill that Iacob had made him under­stand a mystery, of which the secret imports, that all our benedictions should come unto us from the Crosse.

It would be very hard to express the resent­ment which all Egypt had of this death. The King commanded that they should mourn for him threescore and ten dayes, during which, even the Ladies of the Court were seen to neg­lect their hair, and instead of charms and fucus to cover their faces with dirt. The Persians burn not the dead, because they fear to do in­jury to that god which they adore, to feed him with flesh. For a contrary reason the E­gyptians embalm theirs, thinking it would be to prophane the bodies, to cause them to be devoured of that Element, which they take for a wild beast. The body of Iacob was buried according to the custom of Egypt, and then he was transported into Hebron, by the express commandment which he left in dying. [...]hese funeral honours were rendered to Iacob; but in consideration of his Sonne, whom in having merit enough for all his, gained them the love and reverence of a whole Nation.

[Page 127] I would understand now of these petty men, who know nothing but what they feel, and who deny a providence, because they cannot touch it with their hand, if God despiseth those whom he afflicts, and if our traverses or crosses be a proof of his hate. It is true, they can shew a Ioseph obedient, and hated in his Fa­thers house; patient and despised in persecuti­ons; faithful and envied in his servitude; chast and suspected in his temptation; innocent and afflicted in a prison. But we should not so fix our eyes upon his misery, that we should not raise them to admire his glory, if it be not that we cannot endure the splendor thereof, or that his greatness hath too much elevation to be perceived. Who would ever have thought that God would have conducted Ioseph into a Palace, when his Brothers cast him into a Ce­stern? who could perswade himself, that he would have put the Scepter into his hand, when he tyed them with chains of Iron? it belong­eth but to an infinite power to do such mar­vells, and to save men when we believe them lost. It is something from a shepheard to see himself favorite of a great Monark; it is no small matter to be the delight of a people; it is much to be the savorite of the one and of the other; but this is not yet the height of the glo­ry of our innocent Patriark, his name marks out but augmentation, his fortune but great­nesse, [Page 128] his words are received like the Oracles, his actions reverenced like holy things; his inclination doth the will of another; and the obedience which they render to the Laws, is not more exact then that which they bring to his orders. Vertue is couragious, a recompence which is not infinite, seems not reasonable to her; a God can pay her merit, provided that he give himself, nothing but him cannot con­tent her. Joseph possessed the favour of four Monarks, was Regent, and saver of Egypt, and Tutor of Amasis, the one of her most amiable Kings. His Father honoured him, his Brothers adored him as their Master, and whole Nations acknowledged him for the greatest miracle of wisedom of his age. I know no body so deli­cate to refuse to suffer thirty yeers to raign fourscore. Notwithstanding as I have said, the vertue of Joseph had not been recompensed, if God had not made him Monark of an Empire, where many Kings would be vassals. There was but heaven, which had treasures worthy of him.

I could enlarge my self in many things which arrived to Ioseph fince his Fathers death, even to his own; but what can one imagine more then a perfect felicity, which accompanied him even to the hundred and twelfth yeere of his life? I have not docility enough to tie me to the relations of Helinandus, nor compla­cence [Page 129] to believe the quarrel of Benjamin, and of Pharaoh's son, without seeking for fables, we have truths enough, the authority which may come to our Patriarch from a lie, renders him not more illustrious.

But it is time to speak of his death, to come to the highest point of his glory. This great, this happy, this wise, this holy Prince, having passed beyond an Age, went to live in eternity, it was notwithstanding after he had commanded his Nation to transport his bones into Palestine. Perhaps by a particu­lar Providence of Heaven, to the end that he might be of the golden number of those who should partake the Resurrection of the Saviour. May be also for the fear which he had, that those, who made Gods of their chalk, and of their calves, might come to adore him, of whom they held so many benefits. He who would make Moses the God of Pharoah, suffered that the Egyptians naturally carried unto Ido­latrie, should acknowledge after his death a Divinitie which they had honoured during his life.

It is the opinion of many knowing men, that Joseph was no sooner dead, but the Egyptians (notwithstanding any resistance which the Is­raelites made) took his bodie all embalmed, and cast it into the Nile, to be adored there with the other Gods, under the name of Serapis. [Page 130] The picture of this God seems to favour this o­pinion, because they represent him under the visage of a young man, who carried a measure of corn and bread on his head. This conje­cture is yet aided by the figure of the Ox, under which Serapis was also acknowledg'd, which Moses seems to insinuate, when in Deuteronomy he compares Joseph to an Oxe. The Etymologie is not contrarie to this sense, whether we de­rive this word Serapis from Sar, which signi­fies Prince, from whence we have made our French Sire; and from Apis, which signifies an Oxe, as if one should say the Prince of Oxen: Or that we make it to come with Firmicus, from Sara, and from Aseph, or Apis, which is the same by the smoothnesse of a figure, which the Greeks name Metathesis. In this sense Serapis implies no other thing, but the Prince of the children of Sara, an honour which is due to Joseph, since he is the first of the Hebrews, who hath born the illustrious name of Prince.

It would be easie to produce many other conjectures, notwithstanding without stopping at the things which our incomparable Joseph hath not desired, I will touch one very consi­derable to his glory. The Egyptians having forgotten the benefits of him who had saved them, lost likewise the respect which they owed to his Nation; from this contempt arise an hatred of their name; this hate kindled so [Page 131] cruel an envy against their persons, that it was a great part of their Religion to persecute them. Moses not able to suffer these outrages, resolved upon a flight; but he must have the bones of Joseph. What means, since they had been cast into the current of Nile, to conse­crate the waters thereof. The Rabbines, who please themselves with Fables, make here a sheep to speak, to instruct a Prophet. It seems unto me more reasonable to receive that which others assure, and to say that Moses knew the place of the River, where those precious Re­liques were, having written the great Name in a plate of gold, which floated upon the water, until it rested it self upon the holy bo­die.

Now, my Reader, think you that affliction and calumny can hurt innocence; and that one should avoid the tempests which lead hap­pily to the Port? From what favour can one expect more prosperities then hatred and envy have procured to our Patriarch, since the pos­session of a Kingdome was but the least part of his recompence. O how much are you to be wished, sweet misfortunes, who prick us not but to awake us; how powerfully you attract my desire, precious calumnies, who cast no sha­dows on our reputation, but to make it break forth resplendently. But rather holy Provi­dence of my God, how amiable art thou, since [Page 132] it is thee who changest these afflictions into joyes, and these calumnies into a solid and un­limited glory.

Tell me, my dear Reader, is it not true, that it is impossible for thee to read the History of our Joseph, but thou shalt suffer, and thou shalt triumph? It is in his person that innocence sighs with so good a grace, that to see him, and not to suffer with him, to suffer with him without tasting a secret joy, are two of those things which we judge impossible. I know not if it be vertue or nature in me; but I never remem­ber to have contemplated the conduct of that fortunate wretch, that my heart was not mol­lified, and all my senses made conformable un­to his. His brothers persecuted me in his per­son; I descended with him into the Cestern, to combat there the fear and horrour of the Vi­pers. I went into Egypt in his company, and without being exposed to the temptation of his Mistresse, I put my self willingly to his chain, suffering with pleasure the incommodi­ties of a prison, where he found pains without trouble, and gall without bitternesse. I con­fesse that following the pomp and magnificence of his triumph, my admiration was greatest, but that my joy was lesse, then when I lamented with him under the Irons, and in the chains.

I expect the same feelings from all those who shall read this work, since I suppose so much [Page 133] good nature, and more vertue in them then I have my self. No body can fix his eyes here without drawing advantage thence, provided that they read with attention, it shall not be without profit. I dare even to promise my self, that the curious, who seek nothing but di­vertisement, shall be here happily deceived, and that the truth of the History shall have more force to perswade them, then the fiction of a Romance, artifice to deceive them. Behold the principal fruits that one may gather from hence; there is not one person in this action, who instructs us not, either with his words, or with his example.

The Fathers shall learn from Jacob to divide their heart with so much equality to their chil­dren, that their love cause no domestick war in their Family. I know well, that it is hard to keep strictly this justice, and that the resem­blance, and sympathy of humour have power­ful charms to surprise the parents. The beasts themselves, who cannot observe the attracti­ons of nature, leave themselves to goe after their conduct. They say that the Partridge hath most tendernesse for that of her chickens, who toucheth immediately her heart whilst she sits upon them, as if the approach of that source of love gave right to this preference; and though the features of the face, nor the quali­ties of the temper should not make this inclina­tion [Page 134] in the fathers and in the mothers, there are other reasons that solicit them sometimes to give themselves unequally to their children. For the most part the youngest have great ad­vantages upon the eldest, whether they pro­ceed from the interest of the cause, or derive from that of the effect. One may love them with preference, because the infirmity of their age requireth succour and care, which would be unnecessary and unseemly in behalf of the strong: we support not but what is delicate, and leans. This natural sweetnesse which ren­ders them supple to the will of their parents, is no weak motive of their affection. Those who dispute their services with them, make their power to be doubted; those who render them without constraint, shew it, and confirm it. Moreover, if it be true, that fathers live in their children, have they not some reason to cherish more the youngest, who promise them advantage thereof, both because they have a longer file of years before them, and because they have more condescendencies to the cares of their old age.

I speak not of innocence and vertue, since it is certain that they should draw the heart and affection of the parents wheresoever they are. But notwithstanding any justice that he hath to prefer the youngest before the eldest, or these before the others, a father should fly the exte­riour [Page 135] and apparent testimonies of his esteem, forasmuch as he may provoke many, willing to favour one alone. The marks of the affection which they gave them, are the Butts where en­vy discharges her self, and the spurs to hatred, which persecute them. Perhaps Joseph had been cherished of his brothers, if he had not bin better habited then they; at least, we may understand that the robe with which he was gratified, was the chief cause of the jealousie that sold him. Love then, Parents, love, but love equally, or if you cannot, love secretly, and in silenee, that your affection be as hidden as its principle.

Jacob had great motives to cherish his Jo­seph; he was the Image of Rahel his dear wife, he was that of all the vertues, which appeared with so much lustre in his visage, that one might know them in his person; and yet so many just motives of his love, could not ju­stifie him, nor all his prudence moderate his passion.

In the brothers of Joseph we have the exam­ple, and the figure of those monsters who can­not see a good quality in those whom the birth, or society of life should render commendable, without an envious eye, or being crased with jealousie. One must be a fool to merit their good will, or at least he must not be more able then they, to avoid their hate. They will sell their own bloud, provided they may remove a [Page 136] vertue that incommodates them. But certain­ly it happens always, that they repent them­selves of their cruelty, and if there be not found a Monarch to raise up Joseph, there is a God who punisheth them, and protects him. For my part, I confesse, notwithstanding any trouble we sustain in suffering stroaks from an hand which should defend us, that I should love better to act in such like encounter, the part of a Martyr, then the office of a Tyrant or Executioner, for in the end rage confoun­deth, and patience crowneth.

But what instruction may not one derive from the misfortunes, and from the prosperities of Joseph? First, my Reader, learn from him, that it is important to hide that Sun and those Lights, which shew you, I would say that you should not publish the merit which you have. Lay not forth your selves the fruit of your sheaves, because that your brethren may be­lieve, that there is asmuch vanity in this testi­mony, which you render you, as there is free­nesse and simplicity in discovering your selves. Have a care to do well, and leave that of prai­sing you unto others; you shall lose nothing of your price; you have God for caution of that which men owe you. If it happeneth that Heaven put you into credit, abuse it not; Con­sider your fortune as a proof of your vertue, and as a means that is presented to you to exer­cise [Page 137] it; if you have power, make it known by your good deeds, and not by your revenges. I confesse that there is some sweetnesse to resent ones self of an injury, but there is glory and merit to pardon it. Resemble not those gods of the Ancients, unto whom they gave incense, for fear they should raise storms. It is a fatal power, that to hurt men; there are none but the Devils that can derive glory from thence. Contemplate our Patriarch in Pharaohs throne, behold his traitors and his murtherers at his feet; he had the thunder in his hand, he made use thereof but to make them afraid, yet seemed he to repent himself of that. Imitate those tears which mollified him upon the abase­ment and humiliation of those who had not spared his bloud. I doubt not but you have in the beginnings of this exercise, some repug­nance to practise it; but I dare assure, that the endevour which you shall make, will produce you the sweetnesse of a joy which will ravish you. He who revengeth himself, surmounts not commonly but the cowardly; he who con­tradicts his sense, triumpheth alwaies like an honest man. Oh how sweet and glorious is it to have the thunderbolts in hand, and to make use but of the thunder!

But since we are almost continually to suffer in this life, let us consider our Patriarch in all his misfortunes, and his example will tell us [Page 138] that which we ought to do in like encounters. Happeneth it that your brothers persecute you, look upon him in his sobbing under the knife of an inhumane, who pardoned him not, but to abandon him to the beasts more savage, then an evil brother, if yet there be any such. He fell from their hands into the bottome of a Ditch, he made thereof a Pulpit, from whence he sent a thousand sighs unto Heaven, to solicit there the pardon of his executioners. I assure you, my dear Reader, that he carried his pains with so much conformity, that God took plea­sure therein, and that this pleasure obliged him to stir him up new troubles. You will judge when he comes forth of his Sepulchre, that he shall rise again to the hope of a life lesse incom­modious then his; a few paces from thence, he found chains, which served notwithstanding but to hold him more strongly to the will of his Creator. He passed into Egypt, they cast him headlong into a prison; did this hinder him to adore him who brought him thither? So far was he from it, that he seemed to see him and to hear him, as he had raised him a­bove the Empyraeum. He suffered with pati­ence, and attended without despair, resolved to die, if God would have it so, or to live, if he so ordained it. That which deceives men, is, that they know not, or feign not to know, that suffering serves as an infallible means unto [Page 139] Heaven to pull us from the earth. It is that secret which we ought to make the solid foun­dation of our comfort, in all the accidents that encounter us. Who can complain of his miseries, if he look upon them as the favours of a goodnesse, who regards but the advantage of those whom he seems to afflict?

This Providence which holds the principal part of this illustrious Comedy, furnisheth us with fair reflections against our murmurers. For lastly, my Reader, if we will call to mind that there never arriveth unto us any thing which is not known to that wisdome who hath no lesse power and goodnesse to turn aside our misfor­tunes, then light to foresee them, should we be so unreasonable as to accuse him of severitie? There is this notable difference of the love of God, and that of men, that this latter cannot be produced but in the communication of be­nefits, whereas the former hath not a more evi­dent testimonie of its tendernesse, then the cruelty that it exerciseth. It is not for us to do evil, with intention to draw good from thence, because we have not the skill to make our malice succeed with so much good fortune. There is none but God who knowes this arti­fice, and who ought to serve himself there­with: he doth it ordinarily both to separate us from the creatures, and to unite us to him. Keep we firm in this principle. God knows [Page 140] the means to save me, when he seems to destroy me; let him dispose of my life, and of my for­tune, as it shall please him, I can never mur­mure, because I can never doubt of his power and of his wisdome, much lesse of his good­nesse.

Suppose we notwithstanding that this high Majesty hath not that industry to change the things so contrary, and that it would not con­duct us unto happiness through misery, nor un­to glory through infamy. We must remem­ber that God is the Soveraign of his creature, and therefore it is subject unto all the uses that it shall please him. An Artificer hath much right to ruine the work of his hand; he can if he will burn the house which he hath built, confound the image which he hath drawn, break the pot which he hath moulded, and ge­nerally destroy all that which he hath made, by this only reason, that he is the master thereof, and the workman. Let us examine the rights of our God, and we shall find that our nullity cannot exceed his power. He hath not only gi­ven us the exteriour and the figure, which bounds and which limits all the industry of o­ther masters, but also his hand passeth even to the bottome of our being, and makes the most interiour of our substance. What law have we to oblige him to our conservation? What ser­vice have we rendred to him to constrain him [Page 141] to chuse us the fortunes and conditions that please us? The least of our crimes may re­quire from his justice all the rigour of his pow­er; but the greatest of our homages cannot merit the least of his favours. Why then would we force him to do us good, since we are al­ways culpable, and he is never debtor? Truly his power should be very much limited, if he could not serve himself of us, but as we should think fit. The Master of all nature, he should become the slave of all men, since there is not one of them content with his fortune, nor modest in his ambitions. Whatsoever God makes of us, let us acquiesce in his Providence: he is just, if he ordain us punishment; he is magnifick, if he doth us good.

Let us look upon Joseph in the chains, and under the irons of a rude captivity, he retains there a countenance so cont [...]nt, as if he were upon the Arch of the Firmament; the Angels are not more resigned to the glory which they possesse, then this innocent young man was to the miseries which he suffered. In which, not to dissemble, his vertue surpassed theirs much, since there must be courage to bear evil, where­as it is sufficient to love for to consent to his good. What marvel is it that a Seraphim is not distasted with God amidst the torrent of eternal delights! What miracle, that a poor creature is not troubled in the bitternesses of [Page 142] a cruel fortune! it would not be much if the just dispute not glory but with the blessed spi­rits, it seems even that he carries it above his God; that high Majesty boasts himself for being descended into the prisons into the com­pany of that holy Patriarch, and not to have abandoned him in his chains. Truly his con­descence proves his goodnesse, it exposeth ne­verthelesse nothing of his interest; his pity may comfort our misery, but it cannot feel it; and though it should be true, that God were sensible of evil (which we cannot think) he would have always many assistances and suc­cours, which are needful to our nature. He is puissant, we are weak; he is strong, we are in­firm; he is invariable, we are inconstant; last­ly, he is God, and we are creatures. His pow­er props him, our weaknesse shakes us; his force retains him, our infirmitie thrusts us off, his im­mutability staies him, our inconstancy over­throws us. It is then more glory to suffer as man, then to compassionate as God, and it is more to Joseph who consumed himself in af­fliction, then to his amiable Master who be­held him. Let us confesse that it is a great and noble motive to fortifie us in our pains, to know that we have a God, who despiseth not our miseries, and who keeps to our chain. Se­neca assures, that his Jupiter sees nothing but the flat in parallel to the suffering of a good [Page 143] man, yea, but he remains in the Heaven, and participates not of his griefs but by the sight. He whom we adore, descends unto the Earth, and enters into our prisons, not to be there spe­ctatour of our combats, but to serve us for se­cond. It is an illustrious duel, that of God and man, against impatience and fortune; who would be so cowardly to fly, when he should triumph? I come again notwithstanding to that which is sweet in our History; he who tries us by afflictions, sustains us by hope; he never thrusts men into the lists, but he hath the buckler on his arm to defend him, and the lawrels in his hand to crown him. My dear Reader, if thou fightest, look well about thee; and I assure thee, that thou shalt see her who observes thy fidelity, and who prepares thy reward; if thou demandest who it is, I answer, it is the Divine Providence.

FINIS.

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