Virtus rediviva a panegyrick on our late King Charles the I. &c. of ever blessed memory. Attended, with severall other pieces from the same pen. Viz. [brace] I. A theatre of wits: being a collection of apothegms. II. Fœnestra in pectore: or a century of familiar letters. III. Loves labyrinth: a tragi-comedy. IV. Fragmenta poetica: or poeticall diversions. Concluding, with a panegyrick on his sacred Majesties most happy return. / By T.F.

Virtus Rediviva A Panegyrick On our late King CHARLES the I. &c. of ever bleſſed Memory. ATTENDED, With ſeverall other Pieces from the ſame PEN. Viz. I. A Theatre of Wits: Being a Collection of APOTHEGMS. II. Foeneſtra in Pectore: or a Century of Familiar LETTERS. III. Loves Labyrinth: A Tragi-comedy. IV. Fragmenta Poetica: Or Poeticall Diverſions. Concluding, with A PANEGYRICK on His Sacred Majeſties moſt happy Return. By T. F.

Varietas delectat.

Printed by R. & W. Leybourn, for William Grantham, at the Sign of the Black Bear in St. Pauls Church-yard neer the little North door; and Thomas Baſſet, in St. Dunſtans Churchyard in Fleet-ſtreet. 1660.

VIRTƲS REDIVIVA: OR, A PANEGYRICK On the late K. Charls the I. Second Monarch OF GREAT BRITAIN. By THO. FORDE.

Honoris, Amoris, Doloris ergo.

Propoſitum eſt mihi Principem Laudare non Principis facta, nam laudabilia multa etiam mali faciunt.

Plin. Panegyric▪ in Trajan.

Emblems of England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland

LONDON, Printed by R. and W. Leybourn, for William Grantham at the Black Bear in St. Pauls Church-yard, neer the little North Door. 1660.

The Preface.

XEnophon charactered his Cyrus, not as he was but as he ought to have been: making him rather the ſubject of a brave Romance, than a true Hiſtory.

But ſuch is the advantage of our Charls his Virtue, that when I have ſaid all I can ſay, it will be infinitely beneath what I ſhould ſay, I ſhall doe truth no injury to confeſſe the weakneſſe of Art to repreſent a perſon ſo admirable, without diminiſhing his glories, whoſe Fame ſurmounts the moſt daring Hyperbolies of Rhetorick; and to praiſe faintly (in Seneca's opinion) is a piece of ſlander.

I muſt be forced to imitate the Coſmographers, who deſcribe a large Kingdome by a little point, and confine the whole world in a ſmall circle: whereto when I have done all, I muſt ſubſcribe this Motto, Intelligitur, plus quam pingitur.

Alexander the Great gave ſtraight commands, that no Painter ſhould dare to make his Picture, but Apelles: I know no Penſill fit to draw great Charls, his Picture, but his own, Ipſe, ipſe quem loquar, loquatur. And well it is he hath done it in his divine Portrayture, that Aureum flumen orationis: a piece wherein Learning and Language, Reaſon and Religion, ſpeak him at once a Solomon for knowledge, and a David for piety and devotion.

Timanthes that rare and ingenious Artiſt (as Pliny tells the Story) diviſing in a little Table to repreſent a Cy • lop • s ſleeping, becauſe he would ſeem in that little Compaſſe to ſhew his Gyant-like bigneſſe, he painted little Satyres hard by, taking meaſure of one of his thumbs with long perches. Our inſufficiency to repreſent his ſacred Majeſty to the full, may perhaps be none of the leaſt Arguments to evince the greatneſſe of his merit, who (as Pindar ſaid Elegantly of Heiro) cropt the tops and ſummities of all virtues, which diſperſed among all others, met in Him, as in their proper Center.

The Coloſs at Rhodes, one of the wonders of the World, was no leſſe admired being beaten down, than when it ſtood, when as they ſaw that with one of the fingers they might make many great Statues: Nor can Great Charls his Fall, leſſen our Admiration of Him, when it ſhall be conſidered that from His incomparable Actions may be drawn perfect Images, and aſſured Examples of the greateſt and moſt noble Virtues.

It is the priviledge of Virtue to give a new Life after Death.

Chi Semina virtu, racoglie fame, e vera Fama ſupera la morte,

Sayes the Italian Proverb; He that ſows virtuous Deeds, reaps Renown, and true Fame out-lives death.

How many have we read of who have been buried with ignominy and obſcurity; yet in a ſhort time, the Sun of their virtue hath riſen out of the dark grave of prejudice and ſlander, and ſhined with more luſter than before! Benedet • o Alberti was baniſhed by the Florentines, and yet after his death, they confeſſed their errour, and fetcht home his bones, burying him with ſolemn pomp and honour, whom being alive they had perſecuted with ſlanders and reproaches.

It is ſaid of our Engliſh Edward the 2d, that they who deſpiſed him being alive, ſo much honored him being dead, that they could have found in their hearts to make him a Saint.

The grave which buries a man ſhould alſo bury all his enemies, it being unnaturall to hate the dead▪ whom we cannot hurt, for the utmoſt that malice can doe is to kill; and therefore it is noted a prodigious and unexampled hatred between the two brothers of Thebes, E • ocles and Polinices, as Statius tells us,

Nec furiis poſt fa • a modus, flammae que rebelles Seditione rogi, &c. Their furies were not bounded by their fate, One's Funeral flame the others flame did hate.

Solon made a Law that none ſhould ſpeak evill of the dead, and his reaſon was, for fear of immortal enemies.

Livor poſt fata quieſcit. Envy ſleeps after death; ſays the Poet, as confidently as if it were not to be queſtioned. Onely our Charls hath found it falſe, and the men of our Age alone have made an exception to this generall rule of charity. There have been found thoſe who have perſecuted his Ghoſt, and committed Treaſon againſt his Memory; like thoſe chief Prieſts in the Goſpel, who conſulted to put Lazarus to death, after his reſurrection. But his Virtue hath ſurvived their malice, and he Lives in ſpight of Fate or envy.

Haec eſt CAROLI gloria, ut nullius laudibus creſcat, nullius vituperatione minuatur; as Macrobius ſayes of Virgil. This is CHARLS his Glory, that as the prayſes of his friends can adde nothing to him, ſo the ſlanders of his enemies can detract nothing from Him. His Virtue needethnot our Encomiums, His Memory contemneth their ſcandals, and his Merits Surpaſſe all Diſcourſes.

Vivit poſt funera Virtus.

VIRTƲS REDIVIVA: OR, A PANEGYRICK On the late K. CharlstheI. Second Monarch of Great BRITAIN.

TO praiſe the living, although never ſo deſerving, is not ſeldome ſuſpected of flattery, and deſign: Therefore ſay the wiſe Italians, La lode naſcer deve quando è morto chi ſ • h • da lodar; Praiſes ought not to be born, till the party praiſed be dead: when both envy in the Reader, and flattery in the Writer are uſeleſs: when the Writers Pen is neither brib'd by favours to a mercenary, and ſordid▪ adulation▪ nor frighted by the frownes of greatneſſe into a Paral •• ick and ſhaking cowardice.

I have undertaken a Subject which will 〈◊〉 me from the guilt of fawning flattery, as being ſo far above all praiſes that I fear not to be guilty of ſaying too mu • h, but too little in his commendation. The richeſt colours of Rhetorick are too dark to repreſent a life ſo tranſparent, ſo full of worth, ſo full of wonder. The brighteſt language will prove but a dark ſhadow, to that ſhining merit▪ which exceeds all apprehenſion, much leſs expreſſion; well it is if it do not ſpoil, what I confeſs I am not able to adorn. Materies tamen ipſa juvat. Charls the Firſt, whom but to name is to caſt a cloud upon all former Ages, and to benight Poſterity; In taking of whoſe Picture, I ſhall not need to doe as that Painter did, who drew Antigonus▪ imagine luſcâ, hal • faced, that ſo he might hide his want of an eye from the view of the beholder. There is nothing in Charls, but what is lovely▪ and admirable▪ no deformity, or imperfection. I ſhall rather chooſe to imitate the famous Apelles; who to expreſs his art to the full in the picture of Venus riſing naked out of the Sea, aſſembled together all the moſt beautifull women of the Iſland of Coos (his native place) uniting in that piece all their divided perfections. There is nothing eminent, or excellent in all the deſervedly admired antients, that is not only met, but out-done in Charls. It is affirmed by the learned Raleigh, that if all the pictures and patterns of a mercileſs Prince were loſt in the world, they might all again be painted to the life out of the Story of Hen. 8. But I ſhall with as much truth▪ and perhaps more Charity, maintain, that if all the Pictures, and Patterns of a mercifull Prince, of a couragious and conſtant King, of a vertuous, and brave Man, were loſt▪ they might be repaired, if not infinitely excell'd in the Story of Charls the Firſt whoſe life needs no Advocate, whom detraction it ſelf cannot mention without commendation. I find not any man in all the Records of the antients, or the Writings of the more modern authors, over whom he hath not ſome advantage; nor any ones life, taken altogether, ſo admirable as His: nor any thing admirable in any, that was not in Him: Qu • ſimul omnia uno iſto nomine continentur. In Him alone are to be found all the vertuous qualities of the beſt Princes in the world, without the vices of any of them: for he only hath made it appear, that great vertues may be without the attendance of great vices.

It was ſaid of our Hen. the 5th. that he had ſomething in him of C • ſar, which Alexander the Great had not, that he would not be drunk, and ſomething of Alexander the Great, which Caeſar had not, that he would not be flattered. But Charls had the vertues of all; without the vices of any, tam extra vici • , quam cum ſummis virtutibus. He as much exceeded all other Kings, as other Kings doe all other men. In a word, he was what ever a good Prince ought to be, and what others ſhould be, yet was this Lilly born in the land of thorns and briers, this Roſe ſprang up amidſt a field of thiſtles; I preſume the deſcription hath prevented me ſaying it was Scotland.

A Land that calls in queſtion, and ſuſpence Gods Omni-preſence, but that Charls came thence.

In quo▪ nihil praeter unum Carolum eſt, quod commendemus. A Nation famous for the birth of Charls, but infamous for their treachery and diſloyalty to ſo brave a Prince. But the happineſs of a brave and incomparable Father, did ſufficiently recompence for the place of his birth: So that I may ſay of him what is ſaid of Lewis the 8th of France, father to St. Lewis, that he was Son to an excellent Father, and Father to an excellent Son; a Son only worthy of ſuch a Father, a Father only worthy of ſuch a Son. A Father ſo admirable that Sir W. Raleigh hath left it upon Record to all Poſterity, that if all the malice of the world were infuſed into one eye, yet could it not diſcern in his life, any one of thoſe foul ſpots, by which the conſciences of all forreign Princes (in effect) have been defiled; nor any drop of that innocent bloud on the Sword of his juſtice, with which the moſt that fore-went him have ſtained both their hands and fame. This Encomium of the Father, may juſtly deſcend to the Son as Heir apparant to his virtues, as well as his Crowns.

In his Childhood, the weakneſſe of his lower parts which made him unapt for exerciſes and feats of activity, rendred him more retired, and ſtudious, and more intent upon his Book then perhaps he had been otherwiſe. So great a Student was he in his younger dayes, that his Father would ſay, he muſt make him a Biſhop: Providence then ſeeming to deſign him, rather to the Croſier then the Crown. By his great ſtudy he became a great Hiſtorian, an excellent Poet, a great lover and Maſter of Muſick, and indeed a generall Scholar. This rare Cien was not grafted upon a wilding or crab-ſtock, but an innocent and ſtudious youth, was the prologue to a more active and vigorous manhood. For being grown in years, and ſtate, he ſhook off his former retiredneſs, and betook himſelf to all manner of man-like exerciſes, as vaulting, riding the great Horſe, running at the Ring, ſhooting in Croſs-bowes, Muskets, and great Ordinance, in which he became ſo expert, that he was ſaid to be the beſt Marks-man, and the moſt comely Manager of a great Horſe, of any one in his three Kingdoms. Nor were theſe excellencies ill-houſed, but his fair Soul was tenant to a lovely and well proportioned body. His ſtature of a juſt proportion, his body erect and active, of a delicate conſtitution, yet ſo ſtrong withall, as if nature had deſign'd him to be the ſtrife of Mars, and Venus. His countenance amiable and beautiful, wherein the White Roſe of York, and the Red of Lancaſter were united: his hair inclining to a brown, till cares and grief changed them into a white, at once the Embleme of his innocence, and his fortune; clear and ſhining eyes, a brow proclaiming fidelity, his whole frame of face and favour, a moſt perfect mixture and compoſition of Majeſty, and Sweetneſs.

Thus long have we beheld him as a Man: Let us now view him as a Husband, as a Father, as a King; and we ſhall find him alike admirable in all relations.

As an Husband▪ he is a rare Example of love and chaſtity; at his firſt receiving of his Queen, he profeſſed▪ that he would be no longer Maſter of himſelf▪ then whilſt he was a Servant to her; and ſo well did he make his words good, that on the day before his death he commanded his Daughter, the excellent Princeſs Elizabeth, to tell her Mother that his thoughts had never ſtrayed from her, and that his love ſhould be the ſame to the laſt. And indeed no man more loved, or leſs do ••• d upon a wife.

As a father, how tender was he of his children, without a too remiſs indulgence! how carefull of their education in the true Proteſtant Religion, which he alwayes profeſſed, and learnedly defended, adviſing the Lady Elizabeth (and in her the reſt) to read Biſhop Andrews Sermons, Hookers Eccleſiaiſtcall Politie, and Biſhop Laud's book againſt • iſher, to ground them againſt Popery.

Let us now view him as a King, and we ſhall ſee him as the Soul of the Common-wealth, acting vigourouſly, and regularly every particular member in its ſeveral place and office. Behold him in his royall Throne, and thence diſpencing his ſacred Oracles of Law and Juſtice, to the admiration of all that had the happineſs to ſee and hear him. Witneſs Mr. Speaker • Speech to his Majeſty on the 5th of Novem. 1640. I ſee before my eyes with admiration (ſayes that then eloquent Orator, as the mouth of all the Commons of England) the Majeſty of Great Britain, the glory of times, the hiſtory of honour, Charls the Firſt, in his forefront placed by deſcent of antiquity, King, ſetled by a long ſucceſſion, and continued unto us by a pious & peaceful government; concluding with this ſerious and loyal promiſe; And all our Votes ſhall paſs, that your ſacred Majeſty may Long, Long, Long reign over us. To which, no doubt, all that heard him ſaid, Amen. Such was his pious and paternall care over his people, that the moſt • ullen ingratitude could not but acknowledge him the Father of his Country: teaching his people obedience to his Laws, not ſo much by Proclamation, as Example; as he was Imperio Maximus, ſo he was Exemplo Major, as Paterculus ſayes of Tyberius: or as it is ſaid of Lycurgus, that famous Law-giver, he never ordained any thing to others, which he did not firſt exactly obſerve himſelf.

So chaſt was he in his embraces, ſo pious in his devotions, ſo juſt in all his actions, that the Law-maxime of Rex non peccat, was never more true of any King, than of Him. Behold him at the Councill Table, and there we ſhall find him (by the teſtimony of one of his greateſt enemies) principall in all tranſactions of State, and the wiſeſt about him but Acceſſaries: for he never acted by any implicit faith in State matters; He had more learning and dexterity in State affairs, undoubtedly (ſayes that Cook ruſſian) than all the Kings in Chriſtendom. And herein, if ever, the good words of an enemy are true.

It is reported of our Henry 4th. that he ſtood more upon his own legs than any of his Predeceſſors had done, in caſes of difficulty; not refuſing, but not needing the advice of others, which might confirm, but not better his own judgement. But this is far greater and truer commendation in Charls, who ſucceeded ſo wiſe a Prince as James the firſt, the greateſt Maſter of King-craft (as he uſed to call it) that ever ſwayd the Engliſh Scepter.

But as our Charls his wiſdome was great, in that he was able to adviſe, yet was it greater in that he was willing to be adviſed: being never ſo wedded to his own opinions but that on good grounds he might be divorced from them; for though ſome of his enemies have reported him wilfull, and too tenacious to his own reſolves; one who knew him bettet then all of them (though perhaps their malice was greater than their ignorance) affirms, and that without ſuſpition of falſhood, that though in his childhood he was noted to be very wilfull, which might proceed from that retiredneſs, which the imperfection of his Speech, not fitting him for publick diſcourſe, and the weakneſs of his limbs and joints (as unfit for action) made him moſt delight in; yet afterwards, as he ſhaked off his retiredneſs, ſo he corrected in himſelf the peccancy of that humour, which had grown up with it, there being no man to be found (ſayes my Author, and it is verbum Sacerdotis) of an evener temper, more pliant to good counſel, or leſs wedded than he was to his own opinion. Indeed as he was long and ſerious in deliberating, ſo was he juſt and true to his reſolves, and reſolute in the execution of them.

Let us attend him to the Chappell, and there we ſhall ſee him, ſo pious and devout in prayer, ſo reverend and attentive in hearing, that we may juſtly conclude his piety to be as a rich Diamond in the Ring of his royall virtues. Conſtantine alwayes heard Sermons ſtanding, acknowledging thereby what reverence is due to the Word of God, the irreverence that hath ſince crept into our Churches, may well make us bewail the loſs of that laudable Example of our Engliſh Conſtantine, who alwayes bare a great regard to the Church and Church men; whom he reverenced for their function, and loved for their fi •• l •• y; ſo much a friend was he to all Church men, that had any thing in them beſeeming that ſacred Function, that he hazarded (as he ſays himſelf) his own intereſt, chiefly upon conſcience & conſtancy to maintain their rights, whom the more he looked upon as Orphans, & under the ſacrilegious eyes of many cruel & rapacious reformers, ſo he thought it his duty the more to appear as a father, and patron for them and the Church.

He was at once a dutifull Son, and an indulgent father of the Church, eſteeming it (with that good Emperor) a greater honour to be a member of the Church, than Head of an Empire. Nor was he onely a gracious Patron of the Church, but alſo a reſolute Champion in behalf of the Hierarchy, as well remembring that Prophetick Apothegm of the King his father, No Biſhop, no King; his own experience being too great a Comment upon that truth to be by him neglected, or by us forgotten.

Baſſianus the Emperor refuſing the name of Pius, would be called Foelix: on the contrary our Charls choſe rather to be informiatly Pious, than irreligiouſly proſperous, well knowing that piety ſhall not want its reward in a better place. A King ſo religious, ſo devout, that if all his ſubjects had been like the King, we might then indeed have had a Kingdom of Saints.

If we enter his Courts of Judicature, there ſhall we behold Juſtice with her ſword and ballance, equally dividing, and impartially weighing out the rewards of virtue, and puniſhments of vice: poverty never excluding the Innocent, nor power abſolving the nocent; and though the Aſylum of his mercy was never ſhut to the meaneſt ſupplicant, whom the rigour of the Law had caſt, yet was he alwayes inexorable to the ſupplications of the greateſt offender, if found guilty of willfull murther. Ageſilaus wrote to a Judge in behalf of his Favourite, Si cauſa bona, pro juſtitia, ſin mala pro amicitia abſolve. But hath not our Charls delivered up the greateſt of his favourites to the ſentence of the Law? did his power ever ſhield the moſt powerfull offenders from the ſtroke of juſtice, though himſelf were wounded through their ſides? As his juſtice was blind to all relations, his hands were continually open to receive the Petitions of his meaneſt ſubject: not like Demetrius who threw the Petitions of his people into the water; He was always ready and expectant to receive them, and never better pleaſed than when he took them from the hands of the pooreſt Petitioner; juſtly meriting the ſtyle of James the fifth of Scotland, who was called, The poor mans King.

Worthy was the Speech of that Goth, a King of Italy, who ſpeaking of his Subjects, ſaid, Meſſis n • ſtra, cunctorum quies: Our harveſt is their reſt. Such was the vigilancy of Charls, whoſe waking eyes ſecured all his flock from being a prey to any ſubtle Mercury: No forreign invaſion daring to land upon our coaſts; no home-bred broyles frighting the Husbandman from his Plough, or the Tradeſman from his Shop: but peace and plenty crowned all their endeavours, they being married in our Kingdome, as nearly as in the French Proverb. Every man ſate under his own Vine and Fig-tree, eating the fruit of his own labours. No loading taxes made their trade move ſlowly, or clogged the wheels of their honeſt induſtry. No polings, no plundrings, no ſpies to catch at every whiſper, and make a man an offendour for a word; but Law was duly adminiſtred, Religion mainteined, Learning encouraged, the arts liberally profeſſed and rewarded. Our Merchants traffickt with ſafety and honour whereſoever the neceſſity of their employments lead them; and no corner of the world ſo barbarous, but the name of an Engliſhman was welcome and pleaſant.

It is reported that Henry the 8th confeſſed on his death bed, that he had never ſpared man in his wrath, nor woman in his luſt: But of Charles let me ask, whoſe houſe did he plunder? whoſe wife did he abuſe? whoſe right did he wrong? may it not be more truly affirmed of him, what the Hiſtorian flatteringly ſpake of Livia, the wife of Auguſtus, Ejus potentiam nemo ſenſit, niſi aut levatione periculi, aut acceſſione dignitatis? No man felt his hand▪ unleſs in raiſing the oppreſſed from the pit of miſery, or advancing the deſerving to the hill of honour. To ſuch a pitch of felicity were we then arrived, by the virtues and indulgence of a gracious Soveraign, that nothing could render us more happy, but a continuance of our happineſſe. Never was Prince more beloved, or better obeyed by loyall Subjects. Nothing but the want of him could render him more glorious, or deſired.

But the greateſt felicities are ſhorteſt lived, and the moſt glorious ſummer is followed by the ſharpeſt winter; the cleareſt skie is not without its clouds, the longeſt day muſt have a night. The ſunne of our glory was arrived to the Meridian and Verticall point, it muſt now decline, labour under a ſad and almoſt total Ecclipſe; and at laſt ſet in a cloud of bloud, darkneſs, and confuſion. O nulla longi temporis foelicit as! But as the ſun is no leſs glorious in it ſelf, when labouring under the darkeſt Ecclipſe, nor leaves his wonted courſe, for all the clouds and vapours that flie in his face: So neither was our Charls leſs great and admirable under the moſt fatall Ecclipſes of his glory, nor leſs conſtant, and unwearied in all the royall Offices of a King, when the clouds and vapours of calumny and ſedition endeavored moſt to obſcure and darken his brightneſſe.

As he was a lover of Peace, he was no leſſe valiant in War, if we confeſſe at leaſt valour conſiſts not onely in doing, but alſo in ſuffering. As he was moderate in proſperity, ſo was he couragious and patient in adverſity: his virtue, courage and Chriſtian patience having carried him with an unwearied courſe through both the Hemiſph • res of proſperity and adverſity, compaſſing (as I may ſay) the whole globe of both fortunes, and rendring him an unparalleld pattern of ſuch vertues, as were formerly undiſcovered to the world, and had ſtill remained as a Terra incognita to all other Princes, had not his admirable example taught them, and all others, that no Croſs is too heavy for a Chriſtian reſolution, nor any difficulty too hard for vertue to conquer.

On the Sepulcher of Poſſenius Niger was placed this Epitaph, Here lieth Poſſ. Niger, an antient Roman, who in merit was equal with the virtuous, but in misfortune exceeded the moſt unfortunate. We may affix the ſame with very little alteration to the Statue of Charles the firſt, ſecond Monarch of Great Britain, That he was equal in merit with the moſt virtuous, but in misfortunes exceeding the moſt unfortunate: yet did the brightneſs of his virtue ſhine through, and his piety gild and enamel the darkeſt clouds of his afflictions, baffling all the daring miſts of malice and envy, and converting them into well-placed ſhadows, which rendred his Picture more lively and admirable.

Naturaliſts write of a precious ſtone called Caraunias, that it is found onely in a day of thunder, gliſtering when the Sky is overcaſt with darkneſs: ſuch are the virtues of faith, hope, charity, patience, and magnanimity of Charles, which perhaps had never ſo gloriouſly appeared, had not the darkneſs of his fortune brought them to light: and being like winter flowers produced between ſtorms and tempeſts, and grown up like the noble Palm under the preſſures of weights and burthens.

Prolixum eſt enumerare omnes, cognoſcite aliquas, as St▪ Ambroſe ſaid of Judiths virtues; I ſhall only cull out ſome few of thoſe many rich jewells, to adorn his Panegyrick, and leave the reſt to be collected by his Hiſtorians, and thredded by their more diligent hands upon the ſtring of their more laſting ſtories.

The eye of mine obſervation fixeth firſt upon the orient gem of his Patience in affliction, which made him ſo ductile and plyant to the will of Heaven, that he willingly exchanged his Crown for the Croſſe, and made his Scepter ſtoop to the Rod of affliction.

In his March after Eſſex to the Weſt, it hapned that one of the carriages brake in a long narrow Lane, which they were to paſs, and gave his Majeſty a ſtop, at a time of an intolerable ſhowre of rain which fell upon him, ſome of his Courtiers and others which were near about him, offered to hew him out a way through the hedges with their Swords, that he might get ſhelter in ſome of the villages adjoyning; but he reſolved not to forſake his Canon upon any occaſion: At which when ſome about him ſeemed to admire and marvail at the patience which he ſhewed in that extremity; his Majeſty lifting up his Hat made anſwer, That as God had given him afflictions to exerciſe his patience, ſo he had given him patience to bear his afflictions. A Speech ſo heavenly and divine (ſays my Author) that it is hardly to be parallel'd by any of the men of God in all the Scripture. We may obſerve him in his divine Meditations, like the induſtrious Bee, ſucking the Hony of comfort and conſolation, out of the bitter flowers of his unequall fortune.

An Ancient ſaid, he that can bear an injury, is worthy an Empire; But if we conſider with how even and equall a temper, with how conſtant and Chriſtian a fortitude his Majeſty bore all the injurious inſolencies, and inſolent injuries which the tongues and pens of his malitious adverſaries continually loaded him withall, we muſt be forced to confeſſe, that if merit herein might have won, or juſtice have been Elector, he had not been King of an inconſiderable Iſland, but Emperor of the whole world. So far was He from repining at his afflictions, or being angry at the injuries of his ignorant and inſolent enemies, that he never eſteemed himſelf more glorious, than when dreſſed up in the robe o • their ſcorn and mockery: alwayes fencing himſelf with that royall Maxime as with a ſhield, Bona agere, & mala patiregium eſt. Nor could the injuries and affronts of ſome, force him to a retaliation, being often angry at, but never pleaſed with thoſe ſatyricall invectives againſt his enemies which a juſt indignation ſometimes forced from the ſharper Pens of ſome of his friends.

As his loſſes could not make him deſpond, his victories never made him inſolent; though the one rendred him more humble, the other could not make him proud; He was rather like Fenugreek, which (ſayes Pliny) the worſe it is handled the better it proves.

It is ſaid of that mother in the Maccabees, who ſaw her ſeven children ſlain before her eyes, and laſt of all was her ſelf ſlain; Octies paſſus eſt Martyries, that ſhe ſuffered Eight times over: and can we think that ſo indulgent a Father of his people, did not ſuffer as many ſeveral martyrdomes, as his ſubjects ſufferd miſeries and deſtructions.

Non placet vindicta, ſed victoria, was the applauded ſpeech of the conquering Caeſar; but we may hear our victorious Charls profeſſe, He never had any victory which was without his ſorrow, becauſe it was on his own ſubjects, who like Abſalom, died many of them in their ſin: and yet (ſayes he) • never ſufferd any defeat which made me deſp •• r of Gods mercy and defence. And that he might convince the world that he loved not war▪ nor delighted in the ruine of his ſubjects, he ever ſought for peace, after his greateſt victories; The higheſt tide of ſucceſſe (as he ſaith himſelf, who could beſt tell) ſet him not above a Treaty, nor did any ſucceſſe he had, ever enhance with him the price of peace, though he was like to pay dearer for it than any man.

It is Recorded to the honour of the Roman Scipio Africanus, and will be to the glory of our Engliſh Charls, that he had rather ſave one friend, than kill a thouſand enemies. But to ſuch a height were our ſins, and the guilty malice of ſome particular men amounted, that rendred all his Royal endeavours and tenders of Peace unfortunate and fruitleſſe; So true is that obſervation of the grave Tacitus, Inviſo ſemel principe, ſeu malè, ſeu benè facta praemiunt: A Prince once diſtaſted is ever ſuſpected, and his actions miſconſtrued; it then appearing plainly, that whatever pretentions palliated the deſigns of ſome, yet their intentions terminated in a Nolumus hunc regnare; nor was it hard to prophecie that ſuch Recuſants then would in time appear Ravilliac's: and ſome there were, who though they could not but admire • harles, yet they hated the King.

Others there were who too well knew the Maxime of their Countryman Machiavel, that a ſucceſſion of two or three virtuous Princes worketh ſtrange effects, and therefore feared to be at the coſt of the experiment, leſt it might have proved to have been at no cheaper ra • e than the ruine of their deſign, the erecting of their Babèl of confuſion, thereby to make way for their Catholick Monarch. But to their wonder and their envy, when all his forces were defeated, and his ſword faln out of his hands, Charles alone maintains the Combat, and ſingly duels (like another Athanaſius) the whole world, in defence of his Conſcience and Religion, which were all the wealth his ſhipwrackt fortune had left him, and which, ma • gre the malice of his fate, he carried ſafe to ſhore.

The victories he then gained will remain as Eternal Trophies of his honour, and undeniable arguments of his vaſt abilities in matters of Controverſie: Let his Conference with the Marqueſs of Worceſter, the papers which paſſed betwixt his S. Majeſty and Mr. Henderſon, and thoſe other with the Miniſters in the Iſle of Wight, teſtifie how great a Maſter he was of reaſon, how well read in the Fathers, the Councils, Eccleſiaſtical Hiſtory, and the cuſtoms of the Church in all Ages. By all which it will plainly appear that he was as well the ſcholar, as the Son of K. James, by whom he was ſo well inſtructed in the controverſies of Religion, that when he was in Spain, D. Maw, and D. Wren, two of his Chaplains being appointed to follow after, came to K. James to know his pleaſure and commands: the King adviſed them not to put themſelves upon any unneceſſary Diſputations, but to be onely on the defenſive part, if they ſhould be challenged; and when it was anſwered that there could be no reaſon to engage in ſuch diſputations, where there could be no Moderator, the King replied, that Charles ſhould moderate between them and the oppoſite party. At which, when one of them ſeemed to ſmile on the other, the King proceeded, and told them, that Charls ſhould manage a point in Controverſie with the beſt Studied Divine of them all. He was without queſtion Maſter of an Imperial pen; His Eagles feathers (upon all occaſions) devoured his adverſaries gooſe-quils, and infinitely recompenced the impediment of his ſpeech, with the advantage of an inimitable ſtyle.

Spartianus reports of Trajan, that after his death he triumphed openly in the City of Rome, In imagine, in a lively Statue, or Repreſentation, invented by Adrian for that purpoſe. But Charles triumphs more nobly in his Royal Portraicture, drawn by himſelf, with ſuch curious lines, and lively colours, as no hand but his own could draw. There is he ſeated more gloriouſly than ever he was on his Royal Throne, or in his Royal Robes; there ſhall he live and reign, and be as immortal as his enemies malice. Never was devotion clad in a more rich, or more modeſt dreſs. There doth he make it appear that his ſoul was free and unconfin'd, though his body were a priſoner, and that he could exerciſe the office of a Prieſt, when he was deprived of that of a King. Such was the power of his noble and commanding Soul, even then, that he made his Conquerors his captives, and ſubdued the hearts of thoſe to love him, who had deprived him of all other weapons.

Such was the Princely carriage of Francis the Firſt, King of France, that he thereby ſo won upon the hearts of Burbon, and the reſt of his enemies, to whom he was a priſoner, that they honoured him with no leſſe obſervancy, than if he had been on the top of his proſperity: and Homer much commends his Ulyſſes, that when by ſhipwrack he was caſt on ſhore, he had nothing to commend him but his carriage. Had Homer had Charls for his ſubject, or Charls Homer for his Hiſtorian, what an admirable ſtrife would there have been betwixt the workman and the matter, and yet the matter would have exceeded the workmans art.

Paterculus ſaith of Tyberius, Quod viſus praetul • rit principem, his Countenance proclamed him King: So Majeſtick was the Countenance, and ſo winning the carriage of Charls, that his enemies became his converts, and his very Gaolers his Confeſſors: ſome of them having ever ſince exchanged their former Maſters and Eſtates, for a priſon, and baniſhment, to expiate their former injuries to ſo good a King.

And now we have brought him to the laſt, and moſt glorious act of his life, wherein we ſhall ſee him out-do himſelf, as he had done all others in his former actions; God fitting him with a Couragious and Chriſtian patience, as much above all other men, as his caſe and condition was tranſcending all former examples.

Trees that grow on the tops of rocks (they ſay) have ſtronger roots than other trees, becauſe they are more expoſed to the boiſterouſneſs of the winds and weather. His Sacred Majeſty was now to act a part beyond all preſident, and God fitted him with a virtue and conſtancy beyond all parallel.

En horret animus, & pavor membra excutit. —refugit loqui mens▪ • gra, tantis at que inhorreſcit malis.

My thoughts are diſtracted, and my pen falls out of my hand with amazement, I muſt theretherefore draw a veil of ſilence over, and Comment upon this Tragical Scene with tears inſtead of words. I will onely adventure to draw the curtain ſo far, as may let in the Readers eye to diſcover the King ſingly maintaining his own Innocence, his Succeſſors Rights, and his peoples Liberty, againſt a Legion of his adverſaries, who were at once his Judges and Accuſers. Scipio being one day accuſed before the Roman people of a capital offence, inſtead of excuſing himſelf, or flattering the Judges, turning to them, he ſaid, It will well beſeem you to▪ judge of his head by whoſe means you have authority to judge of all the world. Private perſons have many Judges, Kings none but God, ſaid M. Antonius. But our King had to do with people of another principle, who too well knew that politick maxime of Monſieur de Foy, That a man muſt not truſt a reconciled enemy, eſpecially his King, againſt whom, when he draws his ſword, he muſt throw the ſcabbard into the river.

It was not enough that he had granted whatever they deſired, which his conſcience and the ſafety of his ſubjects would permit, or that his Royal Conceſſions went beyond the foremoſt of their hopes and wiſhes, or that his reaſons were unanſwerable, and that they had no greater plea againſt him, but that of the rapacious wolf to the innocent lamb, Thou haſt the better cauſe, but I have the better teeth. Though Charls was innocent, it was crime enough that he was King, and ſtood in the place that ambition aimed at.

Semiramis (as Aelian tells the Story) was an humble Petitioner to the King of the Aſſyrians, whoſe Concubine ſhe was, that ſhe might take upon her the government of A • ſia, and command the Kings ſervants, but for the tranſitory ſpace of five dayes; it was granted, ſhe came forth wit •• a Princely robe, and her firſt words were (ingrateful wretch!) Go take the King, and kill him: and ſo by one venturous ſtep climbed up to a ſetled ſtate of Imperial Government. I leave the parallel to the readers thoughts, and go on to obſerve what is truly obſervable, that notwithſtanding the natural impediment of the Kings Speech, God at this time of his extremity ſo looſed his tongue, that he delivered his thoughts without the leaſt ſtammering or haeſitation; enough to have convinced any but a Pilat, and a Jurie of Jewes, that by that miracle God ſeemed to ſay to them, in the language of that dumb man, Rex eſt, ne occide. But it was argument enough to them to cut off that head, that it wore three Ctowns. A thing ſo ſtrange and unheard of before our times, that though they made a Preſident, they could never find an Example for it in all the Hiſtories of the world. So ſacred and inviolable was the Perſon of the Prince amongſt the Romans, that when Nero (made valiant by his own fear) ran himſelf through, Epaphroditus his Secretary, at his requeſt, helping to diſpatch him the ſooner, for that ſervice was afterwards put to death by Domitian, who thought it not meet to ſuffer any man to live, who had in any ſort lent his hand to the death of a Prince.

The Kings of Peru were ſo reverenced by their ſubjects▪ and ſo faithfully ſerved, that never any of their ſubjects were found guilty of Treaſon. Indeed the people of Nicer a gua in America, had no law for the killer of a King, but it was for the ſame reaſon that Solon appointed none for a mans killing of his Father; both of them conceiting that men were not ſo unnatural, as to commit ſuch crimes. But ſuch is the miſerable condition of Princes, as the Emperor Domitian complained, that they cannot be credited touching a Conſpiracy, plainly detected, until they be firſt ſlain. More ſtrange and ſad it is, that men ſhould commit murther with the ſword of Juſtice, and treaſon execute juſtice as a malefactor. Such actions ſeldome want their reward, and many times receive it from the Actors own hands.

It is the obſervation of Cauſabon in his Annotations upon Suetonius, that all they who conſpired againſt Caeſar, ſlew themſelves with the ſame poniards wherewith they had ſtabbed the Emperor. Such a death (ſaith he) may all have who ſo wickedly and diſloyally enterprize upon the lives of Princes. For a man to attempt upon the life of a forreign or neighbour Prince, may perhaps paſſe with the guilt of ſimple murther; but for a ſubject to aſſaſſinate his own native King, is no leſs than Paracide in the ſuperlative degree.

At the Solemn Coronation of the Prince, every Peer of the Realm hath his ſtation about the Throne, and with the touch of his hand upon the Royal Crown, declareth the perſonal duty of that honour which he is called unto, namely, to hold on the Crown on the Head of his Soveraign, to make it the main end of his greatneſſe, to endeavour the eſtabliſhment of his Princes Throne. Juſtly may thoſe branches▪ wither▪ that contrive the ruine of the Stock that feeds them: and well may they prove falling ſtars, who endeavour the ecclipſing of that Sun from whom they have received their light and luſtre.

Rodolphus D. of Suevia, having uſurped the Empire of the Romans, in a Conflict with Henry the right Emperor, his right hand was ſtruck off in battel, which being brought to him lying upon his death-bed, in the horrour of his guilt he cryed out, This is the hand wherewith I confirmed my promiſed loyalty to the Emperor. Such as repay hatred where they owe love, and return diſloyalty where they owe allegiance, may expect a payment in their own coin from the hand of Divine Juſtice.

But to diſguiſe Majeſty into an habit of treaſon, and to dreſs up treaſon▪ in a robe of juſtice; to place guilt on the bench, and ſet innocence at the bar, and by a mockery of Law to condemn the Fountain of Law, is like the Italian Phyſician, who boaſted he had kill'd a man with the faireſt method in the world, è mort • (ſaid he) canonicamente, è con tutti gli ordini; He is dead (ſays he) regularly, and with all the rules of art.

To dwell no longer on this unpleaſant ſubject, we had ſinned, and Charls muſt ſuffer. Dilirant Archivi, plectun • ur Reges. He who had worn a Crown of Gold, muſt now admit a crown of thornes, that might fit him for the Crown of Glory.

They had promiſed to make him a glorious King, and now was the time come; Sit divus, modo non ſit vivus, ſay they. His Kingdom was not to be any longer of this world, and therefore he prepares himſelf with humility, piety, charity, and magnanimity, to bear this earthly croſs; that he might attein his heavenly crown: His enemies curſe him, he prays for them; they ſlander him, he forgives them; they load him with affronts, he carries them with patience. And now his pious ſoul is on the wing, and makes many a ſally to the place where ſhe longed to be at reſt: and in the fire of an ardent devotion, he offers up himſelf an Holocauſt, being kindled with the flames of Divine Love, and is fill'd with a large meaſure of celeſtial joy, and holy confidence; witneſſe that admirable Anagram made by himſelf on the day before his death,

Carolus Rex▪ Cras ero Lux.

Hermigildus Son of Levigildus King of the V • ſogoths, forſaking the Arrian Hereſie, which his Father maintain'd, and embracing the Catholick truth, was threatned by his Father with death, unleſs he returned to his former errors: To whom the pious Son, Poteris (ſaith he) in me ſtatuere pater quod lubet; regno privas? ſed peritura tantum: immortale illud eripere non potes. In vincula me rapis? ad coelum certè patet via; ibimus, illuc ibimus. Vitam eripit • s? reſtat melior & aeterna. Such were the pious reſolves of the moſt Chriſtian Charls: You may doe with me what you will, ye may deprive me of my Kingdomes, alas! theſe are periſhing things; but mine immortal Crown ye cannot reach. If ye confine me to the narrow walls of a priſon, my ſoul vvill mount to Heaven; thither, thither vvill vve▪ goe. If ye take avvay this life, I ſhall but exchange it for a better and eternal one.

Thus prepared, he vvith all humility and Chriſtan reſignation, offers up himſelf the peoples Martyr; to the grief of his friends, the ſhame of his enemies, and the amazement of all the world.

Quis talia fando temperet à la • hrymis!

Many wiped up his blood with their handkercheifs, which experience proved afterwards an admirable Collirium to reſtore the ſight even to thoſe (I could name ſome of the recovered patients; from whom I received the relation) who were almoſt blind: this wants not truth ſo much as a Roman pen, to make it a miracle▪ Sure I am his death opened thouſands of eyes, which paſſion and prejudice had blinded: and thoſe who whilſt he lived, wiſh'd him dead, now he was dead wiſh'd him alive again.

That ſo great a Prince (who yet choſe rather to be good than great, to be holy rather than happy) might not die unattended, many loyal ſubjects left this life with the very news of His death: as it is reported of Hugh Scrimiger, ſervant to S. W. Spotswood, beheaded by the Covenanters of Scotland, paſſing by the Scaffold before it was taken down, fell into a ſwound, and being carried home, died at his own door. The truth of this Relation I leave to the credit of the Hiſtorian; the former I atteſt upon mine own knowledge, my ſelf being aſſiſtant at the Funeral of a Kinſman, who (with divers others) died of no other diſeaſe than the newes of the Kings death; on whom, as I then beſtowed, I here depoſite this Epitaph.

Here lies a loyal member dead, Who ſcorned to ſurvive his Head.

Thus died Charls, Aliorum majori damno, quam ſuo: It being hard to determine, whether the Church and State were more happy to have had, or more miſerable to loſe ſo incomparable a King; who wanted nothing but to have lived in an Age when it was in faſhion to Deifie their Worthies, or in a Country where it is a trade to be Sainted. But alas! He lived in an Age when vices were in faſhion, and virtues accounted vices. Of whom, his worſt enemies (ſayes one who was none of his beſt friends) cannot but give this civil, yet true Character, That he was a Prince of moſt excellent natural parts, an univerſal Gentleman, very few men of any rank or quality exceeding him in his natural endowments, and the moſt accompliſhed King this Nation had ever ſince the Conqueſt.

FINIS Doloris nullus.

Oweni Epigr. in Regicidas.

Si manus offendat te dextra, abſcindito dextram,

Offendat ſi pes, abjice, Chriſtus ait.

Corpus in errorem dexter ſi ducat ocellus,

Ipſe oculus peccans, effodiendus erit.

Quaelibet abſcindi pars corporis aegra jubetur,

Excipiunt medici, Theologi que Caput.

An Elegie on Charls the Firſt, &c. COme ſaddeſt Muſe, tragick Melpomine, Help me to weep, or ſigh an Elegie; And from dumb grief recover ſo much breath, As may ſerve to expreſs my Sovereigns death. But that's not all; had Natures oil been ſpent, And all the treaſury of life ſhe lent Exhausted: had his lateſt ſand been run, And the three fatal Siſters thred been ſpun; Or laden with yeares, and mellow had he dropt Into our mothers boſome; not thus lopt, We could have born it. But thus hew'd from life B'an Axe, more haſty than the cruel knife Of griſly Atropos; thus to be torn From us, whom loyal death would have • orborn, This ſtrikes us dead. Hence Nero ſhall be kind Accounted, he but wiſhed, and that wiſh confin'd Within the walls of Rome; but here we ſee Three Kingdoms at one blow beheaded be: And inſtead of the one head of a King, Hundreds of Hydra-headed Monſters ſpring. Scarce can I think of this, and not engage My Muſe to muſter her Poetick rage, To ſcourge thoſe Gyan • s, whoſe bold hands have rent This glorious Sun from out our Firmament, Put out the light of Iſrael, that they might Act their black deeds ſecurely in the nigh • : When none but new and fooliſh lights appear, Not to direct, but cheat the traveller. But biting births are monstrous, Ours muſt be (My Midwife Muſe) a weeping Elegie. Well may we, like ſome of whom Stories write, From this Sun-ſet in mourning ſpend our night: Until we ſee a ſecond Sun ariſe, That may exhale thoſe vapours from our eyes. Since the breath of our noſtrils we have loſt, We are but moaning ſtatues at the moſt, Our wiſedome, reaſon, juſtice, all are dead, As parts that liv'd, and died with our Head. How can we ſpeak him praiſe, or our loſs, when Our tongue of language ſilenc'd is with him. Or can our fainter penſils hope to paint Thoſe rayes of Majeſty, which ſpake him Saint? In mortal weeds, not man; As great a King Of virtues, as of men; A ſacred thing, To ſuch an heighth of eminency rais'd, Eaſier by far to be admir'd than prais'd. 'Twould puzzle the ſage Plutarch now to tell, Or finde on earth our Charls's parallel. Let Rome and Greece of Heroes boaſt no more, To make our One, would beggar all their ſtore. Weep ye three Orphan Kingdoms, weep, for He▪ To you was truly Pater Patriae. Mourn too Religion, Liberty, and Lawes, He was your Martyr, and died in your cauſe. Levy a tax of grief, for who'll deny, For this ſo general loſs, a general cry. Though to bear arms be, yet I know no reaſon That loyal tears ſhould be accounted treaſon. Let not thy grief be ſmall, I thee intreat, Britain, for him who onely made thee Great.

An Anniverſary on Charls the Firſt, &c. 1657. PArdon, great Soul, the ſlowneſs of my verſe, Who after eight years ſing thine Anniverſe: Since he who well would write thine Elegie, Muſt take an Ages time to ſtudy thee. Nay muſt be you, for none but you can tell, Or meaſure the juſt height from whence you fell. We know not how to eſtimate thy loſs, Nor can we feel the weight of thy ſad croſs. If we ſhould rack our fancies, to invent Miſchiefs, & plots far worſe than hell e're meant To beſt of men (when men with hell combine) They all would prove faint Metaphors of thine. He who once • old his Kingdom for a draught Of running water, and then periſh't ſtrait, Had much the better bargain; thou didſt loſe All men could wiſh, for miſeries and woes. Saints (like their Saviour) when for drink they call, The world preſents them vinegar & gall. What monſtrous ſins of ours made Heaven to frown, When Virtue met an Axe, and Vice a Crown! Thrones, Scepters, Crowns, and all the gaudy things, That uſe to deck and load the heads of Kings; Who now will value you, ſince you have bin Rewards of vice, and recompence of ſin! Thou better knew'ſt (bleſt Martyr • ) to ſlight thoſe And leave them as revenges to thy foes. Theſe, like the Prophets mantle fell from thee, When thou, like him, didſt climb t'Eternity. Poor Princes thus to others leave their own Small ſtates, when called to a richer Crown. As when a jewel's taken out the caſe, Attoms and air uſurp'd the jewels place; Or as the Sun leaving one Hemiſphere, Darkneſs and night preſume to revel there. So is thy place ſupply'd, the Sphere which thou Wert wont to fill, we ſee invaded now By a wild Comet, whoſe blaze doth portend, If not a ſudden, yet a certain end. Though dead, thou ſtill upon our hearts doſt gain, And ſo more nobly and more truly reign. Thoſe bleſſings which we prize not, whilſt poſſeſt, Their worth our want of them d • ſcovers beſt. Night makes the day, & darkneſs gilds the Sun, Thus things grow greater by compariſon. We envy not thy glory, nor bemoan With tears thy ſad misfortunes, but our own. Whilſt thou with an immortal Crown doſt ſhine, The woe is ours, the happineſs is thine. Thou haſt attaind'd the Haven, we are toſt Upon a ſea of woes; our Pilot loſt; Driven by th'winds and waves, diſtreſt, forlorn, Our lading ſhipwrackt, and our tackling torn. Cloath'd with a long white robe of innocence, Thou walk'ſt; in blackeſt mourning ever ſince Our hearts are clad. To rid us of our pain, Wee'l die, ſo be thy ſubjects once again.

Second Anniverſary on Charls the Firſt, 1658. THe year's return'd, and with the year my task, Which to perform no other aid I ask, No Muſe invoke, but what my grief affords, Grief that would fill a dumb mans mouth with words. A King's my ſubject, and a King whoſe name Alone, ſpeaks more than all the tongues of fame. Charls, good as great, whoſe virtues were his crimes, The beſt of men duell'd the worſt of times. But by his ſad example we may know, Exceſs of goodneſs is not ſafe below. T'was too much worth juſt Ariſtides ſent, (By a wild oſtraciſm) to's baniſhment. Oh! hadſt thou liv'd when virtue was in faſhion, And men were rul'd by reaſon, not by paſſion, How had'ſt thou been ador'd! Thy actions had Been the juſt Standard of what's good or bad. Thy life had paſs'd for law, and the whole Nation Might have been virtuous by imitation. To have been good, and in the beſt degree, Had been no more but to be like to thee. Thou art all wonder, and thy brighter Story, Caſts an Ecclipſe upon the blazing glory Of former ages; all their Worthies, now (By thee out-done) do bluſh, and wonder how They loſt the day, beclouded with a night Of ſilence, riſing from thy greater light. Their moral deeds are of too faint a dye, If once compared with thy piety. Be dumb ye lying Legends, here's a Reign, Full of more miracles than ye can feign. Here is a ſaint, more great, more true than e're Came from the triple crown, or holy chair. We need no farther for Example look, Than unto thee, thou art the onely book; Thou art the beſt of Texts, hereafter we Expect no more, but Comments upon thee: Thou art the great Original, and he Who will be famous now, muſt tranſcribe thee; Spight of the Sword and Axe, you found a way To win the field, although you loſt the day. In thy rare Portraicture thou liveſt ſtill, And triumphſt more by thine all-conquering quill; There ſhalt thou reign, and as immortal be, As was the malice of thine enemie. Thou haſt out-witted all thy foes, and by Thy Book thou gain'ſt the greateſt victory. That hath enlarg'd thine Empire, and all men Stoop to the Scepter of thy Royal Pen. Thy Virtues crowd ſo faſt, I cannot tell How to ſpeak all, or which doth moſt excell. All I can ſay is but Epitomie, A life's too little for thy Hiſtory. I can but write thee in Stenographie, The whole of others is but part of thee. But thou haſt ſpoke thy ſelf in ſuch a ſtrain, Our wits are uſeleſs, and endeavours vain. Silence and admiration fit me beſt, Let others try to write, I'll weep the reſt. FINIS. T. F.

A THEATRE OF WITS, Ancient and Modern. Repreſented in a Collection of Apothegmes. Pleaſant and Profitable. By THO. FORDE.

Omne tulit punctum, qui miſcuit utile dulci.

Habent enim Apothegmata peculiarem quandam rationem, & indolem ſuam, ut breviter, argutè, ſalsè, & urbanè cujuſ que ingenium exprimant.

Eraſmus.

LONDON, Printed by R. and W. Leybourn, for William Grantham at the Black Bear in St. Pauls Church-yard, neer the little North Door. 1660.

To the Reader. Reader,

I Here preſent thee with a diſh of Apothegmes, pull'd from the leaves of many Authours; if they pleaſe thee in the taſting, but as much as they did me in the gathering, I ſhall not doubt their entertainment. Amongſt thoſe ſwarms of books which our age is daily glutted with, there is not one Author hath travelled in this road, nor any one book of this nature (that I know) in our Language, except a Manual of that great Advancer of Learning, Sir Francis Bacon, which hath long ſince been out of print. I had therefore ſome temptation to have added mine as a Supplement to his; but upon ſecond thoughts, conſidering none ever attempted to add a line to that peece Apelles left imperfect, I have choſen rather to erect a new frame by his model, than to build upon anothers foundation.

That the Volume is ſmall, my diligence hath been the greater, for I have laboured to ſubſtract, rather than multiply them; not putting in every one I met with, but what was beſt, at leaſt in my opinion. Theſe are but the fi • ſt fruits, your acceptance may ripen them into a larger harveſt, if God ſhall lend me time and opportunity.

I have waved any particular Dedication, as not willing to entitle any man to the Patronage of my weakneſſes; nor am I of that vain humour of Appian the Grammarian, who promiſed immortality to thoſe to whom he dedicated any of his Works.

And they who write to Lords rewards to get.Donnes Sat. Are they not like ſingers at doors for meat?

There is a Vine in Aſia, that brings forth Burnt-wine, ſo excellent (ſaithJohnſton Hiſt. Nat. mine Author) that none exceeds it. Such is the nature of theſe ſhort ſentences, they are ready dreſs'd and diſh'd out to thy hand; like ſome Diamonds, which grow ſmoothand poliſhed, and need no farther labour to fit them for uſe, but uſing. As it is ſaid of Iſidore the Philoſopher, that he ſpake not words, but the very ſubſtance and eſſence of things. They contain magnum in parvo, much matter in a few words. Significant potius quam exprimunt. You have here much gold in a little ore, eaſie for carriage, ready for uſe. We have many things to learn, and but little time to live; I know not therefore any kind of Learning more pleaſant, or more profitable than this, which teacheth us many leſſons in a few lines. But I will not waſte thy time (Reader) whilſt I ſtudy to improve it, and to approve my ſelf

Thy ſervant, T. F.

Apothegmes:

AN old Maſs-Prieſt in the dayes of Hen. 8. reading in Engliſh after the Tranſlation of the Bible, the mircale of the five loaves and two fiſhes, when he came to the verſe that reckoneth the number of the gueſts, he pauſed a little, and at laſt ſaid, they were about 500; the Clerk whiſpered into the Prieſts eares, that it was 5000; but the Prieſt turned back, and replied with indignation, Hold your peace, ſirrah, we ſhall never make them believe they were 500.

Ariſtides ſaid, concerning the Elegance of the City of Smyrna, that no man, except he which ſhall ſee it, will be drawn to believe it.

The Savages, an Engliſh Family, held Ardes (in Ireland) long in poſſeſſion, amongſt whom there goeth a great name of Him, who ſaid no leſs ſtoutly than pleaſantly, when he was moved to o build a Caſtle for his defence, that he would not truſt to a caſtle of ſtones, but rather to a caſtle of bones. Meaning his own body.

Columbane, a Monk of Ireland, when Sigebert King of the Frankners, dealt very earnſtly with him, and that by way of many fair and large promiſes, that he ſhould not depart out of his Kingdom: Anſwered him, That it became not them to embrace other mens riches, who for Chriſts ſake had forſaken their own.

Porpherie, in regard of the many tyrants riſing up in his dayes in Britain, cried out in theſe terms, Britain a fooliſh Province of tyrants.

St. Ambroſe in his Funeral Sermon of Theodoſius, cryeth out in theſe terms: that Eugenius and Maximus (who had five years uſurped the Empire) by their woful example, doe teſtifie in hell what a heavy thing it is to bear arms againſt their Natural Prince.

Of this Maximus it is ſaid, that he was a valiant man, victorious, and worthy the title of Auguſtus, but that againſt his allegiance he had by way of tyranny and uſurpation attained the place.

Homer ſaith of one that had a misfortune, It was becauſe he did not honour his Parents.

Upon a triumph, all the Emperor Severus's Souldiers, for the greater pomp, were to put on Crowns of Bayes; but one Chriſtian there was amongſt them which wore it on his arm; and being demanded the reaſon, boldly anſwered: It becomes not a Chriſtian to be crowned in this life.

Arnobius was wont to ſay, that perſecution brings death in one hand, and life in the other; for while it kills the body, it crowns the ſoul.

The Empreſs Eudoxia, ſending a threatning meſſage to Chryſoſtom, (for boldly reproving her) He anſwered, Go tell her I fear nothing but ſin.

Juſtus Jonas ſaid of Luther, that he could have of God what he pleaſed.

Epaminondas being asked what was the greateſt joy he ever had in the world, He ſaid Leutrica Victoria, the Battel of Leutrick.

Rocardus, King of Friſland, being by Wolfranius perſwaded to be Baptized, having one foot in the Font, the other out, asked Wolfranius where went the moſt part of his Predeceſſors that were not Baptized? To hell, ſaid Wolfranius; then Rocardus drew his foot out of the Font, ſaying, It was beſt following of the greateſt company.

The Devil meeting with a devout Hermit, asked him three queſtions: Firſt, what ſhould be the ſtrangeſt thing that God made in a little frame? He anſwered, a mans face. The ſecond, Where was the Earth higher than all the Heavens? Where Chriſts body, born of the Virgin Mary, was adored of Angels and Archangels. The third, what ſpace was between Heaven and Earth? Thou knoweſt beſt (ſaid the Hermit) which waſt from Heaven thrown down to the Earth.

L. Silla finding his ſouldiers timerous, and fearful to fight with Archelaus, M •• hridates General, drew out his ſword, and ſaid, You ſouldiers that mean to fly to Rome, tell them at Rome, that you left Silla your General, fighting in the midſt of the Battel, with the enemies in Boetia.

Philipides the Poet, refuſed to be of King Lyſimachus Counſel, that when the King ſaid to him, What wilt thou that I give unto thee? Nothing (ſaid the poor Poet) but onely this, that I may not be of thy Council.

In a publick meeting with all the Princes of Germany, at Wormatia; where the Duke of Saxon firſt preferring his mettals, and rich veins of earth: the Duke of Bavaria much commending his ſtrong and brave Cities and Towns: and the Duke Palatine of his wines, and fertility of his lands: the Duke of Wittenbergh ſaid, I can lay my head, and ſleep upon the lap of any of my ſubjects I have abroad in the field, every where. Huic facile concedite palmam (ſaid Maximilian the Emperor) Give him the palm.

Themiſtocles being asked whoſe Oration he would hear? Even him (ſaid Themiſtocles) that can beſt ſet forth my praiſe, and advance my fame.

Iſocrates repeating an Oration of Demoſthenes his adverſary, at Rhodes, they of Rhodes much delighting therein, and much commending the Oration that Iſocrates made, though he was enemy to Demoſthenes, was forced againſt his will to ſay to the people, What if you had heard the beaſt himſelf pronouncing his own Oration?

Julius Caeſar ſeeing certain men of Apulia, in Rome, carrying Apes upon their arms, playing, asked the men, If they had no women in Apulia to get children to play withal.

Diogenes, when he ſaw mice creeping for ſome crums to his table, would ſay, Behold, Diogenes alſo hath his paraſites.

Lewis the 10th. was wont to brag of his own Kingdom of France, that it far exceeded all other Kingdoms, wanting but one thing; and being requeſted to know what that was, he anſwered, Truth.

The great Antiochus brought Hannibal to his treaſures, and ſhewed him his gold, his ſilver, his wealth and treaſures, and asked him if all that would not pleaſe the Romans? Yea, ſaid Hannibal, it would pleaſe the Romans, but not ſatisfie the Romans.

A Councellor of State, ſaid to his Maſter the King of Spain, that now is, upon occaſion: Sir, I will tell your Majeſty thus much for your comfort, your Majeſty hath but two enemies; whereof the one is all the World, and the other is your own Miniſters.

Domitian perceiving many of his Predeceſſors in the Empire to be hated, asked one, how he might ſo rule, as not to be hated? the party anſwered, Tu fac contra: By not doing what they did.

When M. Cicero ſtood for the Conſulſhip of Rome, Q. Cicero wiſhed him to meditate on this, Novus ſum, Conſulatam peto, Roma eſt.

Alexander having a ſouldier of his name▪ that was a coward, He bad him either leave off the name of Alexander, or be a ſouldier.

A brave Roman Captain told his ſouldiers, That if they could not conquer Britain, yet they would get poſſeſſion of it, by laying their bones in it.

It was a ſmart anſwer which Mr. Durant, a witty and learned Miniſter of the Reformed Church of Paris, gave a Lady of ſuſpected chaſtity, (and ſince revolted) when ſhe pretended the hadneſs of the Scripture: Why, ſaid he, Madam, What can be more plain, then, Thou ſhalt not commit adultery.

It was the ſaying of the dying Emperor Julian, He that would not die when he muſt, and he that would die when he muſt not, are both of them cowards alike.

Ariſtippus told the Sailers, that wondred why he was not, as well as they, afraid in the ſtorms, that the odds was much▪ For they feared the torments due to a wicked life, and he expected the rewards of a good one.

It was cold comfort Diogenes gave a lewd liver, that baniſhed, complained he ſhould die in a forreign ſoil. Be of good cheer man, whereſoever thou art, the way to hell is the ſame.

It was the admonition of dying Otho to Cocceius, Neither too much to remember, nor altogether to forget, that Caeſar was his Ʋncle.

Iſocrates, of a Scholar full of words, asked a double Fee, One, he ſaid, to learn him to ſpeak well, another to teach him to hold his peace.

Euripides, when he brings in any woman in his tragedies, makes them alwayes bad: Sophocles in his tragedies maketh them alwayes good: whereof when Sophocles was asked the reaſon; he made this anſwer, Euripides, ſaith he, repreſents women as they be, I repreſent them as they ought to be.

Sir Henry Wotton was wont to ſay of Sir Philip Sydneys wit, that it was the very meaſure of congruity.

Having in Italy acquaintance with a pleaſant Prieſt, who invited him one evening to hear their Veſper muſick at Church; the Prieſt ſeeing Sir Henry ſtanding obſcurely in a corner, ſends to him by a boy this queſtion writ in a ſmall piece of paper: Where was your Religion to be found before Luther? To which Sir Henry Wotton preſently under-writ, My Religion was to be found then, where yours is not to be found now, in the written word of God.

To another that asked him whether a Papiſt may be ſaved? He replied, You may be ſaved without knowing that; look to your ſelf.

To another that was ſtill railing againſt the Papiſts, he gave this advice, Pray Sir forbear, till you have ſtudied the points better: for the wiſe Italians have this Proverb, He that underſtands amiſs▪ concludes worſe.

To one being deſigned for the office of an Embaſſador, requeſting from him ſome experimental rules for his prudent and ſafe carriage in his Negotiation, Sir Henry Wotton gave this for an infallible Aphoriſme; That to be in ſafety himſelf, and ſerviceable to his Country, he ſhould alwayes, and upon all occaſions ſpeak the truth; for, ſaid he, you ſhall never be believed, and by this meanes your truth will ſecure your ſelf, if you ſhall ever be called to any account, and it will alſo put your adverſaries (who will ſtill hunt counter) to a loſs, in all their diſquiſitions and undertakings.

He directed this ſentence onely to be inſcribed on his Tomb-ſtone; Hic jacet hujus ſententiae Author. Diſputandi pruritus fit Eccleſiarum ſcabies.

Boliſlaus the 4th. King of Poland, who bearing the picture of his Father, hanged about his neck in a plate of gold, when he was to ſpeak, or doe any thing of importance, he took his picture, and kiſſing it, ſaid, Dear Father, I wiſh I may not doe any thing remiſsly, unworthy of thy name.

A gentile ſpirit ſaid to an old man, who cauſed his griſly hairs to be painted with the luſtre of green youth: Poor fool, although thou couldſt deceive the whole world with thy hair, yet death well knoweth they are grey. Sit te Proſerpina canem.

It is ſaid, a French King enquiring one day of a Wiſe-man, after divers inſtructions to govern himſelf, and guide his Kingdome, this Wiſe-man took a fair large ſheet of paper, and for an infinite number of precepts, which others uſe to produce upon this ſubject, he onely wrote this word: Modus, meaſure, or mean.

One who having lived free from the bonds of mariage, cauſed to be ſet on his Tomb, Vixit ſine impedimento, He lived without hinderance.

A mother grieving for the death of her ſon, ſaid, That all her evil came from loving too much what ſhe might loſe. Amabam miſer a periturum, &c.

An old humouriſt vapouring once that women had no ſouls, was anſwered by a modeſt Lady: Sure, Sir, you are deceived, for I can produce a good text to the contrary, My ſoul doth magnifie the Lord: and it was a woman that ſpoke it.

Iſocrates had an excellent wit, notwithſtanding finding himſelf deſtitute of countenance, geſture, and confidence, he never durſt to ſpeak in publique, contenting himſelf to teach, even to his decrepit dayes, and commonly ſaying, He taught Rhetorick for a 1000 Rials, but would give more than 10000 to him who would teach him confidence.

It was the ſaying of Lewis the French King, to Henry the third of England, who asking him (in thoſe times of implicit faith) whether he would goe ſooner, to the Euchariſt, or to a Sermon? He anſwered, I had rather ſee my friend, than hear him onely ſpoken of.

One ſaid that Ariſtotles School was a great Scold.

It was not ſaid improperly of him, who having paſſed his grand Climacterique, That he was got looſe from his unruly paſſions, as from ſo many lyons and wolves.

A French Baron, not long ſince, meeting two Capuchins going bare-foot in cold froſty weather, with their ſcrips upon their backs a begging, and knowing them to be Gentlemen of a good Family, he ſaid, How groſsly are theſe men cozen'd if there be no heaven.

An Italian Prince being upon his death-bed, and comforted by his friends, touching the joys of the other world, whereunto he was going, he fetched a deep ſigh, and ſaid, Oh! I know what's paſt, but I know not what's to come.

There is a ſaying fathered upon Paul 3d. when he lay upon his death-bed, that ſhortly he ſhould be reſolved of two things, Whether there be a God and Devil, or whether there be a heaven and hell?

When a rare Italian Statuary offered Rh. 2d. of Spain, that without expence to the King, he would ſet up his Majeſties arms and portraicture over the gates of every City in Lombardy, the King commending the mans good will, anſwered, He had rather have a workman, that with any expence whatſoever, could ſet up his image in Heaven.

When the ſouldiers demanded a donative of Galba, he anſwered, That he uſed to chooſe, not to buy ſouldiers.

Veſpaſian was not moved with the ſcoffs of Demetrius Cynicus, but ſlighted them, ſaying, I uſe not to kill barking dogs.

Domitian puniſhed Informers, ſaying, That not to puniſh ſuch, was to encourage them.

Trajan delivered his ſword to the Captain of the Guard, willing him to uſe it for him, if he did well, but againſt him, if otherwiſe.

Antonius Pius, Emperor, comming to ſee Omulus his houſe, he enquired whence he had his marble pillars? Omulus anſwered, that in another mans houſe he ſhould be both deaf and dumb.

When Julia, Mother-in-law to Caracalla (whom he married) told him he was too prodigal, he laid his hand on his ſword, ſaying, I ſhall never lack money, ſo long as this is with me.

Julian robbed the Church of her Revenues, telling the Clergy that they ſhould be the fitter for Heaven, becauſe it is written, Bleſſed be the poor.

Tyberius Conſtantinus, Co-Emperor with Juſtin, when Sophia the Empreſs reproved him, as being too prodigal in his bounty to the poor: He anſwered, that he ſhould never want wealth on earth, as long as he had laid up treaſures on earth, by relieving the poor.

Maximilian the Emperor, was wont to ſay, to compel the conſcience, is to force heaven.

It was not ill anſwered of Merope, to King Polyphontes, who therefore kill'd his brother, becauſe he had entertained a purpoſe to have killed him: You ſhould only have done the ſame injury to him, which he did to you; you ſhould ſtill have had a purpoſe to kill him.

Aquinas was once asked, with what compendium a man might beſt become learned? He anſwered, By reading one Book.

A great Italian General, ſeeing the ſudden death of Alphonſus Duke of Ferrara, kneeled down inſtantly, ſaying, And ſhall not this ſight make me religious?

When the Duke of Candia had voluntarily entred into the incommodities of a Religious life, and poverty, he was one day ſpied, and pitied by a Lord of Italy, who, out of tenderneſs, wiſh'd him to be more careful, and nutritive of his perſon. The good Duke anſwered, Sir, be not troubled, and think not that I am ill provided of conveniencies; for I ſend a harbinger before, who makes my lodgings ready, and takes care that I be royally entertained: The Lord asked him, who was his harbinger? He anſwered, the knowledge of my ſelf, and the conſideration of what I deſerve for my ſins, which is eternal torments; and when with this knowledge I arrive at my lodging, how unprovided ſoever I find it, me thinks it is ever better than I deſerve.

'Twas a reaſonable anſwer of Pericles to one that asked him, Why he being a ſevere and Philoſophical perſon, came to a Wedding trimmed and adorned like a Paranymph▪ I come adorned to an adorned perſon, trim'd to a Bridegroom.

The Emperor Ferdinand the 2d. had wont to ſay to thoſe that brought him any ill newes, 'tis good, 'tis Gods pleaſure, I am contented.

Sir Thomas Moore, ſomewhat before he was made Lord Chancellor, built a Chappel in his Pariſh at Chelſey, where the Pariſh had all ornaments belonging thereunto abundantly ſupplied at his charge; and he beſtowed thereon much plate, often uſing theſe words, Good men give it, and bad men take it away.

The King of Sweden, to the Dutch Embaſſador, perſwading him to a care of his perſon, anſwered, that his hour was written in heaven, and could not be altered on earth.

Sir Jervis Ellwis, when executed on Towerhill for Overburies death, left theſe two Items to Poſterity: 1. Not to vow any thing but to perform it. 2. Not to take a pride in any parts, though never ſo excellent.

A Lord Mayor of London (in K. James his time) ſtopping the Kings carriages as they were going through the ſtreets with a great noiſe in time of Divine Service, and the King being told of it, he, in a rage, ſwore he thought there had been no more Kings in England but himſelf, & ſent a warrant to the Lord Mayor to let them paſs, which he then obeyed with this anſwer, While it was in my power, I did my duty; but that being taken away by a higher power, it is my duty to obey.

Demodocus ſaid of the Mileſians, they were no fools, but they did the ſame things that fools did.

Vincentius Lyrenenſis ſaith of St. Cyprian, who had before the Council of Carthage defended re-baptizing, the Author of this errour (ſaith he) is, no doubt, in heaven, the followers and practiſers of it now goe to hell.

A Gentleman having by fatherly indulgence tolerated the humour of gaming and wen • hing in his ſon, diſ-inherited him for drinking, ſaying of the firſt, If he had wit, he would not loſe much by it; and of the ſecond, that in time for his own caſe he would leave it; but of the third, he ſaid, he would prove, the elder, the viler, and hardly ever amend it.

A certain man comming to Athens, meeting one of his friends in the ſtreet, deſired him to ſhew him the rarities of the City: His friend carried him to Solon; but the man having viewed him ſome time, would have gone farther: no, ſaid his friend, You have ſeen all. Vidiſti Solon, vidiſti omnia.

It is ſaid of the Germans, that they underſtand more than they can utter, and drink more than they can carry.

A certain old man, being asked why he wore his beard ſo large and long? that beholding thoſe grey hairs (ſaid he) I may doe nothing unbeſeeming them.

Cyrus was wont to ſay, that a good Prince was like a good Shepherd, who can by no other means grow rich, than by making his flock to thrive under him.

A maid (in Plutarch) being to be ſold in the Market, when a Chapman asked her, Wilt thou be faithful if I buy thee? Yes (ſaid ſhe) • tiamſi non emeris, whether you buy me or no.

Demoſthenes ſaid to him that objected that his Speech ſmelt of the candle; I know my candle ſtands in your light: The man being ſuſpected for a thief.

Melancthon was uſed to ſay, He that dealeth with ſome men, had need to bring a Divine, a Lawyer, and a Souldier with him to get his right.

St. Bernard comming to the great Church of Spire in Germany, he was no ſooner come into the Church, but the Image of the Virgin ſaluted him, and bad him, Good morrow Bernard: whereat, he well knowing the jugling of the Friers, made anſwer again out of St. Paul, Oh (ſaid he) your Ladiſhip hath forgot your ſelf, it is not lawful for women to ſpeak in the Church.

John King of England, being wiſhed by a Courtier to untomb the bones of one, who whilſt he was living, had been his great enemy: Oh no (ſaid the King) would all mine enemies were as honourably buried.

The Egyptian Calyph, offering an Engliſh Embaſſador his hand in his glove, the Embaſſador anſwered, Sir, we come not to treat with your glove, but your ſelf.

When a Pyrate ſaid to one of his fellows, Woe to us if we be known: an honeſt man in the ſame ſhip replyed: And woe to me if I be not known.

Luther was wont to ſay, He would be unwilling to be a ſouldier in that army where Prieſts were Captains, becauſe the Church, not the Camp, was their proper place.

Plato being demanded how he knew a wiſeman, anſwered, When being rebuked he would not be angry, and being praiſed, he would not be proud.

Marqueſs Pawlet, there being divers factions at Court in his time, yet was he beloved of all parties; and being asked, how he ſtood ſo right in the judgment of all? He anſwered, By being a willow, and not an oak.

Diogenes was wont to ſay, when the people mock't him, They deride me, yet I am not derided: I am not the man they take me for.

Rather than want exerciſe of his patience, he would crave alms of dead mens Statues; and being demanded why he did ſo? He anſwered, That I may learn to take denial from others the more patiently.

Marius was never offended with any report went of him, becauſe he ſaid, If it were true, it would ſound to his praiſe; if falſe, his life and manners ſhould prove it contrary.

A Steward once replyed to his paſſionate Lord, when he called him knave, &c. Your Honour may ſpeak as you pleaſe, but I believe not a word that you ſay, for I know my ſelf an honeſt man.

Philip of Macedon profeſſed himſelf much beholden to his enemies (the Athenians) for ſpeaking evil of him; For (ſaid he) they made me an honeſt man, to prove them lyars.

When Diogenes was told by a baſe fellow, that he once had been a Coiner of money, He anſwered, 'Tis true, ſuch as thou art now, I once was, but ſuch as I am now, thou wilt never be.

Socrates, when one asked him why he took ſuch a ones bitter railing ſo patiently? Anſwered, It is enough for one to be angry at a time.

Dion of Syracuſe, being baniſhed, came to Theodorus Court ſuppliant, where not preſently admitted, he turned to his companion, with theſe words, I remember I did the like, when I was in like dignity.

Socrates, being perſwaded to revenge himſelf of a fellow that kick'd him, anſwered, If an aſs had kick'd me, ſhould I have ſet my wit to his, and kick'd him again?

Another time, being told that one ſpake evil of him▪ He replyed, Alas! the man hath not as yet learned to ſpeak well, but I have learned to contemn what he ſpeaks.

Diogenes, being told that many deſpiſed him, anſwered, It is the wiſe mans portion to ſuffer of fools.

When Dionyſius the Tyrant had plotted the death of his Maſter Plato, and was defeated by Plato's eſcape out of his Dominions; when the Tyrant deſired him in writing not to ſpeak evil of him, the Philoſopher replyed, That he had not ſo much idle time as once to think of him, knowing there was a juſt God would one day call him to a reckoning.

When once an hot-ſpur was perſwaded to be patient as Job was, He replyed, What do ye tell me of Job? Job never had any ſuits in the Chancery.

Mr. Bradford was wont to ſay, that in Christs cauſe to ſuffer death, was the way to heaven on horſback.

Jugo, an ancient King, ſet all his Nobles, being Pagans, in his Hall below, and certain poor Chriſtians in his Preſence-chamber with himſelf; at which all wondring, he told them, this he did, not as King of the Drones, but as King of another world, wherein theſe were his fellow-Princes.

It was the ſaying of a merry fellow, That in Chriſtendom there were neither Scholars enough, Gentlemen enough, nor Jewes enough: becauſe if there were Scholars enough, ſo many would not be double and treble beneficed; if Gentlemen enough, ſo many peaſants would not be ranked among the Gentry; and if Jewes enough, ſo many Chriſtians would not profeſs uſury.

Socrates was wont to ſay to Alcibiades, when he met him among gallants like himſelf, I fear not thee, but thy company.

Alexander, when a Commander of his in the Wars, ſpake loudly, but did little, told him, I entertained you into my ſervice, not to rail, but to fight.

Illyricus, when one asked him why the old Tranſlations (of the Bible) had no vowels? I think (ſaith he) that they had no conſonants, for they could not agree among themſelves.

Doctor Reynolds his Lecture in Oxford ceaſing, by reaſon of his ſickneſs, ſome deſired him to read▪ before he was well recovered▪ The Doctor ſaid, He deſired ſo to ſerve God, that he might ſerve him long.

Eraſmus was wont to ſay in his time, That to Preach, with many Miniſters, was but Perfricare frontem, & linguam voluere.

Epiphanius, having ſtayd long at Conſtantinople, and being to take ſhip to return home again, ſaid, He was leaving three great things, a great City, a great Palace, and great Hypocriſie.

Charls the Great, when he was ſhewed by a Duke a Royal Palace, and all the rings, and ſumptuous ornaments and jewels, ſaid, Has ſunt qui nos invitos faciunt mori. Theſe are the things that make us unwilling to die.

Eraſmus was uſed to ſay, That the dunſery and idleneſs of the Monks of his time, made him a Student.

The Athenian Commander, being asked what God was, ſaid, He was neither bow-man, nor pike-man, nor horſ-man, nor footman, but one that did know, iſtis omnibus imperare.

A noble Commander, in the Wars having taken great ſpoils, ſaid to a ſouldier behind him, Tolle iſtos, Ego Chriſtianus.

When Cajetan told Luther he ſhould be baniſhed, Luther anſwered, Si non capiat terra, capiat coelum,

A great man comming to Aquinas, and offering him a Biſhoprick, he leaning on his elbow in his Study, replyed, Mallem Chryſoſtomum in Matthaeum.

The • ame Aquinas, when he was entreated to take a Cardinals place, anſwered, Sepulchrum cogito, non gradum ſublimiorem.

Luther and his Wife, with four children, were in a boat, and being in a great ſtorm, were like to be caſt away, Luther laughing aloud, ſaid, Oh how the Devil would rejoyce, if we were all drowned.

Plato, diſcourſing unto one of the contempt of death, and ſpeaking ſtrangely upon it, was anſwered, That he ſpake more couragiouſly than he lived: To whom Plato replyed, that he ſpake not as he lived; but as he ſhould live.

Caeſar Borgia, being ſick to death, ſaid, When I lived, I provided for every thing but death; now I muſt die, I am unprovided to die.

Gerſon brings in an Engliſhman, asking a Frenchman, Quot annos habes? His anſwer was, Annos non habeo, I am of no years at all, but death hath forborn me this 50 years.

A man (ſaid Luther) lives forty years before he knows himſelf to be a fool; and by that time he ſees his folly, his life is finiſhed.

Anaxamander ſaid of the Athenians, That they had good Laws, but uſed ill.

Auguſtus lamented for Varus death; being asked why? He ſaid, Now I have none in my Country to tell me truth.

A certain King of Tartaria writ to the Polonians, then wanting a King, that if they would chooſe him their King, he would accept of it upon theſe terms, Veſter Pontifex, meus Pontifex eſto, veſter Lutherus meus Lutherus eſto. But the Polonians rejected him with this wiſe anſwer, Ecce hominem paratum omni à ſacra, & deos deſerere regnandi cauſa.

Marius, being accuſed by the Senate of treaſon, tears open his garments, and in the ſight of them all ſhews them his wounds received in the ſervice and defence of his Country, ſaying, Quid opus eſt verbis, • bi vulner a clamant?

Sir William Stanly, railing againſt his native Country, a Spaniſh Verdugo gave him this anſwer, Though you have offended your Country▪ your Country never offended you.

It is ſtoried of a wicked City, which fearing the invaſion of a potent enemy, ſought relief of a neighbouring Prince, charging their Embaſſadors to relate unto him what forces they were able to levy of their own: The Prince replying to the Meſſage, demanded of them what coverture they had to defend their heads from the wrath of heaven? telling them withal, That unleſs they could award Gods anger, he durſt not joyn with them, God being againſt them.

The Mother of Peter Lombard, when having tranſgreſſed her vow of Continency, ſhe told her Confeſſor plainly, that when ſhe ſaw what a Son ſhe had brought forth, ſhe could not repent that ſhe had ſinned in having him: But her Confeſſor ſadly anſwered her, Dole ſaltem, quod dolere non poſſis.

Caracalla ſaid to them that deſired that ſome honours might be ſpent upon his brother Geta, now dead out of his way; Sit divus (ſaith he) modo non ſit vivus.

Edward the Third of England, having ſent to France, to demand the Crown by Maternal Right, the Council there ſent him word, That the Crown of France was not tied to a diſtaff: which ſcoffing anſwer he replyed, That then he would tie it to his ſword.

Scaliger ſaid, He had rather have been the Author and Compoſer of one Ode in Horace, than King of all Arragon.

Cato would ſay, He wondred how one of their aruſpices could forbear to laugh, when he met with any of his fellows, to ſee how they deceived men, and made a great number of ſimple ones in the City.

King Lewis the 11th. looking upon a Tapiſtry, wherein a certain Nobleman (who from a mean Clerk of the Exchequer, was advanced to be Lord Treaſurer of France) had pourtray'd the ſteps and degrees whereby he had aſcended, himſelf repreſented ſitting on the top of Fortunes wheel: Whereupon King Lewis told him, He might do well to faſten it with a good ſtrong nail, for fear leſt turning about, it brought him to his former eſtate again. Which proved a true Prophecie of him.

One who before he was Pope, was the moſt crouching ſubmiſs Cardinal that ever was: His manner was to eat upon a net, as it were in a way of devout humility; but after he had obtein'd the Popedom, he commanded them to take away the net, ſaying, He had caught that which he fiſh'd for.

When a French King, ſeeing the Perſian pomp of the Popes Court, and pride of the Cardinals, asked a Cardinal of Avinion, Whether the Apoſtles ever went with ſuch a Train after them? He anſwered, No verily: but you muſt conſider, Sir, that they were Apoſtles the ſame time that Kings were ſhepherds.

It was the ſaying of Rabbi Gamaliel, He that multiplies ſervants, multiplies thieves.

Melancthon ſaid, when he furthered the Edition of the Alchoran, that he would have it printed, Ʋt videamus quale poema ſit: That the World might ſee what a piece of poetry the Alchoran was.

Artabazus, a Courtier, received from King Cyrus a cup of gold: At the ſame time Chryſantas, the beloved Favourite, received a kiſs from him; which the other obſerving, ſaid, The cup which you gave me, was not ſo good gold as the kiſs you gave Chryſantes.

It was the Speech of an ancient Rabbi; I learned much of my Rabbies, or Maſters, more of my companions, moſt of my Scholars.

The Emperor Sigiſmond, demanding of The • doricus, Arch-Biſhop of Collen, the directeſt courſe to happineſs: Perform (ſaith he) when thou art well, what thou promiſedſt when thou wert ſick.

A certain King of the Lacedemonians being one day private in his garden, was teaching one of his children, of five years old, to ride on a ſtick; and unawares a great Embaſſador came to ſpeak with him in that manner, at which, both the King, and the Embaſſador in the Kings behalf, began to bluſh at firſt; but ſoon after, the King putting away the bluſh and the hobby-horſe together, and with a pretty ſmile, asked the Embaſſador, if he had any children of his own? He anſwered, No. Then (ſaid he) I pray you tell not what you found me doing, till you have ſome little ones of your own, and then tell it, and ſpare not.

The Scouts of Antigonus, relating unto him the multitude of his enemies, and adviſing by way of information the danger of a Conflict that ſhould be undertaken with ſo great an inequality, He replyed, And at how many do ye value me?

A Weſt-Indian King, having been well wrought upon towards his converſion to the Chriſtian Religion; and having digeſted the former Articles, when he came to that, He was crucified, dead, and buried, had no longer patience, but ſaid, If your God be dead and buried, leave me to my old god the Sun, for the Sun will not die.

Pythagoras ſaid, He that knoweth not what he ought to know, is a brute beaſt among men; he that knoweth no more than he hath need of, is a man among brute beaſts; he that knoweth all that is to be known, is a god among men.

The Lord Treaſurer Burleigh was wont to ſay, That he uſed to overcome envy and ill will more by patience than pert • nacy.

The Embaſſadors of the Council of Conſtance, being ſent to Pope Benedict the 11th. when he, laying his hand upon his heart, ſaid, Hic eſt arca Noae, they tartly and truly replyed, In Noahs ark were few men, but many beaſts.

When one ſeemed to pity an one-ey'd man, He told him he had loſt one of his enemies, a very thief, that would have ſtolen away his heart.

The King of Navarre told Beza, He would launch no farther into the Sea, than he might be ſure to return ſafe to the Haven.

A clown ſaid to the Biſhop of Collen, praying in the Church like a Biſhop, but as he was Duke, going guarded like a Tyrant, Whither thinkeſt thou the Biſhop ſhall go, when the Duke ſhall be damned?

King Edward the 3d. having the King of France priſoner here in England, and feaſting him one time moſt ſumptuouſly, preſſed him to be merry. The French King anſwered, How can we ſing ſongs in a ſtrange Land?

Calvin anſwered his friends with ſome indignation, when they admoniſhed him, for his healths ſake, to forbear ſtudying ſo hard. What? ſaid he, would you that my Maſter, when he comes, ſhould find me idle?

Spiridion, a godly Biſhop in Cyprus, having not what elſe to ſet before a gueſt that came to him in Leut, ſet him a piece of pork to feed on; and when the ſtranger made a ſcruple of eating fleſh in Lent, ſaying, I am a Chriſtian, and may not do it: Nay, therefore thou mayſt do it, ſaid he, becauſe to the pure all things are pure.

Dr. Preſton on his death-bed, ſaid, He ſhould change his place, not his company.

A certain ſtranger comming on Embaſſage to Rome, and colouring his hair and pale cheeks with vermilion hue, a grave Senator eſpying the deceit, ſtood up, and ſaid, What ſincerity are we to expect at this mans hands, whoſe lo • ks, and looks, and lips do lye.

Sir Horatio Vere, when in the Palatinate a Council of War was called, and debated whether they ſhould fight or not? Some Dutch Lords ſaid, That the enemy had many peeces of Ordnance in ſuch a place, and therefore it was dangerous to fight: That Nobleman replyed, My Lords, if you fear the mouth of the Cannon, you muſt never come into the field.

Sir John Burroughs, receiving a mortal wound in the Iſland of Rhees, and being adviſed not to fear death▪ but to provide for another world. He anſwered, I thank God I fear not death, and theſe thirty years together, I never aroſe in the morning, that ever I made account to live while night.

A learned Frier, at a Council, complaining of the abuſe of the Clergy, Preaching before the Emperor, wiſhed him to begin a reformation of the Clergy à minoribus: The Emperor thanked him for his Sermon, and ſaid, He had rather begin à majoribus, from the better ſort of the Clergy.

Ariſtippus being told that Lais loved him not; No more (ſaith he) doth wine, nor fiſh, yet I cannot be without them.

The Lord Burleigh being at Cambridge with Queen Elizabeth, viewing the ſeveral Schools, ſaid, Here I find one School wanting, and that is the School of Diſcretion.

Henry the 4th. told the Prince his Son, Getting is a chance, but keeping is a wit.

A Philoſopher, that hearing his creditor was dead, kept the money which he had borrowed without witneſſes, a night or two; but after ſome ſtrugling with his conſcience, he carried it to his Executor, ſaying, Mihi vivit, qui aliis mortuus eſt; though he be ded to others, he's ſtill alive to me.

Severus the Emperor, having paſſed through many adventures, at laſt died in our land, overladen with troubles: weighing with himſelf what his life had been, he brake forth into theſe ſpeeches, I have been all that might be, and now am nothing the better.

Scipio viewing his army, ſaid, There was not one who would not throw himſelf from the top of a tower, for love of him.

Hildebert, Biſhop of Mentz, ſaid of the Roman Courtiers, Employ them not, and they hinder you: Employ them in your cauſes, and they delay them; if you ſollicite them, they ſcorn you; if you enrich them, they forget you.

When Antonius had made away his brother Geta, after the firſt year of their joynt Empire, he entreated Papinianus (a famous Lawyer) to plead his excuſes: Who anſwered, It is eaſier Paricidium facere, quam excuſare; thou mayſt (ſaid he) command my neck to the block, but not my tongue to the bar; I prize not my life, to the pleading of an evil cauſe.

Simonides, being asked what did ſooneſt grow old among men? Made anſwer, A benefit.

Apollonius Thianaeus, having travelled over all Aſia, Africk, and Europe, ſaid, There were two things whereat he marvelled moſt in all the world: the firſt was, that he always ſaw the proud man command the humble, the quarrellous the quiet, the tyrant the juſt, the cruel the pitiful, the coward the hardy, the ignorant the skilful, and the greateſt thieves hang the innocent.

A Philoſopher being asked, how he could endure ſo ill a Wife as he had? The anſwer which he gave, was, I have hereby a School of Philoſophy in my houſe, and learning daily to ſuffer patiently, I am made the more milder with others.

Alexander ſeeing Diogenes tumbling among dead bones, he asked him what he ſought? To whom the other anſwered, That which I cannot find, the difference between the rich and the poor.

Demonax asked one a queſtion, who anſwered him in old obſolete affected words. Prethee fellow, ſaid he, where are thy wits? I ask thee a queſtion now, and thou anſwereſt 400 years ago.

Albertus Duke of Saxony, was wont to ſay, that he had three wonders in one City, viz. three Monaſteries: For the Fries of the firſt had children, and yet no wives; the Friers of the ſecond had a great deal of corn, and yet no land; the Friers of the third abounded with moneys, and yet had no rents.

A Captain ſent from Ceſar unto the Senators of Rome, to ſue for the prolonging of his government abroad, underſtanding (as he ſtood at the Council-chamber-door) that they would not condiſcend to his deſire, clapping his hand upon the pummel of his ſword: Well, ſaid he, ſeeing you will not grant it him, this ſhall give it him.

When Anne Bolen, that vertuous Lady, had received a meſſage from Henry the 8th. that ſhe muſt inſtantly prepare her ſelf for death, anſwered, That ſhe gave him humble thanks for all his favours beſtowed upon her; as for making her of a mean woman a Marchioneſs, of a Marchioneſs a Queen, but eſpecially, ſeeing he could not on earth advance her to any greater dignity, that he would now ſend her to reſt, and reign upon Gods high and holy throne.

When Tully was asked, which Oration of Demoſthenes he liked beſt? He anſwered, The longeſt.

Diogenes ſaid of one, That he caſt his houſe ſo long out at the window, that at laſt his houſe caſt him out of the door, having left nothing rich, except a noſe.

There are two ſaying fathered on two great Counſellors, Secretary Walſingham, and Secretary Ce • il, one uſed to ſay at the Council-Table, My Lords, ſtay a little, and we ſhall make an end the ſooner. The other would oft-times ſpeak of himſelf, It ſhall never be ſaid of me, that I will defer till to morrow, what I can do to day.

Adrian the Sixt ſaid, A Phyſician is very neceſſary to a populous Country; for were it not for the Phyſician, men would live ſo long, and grow ſo thick, that one could not live for the other.

It was a bold anſwer Captain Talbot returned Henry the 8th. from Calais, who having received ſpecial command from the King to erect a new work at the Water-gate, and to ſee the Town well fortified, ſent him word, That he could neither fortifie, nor fiftifie without money.

An Italian Vineyard-man, after a long drougth, and an extream hot Summer, which had parch't up all his grapes, complained, For want of water, I am forced to drink water; if I had had water, I would drink wine.

Andrea Doria, being asked by Philip the 2d. which were his beſt harbours? He anſwered, June, July, and Carthagena; meaning, that any Port is good in thoſe two moneths, but Carthagena was good any time of the year.

A Gallego in Spain, in the Civil Wars of Arragon, being in the Field, he was ſhot in the forehead, and being carried away to a Tent, the Surgeon ſearch'd his wound, and found it mortal; ſo he adviſed him to ſend for his Confeſſor, for he was no man for this world, in regard the brain was touched; the Souldiers wiſhed him to ſearch it again, which he did, and told him, that he found he was hurt in the brain, and could not poſſibly eſcape; whereupon the Gallego fell into a chafe, and ſaid, he lyed, for he had no brain at all: If J had had any brain, J would never have come to this war.

A Spaniard having got a fall by a ſtumble, and broke his noſe, riſe up, and in a diſdainful manner, ſaid, This 'tis to walk upon earth.

Alexander quintus, Pope of Rome, ſaid of himſelf, That when he was a Biſhop, he was rich; when he was a Cardinal, he was poor; and when he was a Pope, he was a beggar.

King Darius, by chance opening a great pomegranate, and being demanded, of what he would wiſh to have as many as there were grains in that pomegranate? anſwered in one word, Of Zopiruſes.

It was the anſwer of an undaunted captive, who ſlighting the inſulting braves of him who took him: Thou holdeſt thy conqueſt great in overcoming me, but mine is far greater in overcoming my ſelf.

It was the ſaying of a judicious Stateſ-man, he that knoweth to ſpeak well, knoweth alſo where he muſt hold his peace: Wiſely concluding, think an hour before you ſpeak, and a day before you promiſe.

It was an excellent ſpeech of a famous Hiſtorian, who being demanded by one who had reduced his Empire to a meer Tyranny, why he remembred not him in his Writings? Becauſe (ſaid he) I read nothing in you worth remembring. Why doſt thou not then (reply'd he) record my vices? Leſt others (ſaid he) ſhould erre by your example, and ſo imitate you.

It was the ſaying of a famous Orator, I never knew any Poet (yet was I well acquainted with many) who did not think his own doings better than all others.

Zeno's ſervant Bruſon, being taken in theft, and alledging for himſelf, that it was his deſtiny to ſteal. His Maſter anſwered, and thy deſtiny to be beaten.

Antigonus obſerving a ſickly ſouldier to be very valiant, procured his Phyſician to heal him▪ who afterwards began to keep himſelf out of danger, not venturing as formerly; which Antigonus noting, demanded the reaſon: The ſouldier anſwered, O Antigonus, thou art the reaſon; before I ventured nothing but a diſeaſed corps, and then I choſe rather to die quickly, than to live ſickly: I invited death to do me a courteſie, now it is otherwiſe with me, for now I have ſomewhat to loſe.

The Lydian Croeſus, enthroned in his Chair of State, asked a wiſe Sage, if ever he beheld a more beautiful, or graceful Spectacle? Yes, ſaid he, dunghil-cocks, pheaſants, and peacocks; for thoſe are cloathed with native beauty, but yours is but borrowed glory.

Carfitides being asked his opinion▪ what he thought of the Sea, and Sea-men? Anſwered, That there was nothing more treacherous than the firſt, and that the others were it's comrades.

It was a wiſe anſwer, that is reported of the beſt and laſt Cardinal of this Iſland, who, when a skilful Aſtrologer, upon the Calculation of his Nativity, had told him ſome ſpecialties concerning his future eſtate, anſwered, Such perhaps I was born; but ſince that time I have been born again, and my ſecond Nativity hath croſs'd my firſt.

Valentinian, when his ſouldiers had choſen him to be Emperor, they were conſulting to have another joyned with him: No (ſaid •• ) It was in your power to give me the Empire while I had it not; but now when I have it, it is not in your power to give me a partner.

Epaminondas, the Theban Ruler, when the people made merry with banquets and dances on a Solemn Feaſt-day, went up and down the City in his worſt array, and ſadly (as it were) mourning: And being demanded why he did ſo? His anſwer was, That therefore was he ſad, becauſe they ſhould with more ſecurity be merry.

The grave Cato, when one asked counſel of him in ſober earneſt, what harm he thought aboded him, becauſe rats had gnawn his hoſe? He merrily anſwered, That it was a ſtrange thing to ſee that, but it had been much more ſtrange if his hoſe had devoured the rats.

Tully likewiſe, when one to enforce the verity of Divination, ſaid, that a Victory which • ell to the Thebans▪ was fore-ſhewed by an extraordinary crowing of cocks: He replyed, that it was no miracle cocks ſhould crow; but if fiſhes had ſo done, that had been wonderful indeed.

Apollonius being very early at Veſpaſian's gate, and finding him ſtirring, from thence he conjectured that he was worthy to govern an Empire; and ſaid to his companion, this man ſurely will be Emperor, he is ſo early.

One being demanded what Caeſar whiſpered in his ear? Made anſwer, That Caeſar told him he would invent a very ſtrange puniſhment for ſuch as pried into his words and actions.

Ferdinand the Emperor, making a Speech in a publique Aſſembly, by chance gave Priſcian a fillip or two, which a Biſhop hearing, ſtarted up, and ſaid, Caeſar, You have forgotten your Grammar: To whom Caeſar, and you have forgotten your Ethicks, Biſhop.

Aexander, being deſired to ſee Darius daughters, who were fair and young, made anſwer, I will have a care not to be vanquiſhed by women, ſeeing I have vanquiſhed men.

Some entreated Cyrus to ſee Panthea, which he refuſed to do; and being told that ſhe was very fair, It is for that reaſon (ſaid he) I may not ſee her; for if I do viſit her now that I have leiſure, ſhe will bind me another time, when I ſhall be full of affairs.

Priſcus Helvidius was adviſed not to come unto the Senate: He anſwered, It is in the Emperors power not to make me of the Senate, but while I am a Senator, he ſhall not let me from going to the palace. You ſhall be ſuffer'd to go, ſaid the other, ſo you ſpeak not: Helvidius anſwers, I will not ſpeak a word, if they demand nothing of me; but if they ask me, I will anſwer what I think fit. If you ſpeak, ſaid the other, they will put you to death. He replies, And when did I brag that I was immortal? You ſhall do your duty, and I mine; it is in you to kill me, and in me to die without fear; it is in you to baniſh me, and in me to go to it cheerfully.

When Athanaſius was baniſhed by the Emperor Julian, he ſaid unto his friends that came to ſorrow with him in his diſgrace: Courage • my children, this is but a little cloud, which will vaniſh preſently.

Fabius Maximus having ſpoiled Tarentum, and made it deſolate, with all kinds of cruelties; when his Secretary came to ask him, What ſhall we do with the enemies gods? He anſwered, Let us leave the angry gods unto the Tarentines.

Scanderbeg had it in particular in all his encounters and military actions, always to begin his firſt Stratagems of Victory with the death of the head, ſaying, That the head ſhould be firſt cut off, and the reſt of the body will fall alone; and that he knew no kind of living creature that could ſurvive, the head being taken off.

It was a witty ſpeech of him that ſaid, That mens actions were like notes of muſick, ſometimes in ſpaces, and ſometimes in lines, ſometimes above, and ſometimes beneath, and never or ſeldom ſtraight for any long continuance.

Rubrius Flavius, being condemned by Nero • o loſe his head; when as the Executioner ſaid unto him, that he ſhould ſtretch forth his neck boldly, he anſwered, Thou ſhalt not ſtrike more boldly, than I will preſent my head.

Croeſus, King of Lydia, ſeeing Cyrus's ſouldiers running up and down the Town of Sardis, he demanded whither they did run? They go to the ſpoil of the Town, anſwered Cyrus. They take nothing from me (replyed Croeſus, all they carry away is thine, and not mine. Signifying, that the ſpoils of ſouldiers are the loſſes of the Conqueror, rather than the conquered.

One demanded of Sym • nides, why he was ſo ſparing in the extremity of his age? For that, ſaid he, I had rather leave my goods after my death to my enemies, than in my life-time to have need of my friends.

When Antiſthenes the Philoſopher was in extream pain, he cryed out, Who ſhall deliver me from theſe miſeries? Diogenes preſenting a knife unto him, ſaid, This, if thou wilt, and that ſoon. I do not ſay of my life (replyed the Philoſopher) but of my pain.

One demanded of Cercidas the Megalapolitane, if he died willingly? Why not (ſaid he) for after my death I ſhall ſee thoſe great men, Pythagoras among the Philoſophers, Hecateus among the Hiſtorians, Homer among the Poets, and Olympus among the Muſicians.

A Babler demanding of Ariſtole, if his diſcourſe were not ſtrange? No, anſwered he, but yet a man having feet, ſhould not give himſelf ſo long patience to hear thee.

The Embaſſadors of Lacedemon being come to the King Lygdomnus, he making difficulty to hear them, and feigning himſelf ſick, the Embaſſadors ſaid, We are not come to wreſtle with him, but to ſpeak with him.

Lewis the 11th. of France, one day went into the kitchin, whereas he found a young lad turning the ſpit, he demanded his name, of whence he was, and what he did earn? This turn-ſpit, who knew him not, told his name, and that though he were in the Kings ſervice, yet he got as much as the King: For the King (ſaid he) hath but his life, and ſo have I; God feeds the King, and the King feeds me.

The Emperor Maximilian anſwered a Merchant, who beſought him to make him a Gentleman: I can make thee much richer than thou art, but it is not in my power to make thee a Gentleman.

Pope Julius the 2d▪ having had a long feud with the Emperor Frederick (againſt whom he had fought 12 Battels) being one day gently admoniſhed by the Arch-Biſhop of Oſtia, how St. Peter his Predeceſſor was commanded to put up his ſword. 'Tis true ſaid Julius, our Saviour gave the prime Apoſtle ſuch a comand, but 'twas after he had given the blow, and cut off Malchus ear.

Diogenes ſaid, That Troy was loſt by horſes, and the Common-wealth of Athens by aſſes.

Alva • o de Luna, whom John King of Caſtile advanced, and loved above all men of his Realm, ſaid to them that admired his fortunes: Judge not of the building before it be finiſhed. He died by the hands of Juſtice.

Lewis the 1 • th. King of France, being but a child when crowned, tired with being ſo long (eight hours) in the Church, and bearing the Crown on his head, with divers other heavy veſts upon his body, was asked, what he would take to take the like pains again? He anſwered▪ For another Crown I would take double the pains.

Thoſe of the Religion, petitioning Lewis▪ 13. for a continuance of holding their cautionary Townes, as Hen. 3. and Hen. the great had done: He told them, What grace the firſt did ſhew you, was out of fear; what my Father did, was out of love; but I would have you know that I neither fear you no • love you.

The Marſhal de Saint Geran, comming to Sir Edward Herbert (then Embaſſador from the King of England for the Rochellers) after a counter-buff with Luynes the Conſtable, and told him in a friendly manner, you have offended the Conſtable, and you are not in a place of ſecurity here: Whereunto he anſwered, That he held himſelf to be in a place of ſecurity whereſoever he had his ſword by him.

The Duke of Suilli was a Favourite to Henry the 4th. whom he had reduced from a Roman, to be a Reformiſt, when he was King of Navar onely; and perſwading him to become Roman again, the Duke bluntly anſwered, Sir, you have given me one turn already, you have good luck if you give me any more.

Lewis the 13th. when but a youth, he went to the Coutry of Bearn, at his entrance to Pan, the Inhabitants bringing a Canopy to carry over his Head, He asked, whether there was ever a Church in the Town? And being anſwered, No: He ſaid, he would receive no honour in that place, where God himſelf had no houſe to be honoured in.

William, Prince of Orange, to content thoſe that reproved his too much humanity, ſaid, That man is well bought, who coſts but a ſalutation.

A Preſident of a Parliament in France, whoſe friends came to ſee him at his new houſe, began exceedingly to commend it for the rareneſs of the Workmanſhip, and the goodneſs of the ſtone, timber, marble, and ſuch like: You miſtake (ſaid he) the ſtuff whereof it is made; the houſe is onely built de teſtes les fols, of foolsheads.

Bias, one of the ſeven wiſe men of Greece, ſailing in a ſhip where ſome fellows were that had given themſelves over to lewdneſs, and yet in a ſtorm were calling unto their gods for help, He ſaid unto them, Hold your peace, for fear left the gods ſhould know you be here.

Alexander Severus was wont to ſay, That a Souldier is never afraid, but when he ſeeth himſelf well apparelled, and his Belt furniſhed with money.

Dionyſius the Tyrant, ſaid, We ſhould deceive children with dice and cock-alls, and men with Oaths.

Alexander the Great, when one wondred, why he not onely not kill'd his enemies, but took them to be his friends: It ſeems (ſays he) to thee profitable to kill an enemy, and I kill an enemy while I ſpare him, and make him my friend while I advance him.

The Philoſopher Anacharſis, ſaid of Solons Common-wealth, That in the Conſultations and Deliberations of the Greeks, Wiſe-men propounded the matters, and fools decided them.

Darius was wont to ſay of himſelf, In a pinch and extremity of peril he was always wiſeſt.

Favorinus told Adrian the Emperor, who had cenſured him in his own profeſſion of Grammar, That he durſt not be learneder than he, who commanded 30. Legions.

Thou art an Heretick, ſaid Woodrofe the Sheriff to Mr. Rogers the Proto-Martyr in Queen Maries dayes: That ſhall be known (quoth he) at the day of Judgment.

General Vere told the King of Denmark, that Kings cared not for ſouldiers, until ſuch time as their Crowns hung on one ſide of their heads.

Tamberlain having overthrown Bajazet, asked him, Whether ever he had given God thanks for making him ſo great an Emperor; who confeſſing he never thought of it; Tamberlain replyed, that it was no wonder ſo ingrateful a man ſhould be made a ſpectacle of miſery: For you (ſaith he) being blind of one eye, and I lame of one leg, was there any worth in us, why God ſhould ſet us over two ſuch great Empires?

Luther was wont to ſay, that three things make a Preacher, reading, prayer, and temptation; reading a full man, prayer an holy man, temptation an experienced man.

One having made a long, tedious, and idle diſcouſe before Ariſtotle, concluded it thus, Sir, I doubt, I have been too tedious to you with my many words: In good ſooth, ſaid Ariſtotle, you have not been tedious to me, for I gave no heed to any thing you ſaid.

Aigoland King of Arragon, comming to the French Court to be Baptized, and asking who thoſe lazers and poor people were, that waited for alms from the Emperor Charlemain's table? When one anſwered him, that they were the ſervants of God: I will never ſerve that God ſaid he, that keeps his ſervants no better.

One being ready to die, clapt a 20 s. peece into his mouth, and ſaid, Some wiſer than ſome, if I muſt leave all the reſt, yet this I'll take with me.

Sabina, a Roman Martyr, crying out in her travail, and being asked by her Keeper, how ſhe would endure the fire the next day? Oh well enough, ſaid ſhe; for now I ſuffer in child-birth for my ſin; but then Chriſt ſhall ſuffer in me, and ſupport me.

Cardinal Columnus, when the Pope threatned to take away his Cardinals Hat, That then he would put on an Helmet to pull him out of his throne.

King James, after he had moderated as Dr. of the Chair at Oxford in all Faculties; when in the publique Library there, he beheld the little chaines wherewith the ſeveral Books were faſtned to their places: I could wiſh (ſaith he) (if ever it be my lot to be carried captive) to be ſhut up in this priſon, to be bound with theſe chains, and to ſpend my life with theſe fellow-captives that ſtand here chained.

Aeſop being ſet to ſale with two other ſlaves, a Chapman enquired of the firſt, what he could do? He, to endear himſelf, anſwered, mountaines, and wonders, and what not? For he knew, and could do all things. The ſecond anſwered even ſo for himſelf, and more too. But when he came to Aeſop, and demanded of him what he could do? Nothing, ſaid he, for theſe two have fore-ſtalled all, and have left nothing for me.

The Philoſopher Byon, when a certain King for grief tore his hair: Doth this man (ſaid he) think that baldneſs will aſſwage his grief?

One being demanded what his ſtudies would ſtead him in his decrepit age? anſwered, That he might the better, and with more eaſe leave the world.

The Embaſſadors of Samos, being come to King Cleomenes of Sparta, prepared with a long prolix Oration, to ſtir him up to war againſt the tyrant Polycrates, after he had liſtned a good while unto them, his Anſwer was: Touching your Exordium, I have forgotten it, the middle I remember not, and for the concluſion, I will do nothing in it.

Scipio being one day accuſed before the Roman people of an urgent and capital offence, in ſtead of excuſing himſelf, or flattering the Judges, turning to them, he ſaid, It will well beſeem you to judge of his head, by whoſe means you have authority to judge of all the world.

Atiſthenes was wont to ſay to his diſciples; Come on my Maſters, let you and me go to hear Socrates, there ſhall I be fellow-diſciple with you.

Julius Druſius, to thoſe Workmen which for 3000 crowns offered ſo to reform his houſe, that his neighbours ſhould no more over-look into it: I will give you 6000 (ſaid he) and contrive it ſo, that on all ſides every man may look into it.

The Stanhop ſaid merrily, That not he, but his ſtately houſe was guilty of high treaſon.

Eleazer, a Jew, being demanded when it would be time to repent & amend? Anſwered, One day before death. And when the other replyed, that no man knew the day of his death: He ſaid, Begin then even to day, for fear of failing.

Apollidorus was wont to ſay of Chryſippus his Books, That if other mens ſentences were left out, the pages would be void.

Cato ſaid, He had rather men ſhould ask why he had no Statues erected for him, than why he had.

A certain Souldan, who died at the Siege of Zigetum, being perſwaded by the Muphti not to ſuffer ſo many Religions as were in his Dominions: He anſwered, That a noſegay of many flowers ſmelled far more ſweet than one flower onely.

Pope Sixtus ſaid, That a Pope could never want money, while he held a pen in his hand.

One ſaid of Eraſmus his Enchyridion, That there was more devotion in the Book, than in the Writer.

A Frenchman being asked by one of his Neighbours, if the Sermon were done? No, ſaith he, it is ſaid, but it is not done, neither will be, I fear, in haſte.

When one asked the Duke of Alva, whether he had not obſerved the great Ecclipſe of the Sun? No truly, ſaid he, I have ſo much buſineſs on earth, that I have no time to look up to heaven.

A Phyſician was wont to ſay pleaſantly to delicate Dames, when they complained they were they could not tell how, but yet they could not endure to take any Phyſick: Your onely way is to be ſick indeed, and then you will be glad to take any medicine.

Diogenes being asked what time is beſt for meals? He anſwered, For the rich man when he had a ſtomack, and for a poor man when he could get meat.

Jovinian ſaid to the Orthodox and Arrian Biſhops, contending about Faith: Of your learning I cannot ſo well judge, nor of your ſubtle diſoutations; but I can obſerve which of you have the better behaviour.

An Arrian Biſhop entreating the Emperor▪ Conſtantine to give them a Church: He anſwered, If your cauſe be good, one is too few; but if bad, one is too many.

The Philoſopher Theodorus was wont to ſay, That he gave his ſcholars inſtructions and leſſons with the right hand, but that they received them with the left.

Luther would often ſay, That if he thought the reading of his Books would hinder the reading of the Scriptures, he would burn them all before he died.

When one accuſed a Comical Poet, that he brought a lewd debauched Ruffian on the Stage, and ſo gave bad example to young men. True, ſaid he, I brought ſuch a man on▪ but I hanged him before he went off, and ſo I gave them a good example.

One being asked what exploits he had done in the Low-countries? Anſwered, That he had cut off a Spaniards legs: Reply being made, that it had been ſomething if he had cut off his head: Oh, ſaid he, you muſt conſider his head was off before.

A gallant ſometime ſaid to a reverend Prelate, If there be no judgment to come, are not you a very fool to bar your ſelf from the pleaſures of this life? To whom the Prelate: And what if there be a judgment to come, are not you then a very fool, for the ſhort pleaſures of this preſent life, to bar your ſelf from thoſe eternal joyes of your life to come?

Charls the 5th. Emperor was wont to ſay, That the King of Spain ruled over aſſes, doing nothing without violence or blows; the King of France over men; and the Emperor over Kings. And when one of the ſtanders by ſaid, that the Polonians alſo had their King: I grant, ſaid he, that he is▪ their King. Meaning, that his power was limited by them.

When Marſhal Biron bid Sir Roger Williams bring up his Companies faſter, taxing the ſlow march of the Engliſh. Sir, ſaith he, with this march our Fore-fathers conquered your Countrey of France, and I mean not to alter it.

The ſame Sir Roger Williams, to an idle Spaniard, boaſting of his Country-citrons, Oranges, Olives, and ſuch like: Why, ſaith he, we, in England, have good Surloyns of Beef, fat Muttons, and dainty Capons, to eat your ſawee withal.

One demanding of an Italian, why their Muttons and Cattel were ſo ſmall and lean? Becauſe (quoth he) we Italians eat the graſs in ſallets, and by robbing the paſtures, deceive the cattel.

A Portugal Captain once told King Sebaſtian, providing for his journey into Barbary, That wars ſhould be accompanied with three ſtreams, the firſt, of men; the ſecond, of victuals; the third, of ſilver.

Another being demanded how many things were neceſſary hereunto, anſwered, Money, money, money.

Sigiſmond, the firſt King of Poland, moved by Leo the 10th. to war againſt the Turk, anſwered, Few words ſhall ſerve, firſt, make firm peace among the Chriſtian Princes, then will I be not behind the forwardeſt.

When Ferdinando Cortez had conquered Mexico, the King of Mexico drawing his dagger, gave it to him, ſaying, Hitherto I have done the beſt for the defence of my people; now I am no farther bound, but to give thee this dagger to kill me with.

Hannibal having ſent his Brother Mago to diſcover the Romans Camp, and returning, he asked him, What newes, and what work they were like to have with the enemies? Work enough (anſwered Mago) for they are an horrible many. As horrible a many as they are (replyed Hannibal) I tell thee brother, that among them all, ſearch them never ſo diligently, thou ſhalt not finde one man whoſe name is Mago.

Captain Gam, before the Battel of Agincourt, being ſent to make the like Diſcovery, told King Henry the 5th. That of the Frenchmen, there were enough to be kill'd, enough to be taken priſoners, and enough to run away.

At a Solemn Convention of many Philoſophers, before the Embaſſadors of a Forreign Prince, and that every one, according to his ſeveral abilities, made demonſtration of their wiſedom, that ſo the Embaſſador might have matter to report of the admired wiſedom of the Grecians▪ Amongſt thoſe, one there was that ſtood ſtill, and uttered nothing in the Aſſembly, inſomuch that the Embaſſador turning to him, ſaid. And what is your gift, that I may report it? To whom the Philoſopher, Report unto your King, that you found one amongſt the Grecians, that knew how to hold his peace.

A Barber going to the Court, and being at his return asked what he ſaw? He anſwered, the King was neatly trimm'd.

Themiſtocles, being invited to touch a Lute, ſaid arrogantly, He could not fiddle, but he knew how to make a ſmall town a great City.

Plutarch tells of two men that were hired at Athens for ſome publick work, whereof the one was full of tongue, but ſlow at hand, but the other, blunt in ſpeech, yet an excellent Workman: Being called upon by the Magiſtrates to expreſs themſelves, and to declare at large how they would proceed; when the firſt had made a long harrange, and deſcribed it from point to point, the other ſeconded him with this ſhort ſpeech: Ye men of Athens, what this man hath ſaid in words, that will I make good true performance.

King Porus, when Alexander ask'd him how he would be uſed? anſwered in one word, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 , Like a King. Alexander replying, do you deſire nothing elſe? No, ſaid he, all things are in 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 .

Solon being demanded how a Commonwealth might beſt be preſerved in peace? Anſwered, that the Common-wealth is in good eſtate, where the people obey the Magiſtrates, and the Magiſtrates obey the Law.

Pelican, a German Divine, ſaid, concerning his Learning, When I appear before God, I ſhall not appear as a Doctor, but as an ordinary Chriſtian.

When Plato ſaw one indulgent to his fleſh in high diet, he asked him, What do ye mean to make your priſon ſo ſtrong?

Auguſtus ſaid, that Petitions ſhould not be given to Princes, as meat to an Elephant, that one is afraid of.

Veſpaſian asked Apollonius, what was Nero's overthrow? He anſwered, Nero could touch and tune the harp well; but in Government, he uſed ſometimes to winde the p • ns too high, and ſometimes to let them down too low.

A fat man in Rome, riding always upon a very lean horſe, being asked the reaſon thereof? Anſwered. That he fed himſelf, but truſted others to feed his horſe.

Philip of Macedon was wont to ſay, That an aſs laden with gold would enter the gates of any City.

At the Treaty between the Engliſh, and the King of Spain, the Commiſſioners being met in a French Town, the firſt queſtion was, what Tongue they ſhould Treat in? One of the Spaniards, thinking to give our Engliſh a ſore gird, ſaid, In French, and theſe Gentlemen cannot be ignorant of the language of their fellow-ſubjects: No, faith my Maſters (ſaid Doctor Dale, Maſter of the Requeſts) French is too common, eſpecially in a French Town, We'l treat in the Mother-tongue, Hebrew, the language of Hieruſalem, of which your Maſter is King.

One being exiled his native Country, and one day asked why he looked ſo heavily? replyed, I bear the Embleme of this place in my front.

When Ennius ſought his friend at his houſe, and asked his ſervant where his Maſter was? Who hearing, ſaid to his ſervant, Tell him I am not at home; which Ennius over-heard, but took the anſwer from the ſervant. The next day the ſame man, comming to Ennius his houſe, and demanded of his ſervant where his Maſter was? Ennius ſpake aloud, Tell him I am not at home. What, ſaid he, will you deny your ſelf with your own tongue? Why, ſaid Ennius, I believed when but your man told me you were at home, and will you not believe me which ſay ſo my ſelf?

Eraſmus being asked by Frederick Duke of Saxony, what he thought of Luther, ſo much earneſtly ſeeking Reformation? Eraſmus anſwered, Luther had committed two great errours: One was, that he touch'd too near the Crown of the Pope; another, too much the bellies of the Monks.

A certain bold-fac'd fellow, came one day to an Emperor, and deſired his Majeſty to beſtow ſome reward upon a poor kinſman of his: I am your kinſman, quoth he, both by father and mother, for we come all of Adam and Eve. Indeed, thou ſayeſt true (quoth the Emperor) and gave him a penny. A penny (quoth the other) ſhall I have no more but a penny? A ſimple reward for an Emperor. Hold thy ſelf content, ſaid the Emperor, If I ſhould give to every one of my kinſmen a penny, I ſhould ſoon become a poor Emperor.

Alphonſus King of Arragon, anſwered an Orator, who had cited a long Panegerycal Oration of his praiſes: If that thou haſt ſaid, conſenteth with truth, I thank God for it; if not, I pray God grant me grace, that I may do it.

A Painter being blamed by a Cardinal for colouring the vi • ages of Peter and Paul too red, tartly replyed, That he painted them ſo, as • luſhing at the lives of thoſe men who ſtyle themſelves their ſucceſſors.

When Alexander received any Letters from any of his Commanders in Greece, of ſome ſmall Skirmiſh, or taking ſome Fort (He being uſed to great Victories) was wont to ſay, They ſeemed to him but as the battels of frogs and mice in Homer.

Some ſaying it was a ſtrange reſolution in L. Scilla to reſigne his Dictatorſhip. Caeſar ſcoffing at him, ſaid, That Silla could not skill of Letters, and therefore knew not how to Dictate.

Ariſtippus, having a Petition to Dionyſius, and no ear given him, he fell down at his feet, in manner of a worſhipper: Whereupon Dionyſius ſtay'd, and gave him the hearing, and granted it. And being reproved, that he would offer that indignity to Philoſophy, as for a private ſuit to fall at a Tyrants feet; He replyed, That it was not his fault, but it was the fault of Dionyſius, who had his ears in his feet.

It is a notable ſpeech reported of one Nemon, that was General of Darius his Army, when he was fighting againſt Alexander, one of his Souldiers reproached Alexander: The General came to him, and ſmote him, ſaying, I did not hire you to reproach Alexander, but to fight againſt him.

A great man, who himſelf was very plain in apparel, checkt a Gentleman for being overfine: Who modeſtly anſwered, Your Lordſhip hath better cloaths at home, and I have worſe.

Themiſtocles, when an Embaſſador in a ſet Speech boaſted great matters of a ſmall Village, took him up thus: Friend, your words require a City.

It was the ſaying of a noble Venetian Duke That it is ſufficient for a diſcreet Prince to have power to revenge, that his enemies may have cauſe to fear him.

An Embaſſador of Athens, anſwered King Philip of Macedon, threatning that he would cauſe his head to be cut off: If thou take this head from me, my Country will give me another that ſhall be immortal. Statuam pro capite, pro morte immortalitatem.

Diogenes ſeeing a certain man dreſſing and decking himſelf for a feſtival day, ſaid unto him thus: Why doſt thou take ſuch pains to trim thy ſelf to day, ſeeing that every day is a feſtival day to a virtuous man?

There was a certain rich wretch who had in his houſe great ſtore of wine, but was ſo niggardly, that he ſold the beſt, and kept the worſt for his own uſe. A ſervant of his, obſerving the pinching and prepoſterous niggardlineſs o • his Maſter, fled away from him; and being asked afterwards why he had left his Lord? anſwered thus: Becauſe I could not endure to ſtay with a man, who having that which was good, made choiſe of that which was evil.

The Philoſopher Ariſtippus, having loſt one of his three Farms, ſaid thus unto his freinds; That it was babiſhneſs to be ſorry for one Farm loſ • , and not to be merry for the other two that did reſt in his hands, ſeeing that all of them had lien open to the ſame adventure.

Secundus the Philoſopher being demanded, What is a wife? Replyed, She is contrary to an husband.

Richard Nevil, Earl of Warwick, when the people would have made him King, refuſed it, ſaying, That he had rather make Kings, than be one.

Pompey, when his ſouldiers, would needs leave the Camp, threw himſelf down at a narrow paſſage, and bid them go, But they ſhould firſt trample on their General.

Diogenes ſaid to one that had perfumed his lo • ks: Be careful your odoriferous head procure you not a ſtinking life.

Themiſtocles to Symmachus, to whom, being deſirous to teach him the art of memory; He anſwered, He had rather learn the art of forgetfulneſs.

Veſpaſian ſeeing at once two fatal preſages of his end, a blazing Comet, and a gaping Sepulcher, turned them both from himſelf, with this pleaſant ſcoff; ſaying, The Sepulcher gaped for the old Empreſs Julia; and the blazing Star portended the death of the King of Perſia, who at that time wore long hair.

When Mr. Sam. Hieron lay on his death-bed (rich onely in goodneſs and children) his wife made much womaniſh lamentation, what ſhould become of her little ones. Peace Sweetheart (ſaid he) that God who feedeth the Ravens, will not ſtarve the Herns.

Mr. Fox (the Author of the Martyrology) being once asked at a friends table, what diſh he deſired to be ſet up to him to begin his meal with? He anſwered, The laſt. Which word was pleaſantly taken, as if he had meant a choiſer diſh, ſuch as uſually are brought at the ſecond Courſe; whereas he rather ſignified the deſire he had to ſee dinner ended, that he might depart home.

Going abroad (by chance) he met a woman that he knew, who pulling a book from under her arm, and ſaying, See you not that I am going to a Sermon? Mr. Fox replyed, But if you will be ruled by me, go home rather; for to day you will do little good at Church. And when ſhe asked, at what time therefore he would counſel her to go? Then (anſwered he) when you tell no body before-hand.

When a young man, a little too forward, had, in preſence of many, ſaid, that he could not conceive any reaſon in the reading of old Authors, why men ſhould ſo greatly admire them. No manuel, indeed, (quoth Mr. Fox) for if you could conceive the reaſon, you would then admire them your ſelf.

One told a Grecian Statiſt, who had excellently deſerved of the City he lived in, that the City had choſen 24 Officers, and yet left him out. I am glad, ſaith he, the City affords 24 abler • han my ſelf.

When one of Antipaters friends (who was an imperious and tyrannous Governor) commended him to Alexander for his moderation, that he did not degenerate into the Perſian pride in the uſe of Purple, but kept the ancient habit of Macedon, of black. True, (ſaith Alexander) but Antipater is all purple within.

Alexander, when he gave large gifts to his friends and ſervants, and one asked him what he did reſerve for himſelf? He anſwered, Hope.

One asked a grave Gentlewoman how her maids came by ſo good husbands, and yet ſeldome went abroad? Oh (ſaid ſhe) good huſbands come home to them.

One having a ſhrewd wife, yet loth to uſe her hardly, awed her by telling her, That he would beat her when he was dead. Meaning, that he would leave her no maintenance.

One complaining that never had father ſo undutiful a child as he had. Yes, ſaid his ſon, (with leſs grace than truth) my Grand-father had.

A Farmer rented a grange, generally reported to be haunted with Fairies, and paid a ſhrewd rent for the ſame at each half-years end. Now a Gentleman asked him how he durſt be ſo hardy as to live in the houſe? and whether no Spirits did trouble him? Truth (ſaid the farmer) there be two Saints in heaven, vex me more than all the Devils in hell; namely, the Virgin Mary, and Michael the Arch-angel; on which days he paid his rent.

When a Profeſſor preſſed an Anſwerer (a better Chriſtian than a Clerk) with an hard argument: Reverende Profeſſor, ſaid he, ingenuè confiteor, me non poſſe reſpondere huic argumente. To whom the Profeſſor, Rectè reſpondes.

When one told Latimer that the Cutler had cozend him, in making him pay two pence for a knife not (in thoſe dayes) worth a penny: No, quoth Latimer, he cozened not me, but his own Conſcience.

When Buchanan lay on his death-bed, King James ſent to know how he did? He returned this anſwer, That he was going whither few Kings came.

Q. Metellus Pius, to one wondring at what he intended to do, and demanding of him what he meant? Let alone, ſaith he, farther to enquire; for if my ſhirt knew what I meant to doe, I would burn it.

Pericles being requeſted by his ſouldiers to fight, and that with vile reproachful terms, replyed thus: That if he could repair loſſes, and recover life, he would as gladly adventure as they. But you ſee (ſaid he) trees being cut, they grow again; but men once ſlain, revive no more.

Henry the 4th. King of France, ſeeing the Chappel which the family of Baſſom Pierre had builded, and reading this verſe of the Pſalm, which was ſet down for an Embleme: Quid retribuam Domino, pro omnibus quae retribuit mihi? He ſaid, Baſſom Pierre as a German ſhould have added, Calicem accipiam.

To one, telling him that there is nothing doth ſooner make thoſe who are out of their wits to become temperate, than the puniſhment which is inflicted upon them, the King interrupted his ſpeech, and told him, Mercy pardoneth thoſe who have not deſerved it; and the juſter that wrath is, the more commendable is mercy.

When men ſpake of the inſolencies and ryots of the City, during the troubles, &c. He ſaid, The people of Paris are good, it goeth as it is led; miſchief commeth from thoſe which go before, and not from their ſimplicity which follow after, and grow bad by infection.

Conſidering on a time that Taxes were exceſſive in ſundry places of the Kingdome: He ſaid, My people are made to pay a double tax, one to me, and another to my Officers. The ſecond makes the firſt inſupportable; for the expence of the Officers amount to more than the tax: It is a hard matter to keep my ſelf unrob'd, and almoſt impoſſible but that my people ſhould be ſo.

He was wont to ſay, That he would not ſee them ſuffer harm, which were not in caſe to doe any.

Some one beſought him to give him leave to carry the Cannon againſt ſome that held his houſe: The King demanded of him what he would do when he had forced them? His choller made him anſwer, That he would hang them all: Whereupon the King ſent him away with this mild reply, I have no Cannon to that uſe.

A maker of Anagrams, preſenting ſomething unto him upon his name, and telling him that he was very poor: I believe it, ſaid the King, for they that uſe this trade, cannot grow very rich.

He was wont to ſay, That it was an offence to God, to give credit to thoſe Prognoſticks: and that, having God for his guard, He feared no man.

The ſame Henry, being at the Siege of Amiens, amongſt others of the Nobles which he ſummoned for that ſervice, he ſent alſo to the Count Soiſſons, a Prince of the Blood to whom the King gives 5000 crowns penſion. The Count, at that time diſcontented, returned the King anſwer, That he was a poor Gentleman, and wanted meanes to come to that ſervice, as became one of his birth and place, being a Prince of the Blood, and Peer of France: He therefore moſt humbly craved pardon, and •• at he would moſt humbly pray for his Majeſties proſperous ſucceſſe, which was all he could do. Well (ſaith the King) ſeeing prayer is not acceptable without faſting, my Couſin ſhall hereafter faſt from his penſion of 5000 crowns.

He uſed much this noble Speceh, when I was born, there were a thouſand other ſouls more born; what have I done unto God, to be more than they? It is his meer grace and mercy which doth often bind me more unto his juſtice; for the faults of great men are never ſmall.

When certain Romans practiſed by ſecret counſel to kill the Emperor Domitian, and gave part thereof to Trajane: He did anſwer; I do well ſee that Domitian deſerved not to be elected Emperor, and much leſs to be ſuſteined in the ſame; yet never the more ſhall I conſent unto his death, for that I will rather endure a tyrant, than procure the renown of a traytor.

The Emperor Adrian ſaid, That he remembred not ſince the age of ten yeares, whether he ſtood ſtill, or walked by the way, that he had not either a book to read in, or ſome weapon to fight with.

Being demanded why he was ſo bountiful unto his Miniſters of Juſtice? He anſwered, I make the Miniſters of Juſtice rich, becauſe by robbery of Juſtice they ſhall no • make other men poor.

When Favorinus, having an old houſe, at the entry thereof he had raiſed a ſtately porch, painted with whi • e: The Emperor ſaid unto him, This houſe of thine ſeemeth a gilded pill, which outwardly giveth pleaſure, but within is full of bitterneſs.

Another friend of Adrians, named Silvius, very black of face, and of evil ſhape of body, comming one day unto the Palace, all clad in white, Adrian ſaid unto thoſe that were preſent, That black face, with that white garment, ſeemeth no other, but a flie drowned in a ſpoonfull of milk.

There was in Rome a certain man named Enatius, ſomewhat entred in age, and of natural condition mutinous, ambitious, importune, intermedling, quarrellous, and full of garboyl. The Emperor Adrian being advertiſed that Enatius was dead, He fell into a great laughter, and ſware, That he could not a little marvel how he could intend to die, conſidering his great buſineſs both night and day.

There was a Senator named Fabius Cat • , a man of a ſmall ſtature, which would ſoon be offended, and as ſoon be pleaſed; unto whom Adrian ſaid, Since your chimney is ſo ſmall, you muſt beware to lay much wood upon the fire, for otherwiſe it will be always ſmokie.

When a certain cunning man made offer to the Emperour Antonius Pius, to place him teeth wherewith to eat or ſpeak; Antonius made anſwer: Since never from my heart proceeded feigned or double words, there ſhall never enter into my mouth feigned teeth.

Antonius alwayes, for the moſt part, went bare-headed; and one adviſing him the air of Rome to be very hurtful, and therefore neceſſary to have his head covered, anſwered, aſſure me from troubles of men on earth, and I am aſſured that nothing ſhall trouble me which the gods ſhall ſend me from heaven.

He ſent Fulvius Tuſculanus as Praetor into the Province of Mauritania, whom within half a year he deprived of his Office, for that he was both impatient and covetous; who complaining of the injury, ſaid, that in times paſt he had been a friend unto Antonius, but now it was forgotten: Whereunto Antonius anſwered, Thou haſt no reaſon thus unjuſtly to blame me, becauſe the office was given thee by the Emperor, and not by Antonius; and ſince, thou didſt not offend as Fulvius, but as Praetor; ſo I diſcharge thee of thy Office, not as Antonius thy old friend, but as Emperor of the Roman Empire.

Some ſpeaking in his preſence of Wars and Battels, that Julius Caeſar, Scipio & Hannibal had fought and overcame in the field: Antonius Pius anſwered, Let every man hold opinion what he thinketh good, and praiſe what it pleaſeth him; but for my own part, I do more glory in conſerving peace many yeares, than with wars to conquer many battels.

Before he gave any government unto Praetors, Cenſors, or Queſtors, he cauſed them to give an Inventory of their own proper goods, that when their charges were finiſhed, the increaſe of their wealth might be conſidered: Saying unto them, That he ſent them to adminiſter Juſtice, and not by fraud to rob Countries.

The Emperour Pertinax uſed to ſay, That, of Princes charging their Kingdomes with unjuſt tribute, there ſucceedeth a wilful denial of due and moſt juſt payments.

He had a Son whom the Romans would have Created Auguſtus; which he would never like of, or conſent unto; ſaying, The gods never grant that, with the hopes of the Empire, my ſon ſhould be nouriſhed unto vice and idleneſs.

The Emperor Baſſianus would often ſay, I know not what man, having bread to eat, or garments to wear, and cover himſelf on land, would (to become an Emperor) go to Sea.

The Emperor Alexander Severus was wont to ſay, Princes are not to be known by their vaſſals by their rich robes, but by their good works performed in their Common-wealths.

Lewis the 12th. King of France, when he heard that the Pope had extreamly curſed him; He ſaid, That this was a Pope made to curſe, but not to pray.

He had in King Charls his time been evilly uſed by divers, of whom he was adviſed to take revenge at his comming to the Crown: Whereunto he anſwered, That it became not a King of France to revenge the injuries done to a Duke of Orleans.

Looking upon the Roll of King Charls his ſervants, he found two that had been his dead enemies, upon each of whoſe names he made a croſs; wherewith they being in great perplexity, ſuppoſed the gallows to be prepared for them: Which their fear being diſcovered to the King. He ſent them word▪ To be of good cheer, for he had croſſed all their evil deeds out of his remembrance.

When a certain Courtier complained grievouſly of his wives unchaſtneſs, The King bad him be of good cheer, for he that reſpected his wives incontinencie, or the Popes curſe, ſhould never ſleep quiet night.

Charls of Bourbon had often in his mouth the Apothegme of a Gaſcoigne Gentleman, who being demanded by Charls the 7th. what reward might win him to break his faith with him, whereof he had made trial in ſo many important affairs? I could not be drawn thereunto (anſwered he) though I might have your Kingdom given me, or the Empire of the Earth, and all the treaſures of the world; but I might be moved to doe it by an outrage that might be offered me, and for ſome injury that might touch mine Honour.

Plancus being told that Aſinius Pollio had written certain Invective Orations againſt him, which ſhould not be publiſhed till after Plancus his death, to the end they might not be anſwered by him. There is none (ſaith he) but Ghoſts and Goblius that fight with the dead.

Peter Earl of Savoy, who to do his Liegehomage to the Emperor Otho the 4th. came before him in a two-fold attire; for he had on the one half of his body, on the right ſide, from the top downward, ſet out with cloth of gold: and the other half on the left ſide, covered with ſhining armour. The Emperor asking him what ſuch a divers furniture meant? Sir, anſwered he, the attire of the right ſide is to honour your Imperial Majeſty; this of the left, ſheweth me ready to fight until the laſt gaſp, againſt thoſe that wiſh you ill, and ſpeak ill of you.

Pope John the third, being asked what thing was fartheſt from the truth? The opinion of the common people (anſwered he) for all that they praiſe deſerve blame; all that they think is nothing but vanity, all that they ſay is nothing but lying; they condemn the good, they approve the evil, they magnifie nothing but infamy.

Lewis the 11th. uſed this Apothegme, Where pride and preſumption goe before▪ ſhame and loſs follow after.

Dionyſius having taken the City Reggio, and in it the Captain Phyton, he told him, how the day before he had cauſed his ſon and his kinſfolks to be drowned: To whom Phyton anſwered nothing, But that they were more happy than himſelf by the ſpace of one day.

Thales being asked how a man might be cheerful, and bear up in afflictions: Anſwered, If he can ſee his enemies in worſe caſe than himſelf.

A ſouldier being demanded by Nero, why he hated him: Anſwered him thus: I loved thee whilſt thou nere worthy of love; but ſince thou becameſt a paracide, a jugler, a player, and a coach-man, I hate thee as thou deſerveſt.

Another being asked why he ſought to kill him? anſwered, Becauſe I find no other courſe to hinder thy unceſſant outrages, and impious deeds.

Francis Duke of Britanny, Son to John the 5th, when he was ſpoken unto for a marriage between him and Iſabel a Daughter of Scotland, and ſome told him ſhe was but meanly brought up, and without any inſtruction of learning, anſwered, He loved her the better for it; and that a woman was wiſe enough, if ſhe could but make difference between the ſhirt and doublet of her husband.

Demoſthenes companions in their Embaſſage to Philip, praiſed their Prince to be fair, eloquent, and a good quaffer: Demoſthenes ſaid, They were commendations rather fitting a woman, an advocate, and a ſpunge, than a King.

Theodorus anſwered Lyſimachus, who threatned to kill him: Thou ſhalt do a great exploit to come to the ſtrength of a cantharides.

Ariſtotle being upbraided by ſome of his friends, that he had been over-merciful to a wicked man: I have indeed (quoth he) been merciful towards the man, but not towards his wickedneſs.

When an Epigramatiſt read his Epigrams in an Auditory, one of the hearers ſtopt him, and ſaid, Did not I hear an Epigram to this purpoſe from you laſt year? Yes, ſays he, it's like you did: But is not that vice ſtill in you this year, which laſt years Epigram reprehended?

Some came and told Philopoemen, the enemies are with us: To whom he anſwered, and why ſay you not that we are with them?

When Sicily did curſe Dionyſius, by reaſon of his cruelty, there was onely one old woman that pray'd God to lengthen his life: Whereat Dionyſius wondering▪ asked her for what good turn ſhe ſhould do that? She Anſwered, That it was not love, but fear; for (ſaid ſhe) I knew your Grandfather a great tyrant, and the people deſired his death; then ſucceeded your Father, more cruel than he, and now your ſelf worſe far than them both; ſo that I think if you die, the Devil muſt come next.

Pompey being in Sicily, preſſing the Mammertines to acknowledge his authority, they ſought to avoid it, pretending that they had Priviledges and ancient Decrees of the people of Rome. To whom Pompey anſwered in choler, Will you plead Law unto us, who have our ſwords by our ſides?

When Lewis the 11th. demanded of Brezay▪ Seneſcall of Normandy, the reaſon why he ſaid that his horſe was great and ſtrong, being but little, and of a weak ſtature: For that, anſwered Brezay, he carries you and all your counſel.

He ſaid, That if he had entred his Reign otherwiſe than with fear and ſeverity, he had ſerv'd for an example in the laſt Chapter of Boccace his book of unfortunate Noblemen.

Conſidering that Secrecy was the Soul and Spirit of all Deſignes: He ſaid ſometimes, I would burn my Hat, if it knew what was in my Head.

He remembring to have heard King Charls his Father ſay, that Truth was ſick: He added, I believe that ſince ſhe is dead, and hath not found any Confeſſor.

Mocking at one that had many Books, and little learning: He ſaid, That he was like unto a crook-back't man, who carries a great bunch at his back▪ and never ſees it.

Seeing a Gentleman which carried a goodly chain of gold, He ſaid unto him that did accompany him; You muſt not touch it, for it is Holy: Shewing that it came from the ſpoil of Churches.

On a time ſeeing the Biſhop of Chartre mounted on a Mule, with a golden bridle, He ſaid unto him, that in times paſt Biſhops were contented with an Aſs, and a plain halter: The Biſhop anſwered him, That it was at ſuch times as Kings were ſhepherds, and did keep ſhee • .

Abdolominus, a poor man, rich in plenty except plenty of riches; to whom Alexander of Macedon proffering the Kingdom of Sydon, who before was but a gardiner, was by him refuſed, ſaying, That he would take no care to loſe that which he cared not to enjoy.

When one told a Reverend Biſhop of a young man that Preached twice every Lords day, beſides ſome Exerciſing in the week-days: It may be (ſaid he) he doth talk ſo often, but I doubt he doth not Preach.

To the like effect Queen Elizabeth ſaid to the ſame Biſhop, when She had on the Friday heard one of thoſe talking Preachers, much commended by ſome-body; and the Sunday after heard a well▪ labour'd Sermon, that ſmel • of the candle: I pray (ſaid ſhe) let me have your boſome-Sermons, rather than your lip-Sermons; for when the Preacher takes paines, the auditory takes profit.

When Dr. Day was Dean of Windſor, there was a Singing-man in the Quire, one Wolner, a pleaſant fellow, famous for his eating, rather than his ſinging: Mr. Dean ſent a man to him to reprove him, for not ſinging with his fellows; the meſſenger (that thought all worſhipful that wore white Surplices) told him Mr. Dean would pray his worſhip to ſing: Thank Mr. Dean (quoth Wolner) and tell him, I am as merry as they that ſing.

A Husbandman dwelling near a Judge that was a great builder, and comming one day among divers of other neighbours, ſome of ſtone, ſome of tinn, the Steward, as the manner of the Country was, provided two tables for their dinners; for thoſe that came upon requeſt, powder'd beef, and perhaps veniſon; for thoſe that came for hire, poor-John and apple-pyes: And having invited them in his Lordſhips name to ſit down, telling them one board was for them that came in love, the other was for thoſe that came for money; this husbandman and his hind ſate down at neither, the which the Steward imputing to ſimplicity, repeated his former words again, praying them to ſit down accordingly: But he anſwered, He ſaw no table for him, for he came neither for love nor money, but for very fear.

Scipio being made General of the Roman Army, was to name his Quaeſtor, or Treaſurer for the Wars, whom he thought fit, being a place in thoſe dayes (as is now) of great importance. One that took himſelf to have a ſpecial intereſt in Scipio's favour, was an earneſt ſuitor for it; but by the delay, miſtruſting he ſhould have a denial, he importuned him one day for an anſwer. Think not unkindneſs in me, (ſaid Scipio) that I delay you thus; for I have been as earneſt with a friend of mine to take it, and yet cannot prevail with him.

A pleaſant Courtier and Servitor of King Henry the 8ths. to whom the King had promiſed ſome good turn, came, and pray'd the King to beſtow a living on him, that he had found our, worth 100 l. by the year, more than enough: Why, ſaid the King, we have no ſuch in England. Yes Sir (ſaid he) the Provoſtſhip of Eaton; for, ſaid he, he is allowed his diet, his lodging, his horſ-meat, his ſervants wages, his ridingcharge, and 100 l. per annum beſides.

Ellmar Biſhop of London dealing with one Maddox, about ſome matters concerning Puritaniſme, and he had anſwered the Biſhop ſomewhat untowardly and thwartly, the Biſhop ſaid to him, Thy very name expreſſeth thy nature; for Maddox is thy name, and thou art as mad a beaſt as ever I talked with. The other not long to ſeek of an anſwer: By your favour, Sir, ſaid he, your deeds anſwer your name righter than mine; for your name is Elmar, and you have marred all the Elms in Fulham, by lopping them.

In the dayes of Edward the 6th. the Lord Protector march't with a powerful Army into Scotland to demand their young Queen Mary in marriage to our King, according to their promiſes. The Scots refuſing to do it, were beaten by the Engliſh in Muſleborough-fight. One demanding of a Scotch Lord, taken priſoner, Now Sir, how do you like our Kings mariage with your Queen? I alwayes (quoth he) did like the marriage, but I do not like the wooing, that you ſhould fetch a Bride with fire and ſword.

Theocritus, to an ill Poet, repeating many of his verſes, and asking which he liked beſt? Anſwered, Thoſe which he had omitted.

Caſtruccio of Luca, ſaying to one that profeſt himſelf a Philoſopher, You are of the condition of dogs, that alwayes goe about thoſe who can beſt give them meat. No (ſayes the party) we are like Phyſicians, who viſit their houſes that have moſt need of them.

Caſtruccio going from Piſa to Ligorn by water, and a dangerous ſtorm there ariſing, and thereupon being much perplex'd, was reprehended by one of his followers as puſillanimous, ſaying himſelf was not afraid of any thing: To whom Caſtruccio reply'd, That he nothing marvel'd thereat; for every one valu'd his life according to it's worth.

Being asked by one, what he ſhould doe to gain a good eſteem? He anſwered him: See when thou goeſt to a Feaſt, that a block ſit not upon a block.

When one boaſted that he had read many things: Said Caſtruccio, It were better thou couldſt brag thou haſt remembred much.

Another bragging, Though he had tippled much, he was not drunk: Reply'd, An Oxe doe the ſame.

Caſtruccio kept a young Laſs, which he lay with ordinarily; and thereupon being reprov'd by a friend, telling him that it was a great wrong to him, that he had ſuffer'd himſelf to be ſo taken by a wench: Thou art miſtaken, ſaid he, I took her, not ſhe me.

Being one night in a houſe of one of his Gentlemen, where there were divers Ladies invited to a Feaſt; and he dancing and ſporting with them, more than befitted his condition, was reproved by a friend: Anſwered, He that is held a wiſe man in the day-time, will never be thought a fool in the night.

When one ask'd him a favour with many and ſuperfluous words; Caſtruccio ſaid to him, Hereafter, when thou wouldſt any thing with me, ſend another.

Having caus'd a Citizen of Luca to die, who had help'd him in his riſing to his greatneſſe; when it was ſaid to him, he had ill done to put to death one of his old friends: He reply'd, You are deceiv'd, I have put to death a new enemy.

He ſaid, He wondred much at men, that when they bought any veſſel of earth or glaſs, they ſound it firſt whether it be good; but in taking a wife, they are content onely to ſee her.

Seeing that one had written upon his houſe in latine, God keep the wicked hence; Said, The Maſter then muſt not enter here.

Treating with an Embaſſador of the King of Naples, touching ſome goods of the Borderers, whereat he was ſomewhat angry, when then the Embaſſador ſaid, Fear you not the King then? Caſtruccio ſaid, Is this your King good or bad? And he anſwering, That he was good, Caſtruccio replyed, Wherefore then ſhould I be afraid of thoſe that are good?

The Lord Tinteville ſaid to a great Perſonage of France, that none could write the life of his deceaſed Maſter (Lewis the 11th.) ſo well as he. To whom he anſwered wiſely: I am too much bound to him to ſpeak the truth.

King James, being invited in a hunting journey, to dine with Sir Tho. J. of Barkſhire; turning ſhort at the corner of a Common, hapned near to a Country man, ſitting by the heels in the ſtocks, who cryed Hoſanna unto his Majeſty, which invited him to ask the reaſon of his reſtraint? Sir Tho. ſaid, It was for ſtealing a gooſe from the Common. The fellow reply'd, I beſeech your Majeſty be Judge who is the greater thief, I for ſtealing geeſe from the Common, or his Worſhip for robbing the Common from the geeſe? By my ſale, Sir (ſaid the King to Sir • ho.) Iſe not dine to day on your diſhes, till you reſtore the Common for the poor to feed their flocks. Which was forthwith granted to them, and the witty fellow ſet free.

Prince Henry was never heard to ſwear an oath: And it was remembred at his Funeral-Sermon by the Arch-Biſhop; That he being commended by one, for not replying with paſſion in play, or ſwearing to the truth: He ſhould anſwer, That he knew no game or value to be won or loſt, could be worth an Oath.

There was a Duel between two eminent Perſons of the Turks, and one ſlain: The Council of Baſhaws reprehended the other thus: How durſt you undertake to fight one with the other? Are there not Chriſtians enough to kill? Did you not know, that whether of you were ſlain, the loſs would be the Great Seigniors.

King James having made a large and learned Speech to the Parliament, the Lord Keeper, as Speaker to the Peers, whoſe place there uſually adds to the Kings mind and meaning, thus excuſes himſelf: After the Kings Eloquence to be ſilent; not to enamel a gold ring with ſtuds of iron. As one ſayes of Nerva, That having adopted Trajane, he was immediately taken away: Ne poſt divinum & immortale factum, aliquid mortale ſaceret; So he durſt not after his Majeſties divinum & immortale dictum, mortale aliquid addere.

Alphonſus King of Arragon, ſeeing a young Lady dance with a Gentleman who made love to her, ſaid to him, Comfort your ſelf, this Sybil will quickly render the Oracle you ask: Becauſe the Sybils gave no anſwers but in motion.

The Monk, who ambitious of martyrdom, told the Souldan, That he was was come into his Court, to die for Preaching of the Truth; was anſwered, He needed not to have rambled ſo far for death, for he might eaſily find it among his Princes at home.

Antigonus being asked by his own ſon, what time he would remove his Camp? He ſaid, The ſound of the trumpet ſhould give them notice.

The Conſpirator had learn'd the leſſon of ſilence well; who being asked his knowledge, anſwered, If I had known it, you had never known it.

Pyrrhus King of the E • irotes, having in two ſet Battels, with great loſs of men, put the Romans to the worſt, and hearing by a Favourite of his, this his ſo great good fortune ſmoothingly congratulated: He ſaid unto him, That two Victories indeed he had gotten of them, but them ſo dear, that ſhould he at the ſame rate buy a third, the purchaſe would no leſs than undo him.

A ſouldier of Auguſtus, when his enemies throat was in his power, hearing the Retreat ſounded, gave over his violence, with theſe words; Malo obedire Duci, quàm occidere hoſtem.

The Janizaries are very true to a man that truſts himſelf with them, and patient in bearing abuſes. One of them being ſtrucken by an Engliſhman, as they travelled through Morea, did not onely not revenge it, nor abandon him to the pillage and outrage of others, but conducted him unto Zant in ſafety: Saying, God forbid, that the villany of another ſhould make him betray the charge that was committed to his truſt.

A great Courtier of the great Moguls, noted to be a great neglecter of God, a ſouldier of approved valour; but being in dalliance with one of his women, ſhe pluckt an hair from his breſt, which grew about his nipple, which preſently began to feſter, and in ſhort time after became a canker incurable: Seeing he muſt die, he uttered theſe words: Who would have thought but that I, who have been ſo long bred a Souldier, ſhould have died in the face of my enemy, by ſome inſtrument of war, &c? But now (though too late) I am forced to confeſs, that there is a great God above, whoſe Majeſty I have ever deſpiſed, that needs no bigger lance than an hair to kill an Atheiſt, or a deſpiſer of his Majeſty.

King Henry the 7th. having preſſed Doctor Fiſher to the Biſhoprick of Rocheſter, all men thinking it to proceed from the requeſt of the Lady Margaret, the Kings Mother, and his Miſtris: The King ſaid; Indeed the modeſty of the man, together with my Mothers ſilence, ſpake in his behalf.

He refuſed the Biſhopricks of Lincoln and Ely, proffered him by Henry the 8th. contenting himſelf with his former, though leſs: Saying, Others have larger paſtures, but I have leſſer charge of ſouls; ſo that when I ſhall be called to an account for both, I ſhall be the better able to give an account of either.

Biſhop Fiſher, having all his plate ſtolne in one night, his ſervant purſuing the thieves, found ſome pieces that they had let fall by the way; the Biſhop obſerving the next day the ſad countenances of his ſervants, when knowing the cauſe, ſaid: If this be all, we have more cauſe to rejoyce, that God hath reſtor'd us to ſome, than to be diſcontented that wicked men have taken away any; for the leaſt favour of God Almighty, is more to be eſteemed, than all the evil (which the Devil and all his wicked inſtruments can do unto us) therefore let us ſit down and be merry, thank God it is no worſe, and look ye better to the reſt.

Sir Thomas Moore, meeting the Biſhop going before the Kings Commiſſioners at Lambeth, ſaluted him in theſe terms: Well met my Lord, I hope we ſhall meet in heaven. To which the Biſhop reply'd: This ſhould be the way, Sir Thomas, for it is a very ſtreight gate we are in. They both ſuffer'd for refuſing the Oath of Supremacy.

The Biſhop would alwayes ſay, That the remembrance of death came never out of ſeaſon.

The Biſhops man being clapt up a cloſe priſoner, and threatned to be hanged (for carrying letters from his Maſter to Sir Thomas Moore) they then being both priſoners in the Tower) asked the Keeper, If there were another Act of Parliament come forth, whereby a man ſhould be hang'd for ſerving his Maſter.

When Henry the 8th. was told the Biſhops reſolve, to accept of the Cardinals Hat, if the Pope ſent it to him: The King ſaid; Yea, is he yet ſo luſty? Well, let the Pope ſend him a Hat when he will, Mother of God, he ſhall wear it on his ſhoulders then, for I will leave him never a head to ſet it on.

Cardinal Poole ſaith of Biſhop Fiſher (in an Epiſtle Dedicatory to Henry the 8th.) That if an Embaſſador had been to be ſent from earth to heaven, there could not among all the Biſhops and Clergy ſo fit a man be choſen as he.

A foreign Embaſſador, ſome 200 years ſince, comming to Durham, addreſſed himſelf firſt to the high and ſumptuous Shrine of St. Cuthbert, If thou beeſt a Saint, pray for me. Then comming to the plain, low, and little Tomb of St. Bede, Becauſe, ſaid he, thou art a Saint, good Bede pray for me.

Richard the • d. ſaid no leſs ſpightfully than falſly of the Woodvills (brethren to the Wife of his brother King Edward the 4th. by whom they were advanced) That many were made noble, who formerly were not worth a noble.

One asked which was the beſt Edition of St. Auguſtine? To whom this anſwer was given (generally true of all ancient Authors) Even that Auguſtine which is leaſt corrected.

There is a tradition of King Henry the 8ths. fool, comming into the Court, and finding the King tranſported with an unuſual joy, boldly asked of him the cauſe thereof: To whom the King anſwered; It was becauſe the Pope had honoured him with a ſtyle more eminent than any of his Anceſtors. O good Harry (quoth the fool) let thou and I defend one another, and let the faith alone to defend it ſelf.

The Lady Katherine, King Henry the 8ths. divorced Wife, was wont to ſay, She accounted no time loſt, but what was laid out in dreſſing of her.

Once an Eloquent Orator, free only of words, being otherwiſe extreamly covetous, made a large and elegant Oration in Latine▪ to perſwade others bountifully to contribute to a proper object of charity, whilſt he himſelf would not part with one penny to that purpoſe. To whom one of his Audience (though far his inferiour in Eloquence) made this ſharp but ſhort return: Qui ſuadet; ſua det. Let him who ſeeks to perſwade others, give ſomething of his own.

Henry the 5th. having born away the Crown, ſuppoſing his Father had been dead; when his Father uſed theſe words, How I came by it, and what right I have unto it, God knows: He ſaid, I am to receive it from you, as your next heir; and howſoever you came by it, I will keep the poſſeſſion of it by the ſword, againſt all mine enemies.

When Gowry was led to the Tower, a friend of his told him, Ah, my Lord, I am ſorry you had no more wit. Tuſh (quoth he) thou know'ſt not what thou ſayeſt, when ſaweſt thou a fool come hither?

When the Romans had nominated Titus Manlius Torquatus to be Conſul, he alledging the infirmity of his eyes, refuſed the honour, and ſaid▪ He ſhould bring in a very ill and pernitious example, if he ſhould undertake to govern the Common-wealth with other mens eyes.

Charls the 9th. King of France, offered to the Prince of Conde his choiſe, whether he would go to Maſſe, or chooſe perpetual baniſhment, or impriſonment? What, replyed he? to goe to Maſſe, is ſimply a ſin, therefore I will never chooſe that; but to chooſe either perpetual baniſhment, or impriſonment, that I cannot doe, for then I ſhould imply a certain guiltineſs in my ſelf; but it is in your power, O King, to inflict which you pleaſe, and I am ready to ſuffer.

When Dionyſius preſented three whores before Ariſtippus, bidding him make choiſe of them: He ſaid, That Paris had ſuch bad ſucceſs for chooſing one of that kind, that he would never make choiſe of one of the three.

A certain Scholar amongſt the Jews, asked one of the Rabbies, his Maſter, Whether he might read any of the humane Writers, or not? He gave him this Anſwer: You may read them, provided you read them neither day nor night.

Apelles, when his boy ſhew'd him a painted Table, and told him that it was done in haſte: He anſwered, He might have ſpared to tell him ſo, for the work ſufficiently ſhew'd it.

Luther ſaid, The Cardinals were like Foxes, ſweeping the houſe with their tails, raiſing more duſt than they cleanſed.

Mr. Greenham anſwered one that ſpake ſomewhat in his own diſparagement: Oh (ſaid he) why do you praiſe your ſelf ſo much?

Eſpenceus ſaith of the Biſhops in the Council of Trent; They were learned in their aſſiſtants.

Du Mouline ſaid of Roniface his Extravagants, They will doe well with a ſword in hand.

The Roman General ſaid of a recruited Army of Enemies, That thoſe African Nations, muſter'd under ſeveral names, were but the ſame men whom they had formerly beaten under the notion of Carthaginians.

When a Roman Senator asked the Carthaginian Embaſſador, How long the Peace ſhould laſt? That (ſaith he) will depend on the Conditions you give us, If Juſt and Honourable, they will hold for ever; but if otherwiſe, no longer than till we have power to break them.

Batton Deſidiale, who moved the people of Dalmatia to rebel againſt the Romans (ſeeing them oppreſt too much with tributes and exactions) making ſuch ſharp war againſt them, as Tyberius the Emperor asked him on a time, why he had cauſed the people to take Arms? To whom he anſwered b • dly, That the Romans were the cauſe thereof; for they, in ſending them ſhepherds with good dogs to preſerve them, they had ſent them wolves which devoured them.

The Emperor Maximilian the 2d. could not endure that War ſhould be made for Religion; and was wont to ſay, That it was a deadly ſin to ſeek to force mens conſciences, the which belongs to God only.

At the Treaty for delivery of the Town of Antwerp, the Hollanders inſiſting upon explaining the word, ſcandal, &c. the Duke of Parma ſaid: Can you not do as the Countryman did at Rome, who paſſing along the ſtreets before an Ecce homo (which is the figure of the repreſentation which Pilate made of our Saviour Jeſus Chriſt unto the people) having made reverence, and paſſing on, he bethought himſelf that Pilate might attribute this honour unto himſelf; wherefore turning and putting off his hat again, He ſaid, It is to the Chriſt, not to the Pilate.

Pieresk us, the famous Frenchman, was wont to ſay, That whoſoever ſeeks after the uncertain good things of this world, ſhould think and reſolve, that he gathers as well for thieves, as for himſelf.

Plato ſaith, That the Lawes of Neceſſity are ſo inevitable, that the gods themſelves cannot alter them.

Caracalla having miſerably impoveriſhed the people, his Mother reproved him: To whom he ſhewing his naked ſword, replyed, As long as I have this, I will not want.

Aurelian demanding how he might govern well? Was anſwered by a great Perſonage: You muſt be provided with iron and gold; iron to uſe againſt your enemies, and gold to reward your friends.

The Caliph of Babylon demurring to give the Embaſſador of Almerick (King of Jeruſalem) his hand bare, but gave it him in his glove. To whom the reſolute Earl of Caeſarea ſaid: Sir, truth ſeeks no holes to hide it ſelf; Princes that will hold Covenants, muſt deal openly and nakedly; give us therefore your bare hand, we will make no bargain with your glove.

Lewis King of France, going the ſecond time to the Holy Land, paſſing by Avignon, ſome of the City wronged his Souldiers; wherefore his Nobles deſired him to beſiege the City, the rather, becauſe it was ſuſpected that therein his Father was poyſoned. To whom Lewis moſt Chriſtianly: I come not out of France to revenge my own quarrels, or thoſe of my Father or Mother, but injuries offer'd to Jeſus Chriſt.

Lewis ſeverely puniſhed blaſphemies, ſearing their lips with an hot iron. And becauſe by his command it was executed upon a great rich Citizen of Paris, ſome ſaid, He was a Tyrant. He hearing it, ſaid before many: I would to God, that with ſearing my own lips, I could baniſh out of my Realm all abuſe of Oaths.

It was the Speech of Guſtavus Adolphus, but three dayes before his death: Our affairs (ſaith he) anſwer our deſires; but I doubt God will puniſh me for the folly of the people, who attribute too much unto me, and eſteem me as it were their God; and therefore he will make them ſhortly know and ſee I am but a man. He be my witneſs, it is a thing diſtaſteful unto me: And whatever befall me, I receive it as from his divine will; onely in this I reſt fully ſatisfied, that he will not leave this great enterprize of mine imperfect.

Hormiſda being asked what he thought of Rome? Said, He took contentment in this onely, that he had now learned, how even there alſo men are mortal.

Socrates, appointed to ſuffer death, would learn to ſing: And being asked what good it would do him, ſeeing he was to die the next day? He anſwered thus: Even that I may depart out of this life, learning more than I knew before.

Themiſtocles, after a Battel fought with the Perſians, eſpying a pair of bracelets, and a collar of gold, lying on the ground, Take up thoſe things (quoth he, ſpeaking to one of his company that ſtood near unto him) thou art not Themiſtocles.

A Jew being turned Turk, ſoon after, buying of grapes of another Turk, fell at variance with him about weighing the grapes; from words they fell to blows, and the Jew-Turk beat the other, which he endured very patiently, to encourage him (as it ſeem'd) in his new Religion. Soon after another Jew came to the Turk who had been beaten, and demanded of him why he ſuffered himſelf to be ſo abuſed? Who anſwered, You ſhall beat me as much, if you will turn Muſulman. So zealous are they to win Proſelytes.

Philip the 2d. King of Spain was devoted to his Religion in ſo intenſe a degree, that he would often ſay, If the Prince his Son were an Heretick, or Schiſmatick, he would himſelf find fuel to burn him.

The Chyrurgeons being lancing his knee one day, the Prince his Son ask'd him, Whether it did not pain him much? He anſwered, My ſins pain me much more.

Reading a letter that brought him the newes of the loſs of his Fleet in 88. He ſaid (without the leaſt motion, or change of countenance) Welcome be the will of God; I ſent my Couſin, the Duke of Medina, to fight with men, not with the Elements.

He uſed to have a ſaying often in his mouth: Time and I will challenge any two in the world.

Bias being demanded by a wicked man, what was piety? He was ſilent: The other asking the reaſon of his ſilence: I anſwer not (ſaith he) becauſe you enquire after that which nothing concerns you.

It was the ſentence of Cleobolus: Do good to your friend, that he may be more your friend; to your enemy, that he may become your friend.

To one who reproved Anaxagoras, for not taking care of his Country: Wrong me not, ſaid he, my greateſt care is my Country. Pointing to the Heavens.

Portugal being revolted, the Conde D'Olivares came ſmiling to the King (Philip the 4th.) ſaying, Sir, I pray you give me las albricias to hanſel the good newes; for now you are more abſolute King of Portugal than ever, for the people have forfeited all their priviledges by this Rebellion: • eſides, the Eſtate of the Duke of Briganza, with all his Complices, are yours by right of Confiſcation; ſo that you have enough to diſtribute among your old loyal ſervants by way of reward.

Attabali • a, a wild Pagan King▪ when he heard that his Kingdom was given by the Pope to the King of Spain: Surely (ſaid he) that Pope muſt be an egregious fool, or ſome unjuſt and impudent tyrant, that will undertake to beſtow other mens poſſeſſions ſo freely.

An Indian being to die, was perſwaded by a Franciſcan Frier to turn Chriſtian, and then he ſhould go to heaven. He asked, Whether there were any Spaniards in heaven? Yes, ſaid the Frier, 'tis full of them. Nay, then (ſaid he) I had rather go to hell, than have their company.

It was an excellent ſaying of Herod the Sophiſt, when he was pained with the Gout in his hands and feet: When I would eat (ſaid he) I have no hands; when I would go, I have no feet; but when I muſt be pained, I have both hands and feet.

John, King of Hungary, uſed oftentimes to ſay, That the favour and love of valiant men, gotten by bounty and courteſie, was the beſt treaſures of a Prince, for that courteous and thankeful men did oftentimes, in ſome one worthy piece of ſervice, plentifully repay whatſoever had been beſtow'd upon them; as for ſuch as were unthankeful, they did, to their ſhame, bear the teſtimony of another mans virtue.

After the Victory of Lepanto, one of the chief of the Turkiſh priſoners, hearing it compared to the loſs of Cyprus, ſaid: That the Battel loſt, was unto Selymus, as if a man ſhould ſhave his beard, which would ere long grow again; but the loſs of Cyprus was unto the Venetians as the loſs of an arm, which once cut off, could never be again recovered.

A Countryman in Spain, comming to an Image inſhrin'd, the extraction and firſt making whereof he could well remember; and not finding from the ſame that reſpectful uſage which he expected: You need not (quoth he) be ſo proud, for I have known you from a Plum-tree.

A Perſian in England attending on the Embaſſador, anno 1626. who perceiving wealthy people in London, in the time of the plague, tumultuouſly poſting to their Country-houſes: What (ſaith he) have the Engliſhmen two Gods, the one for the City, and the other for the Country?

Frederick, Burgrave of Noremberg (which he obtained of the Emperor Sigiſmond, for his many good Services) making his Will, he intended to give that charge to his ſecond Son Frederick; and acquainting his eldeſt Son John, (who was a contemplative man) anſwered: I did always think that Frederick had been more dear to you than my ſelf, which did ſomewhat grieve me; but now, dear Father, I will change my opinion, and love and honour you, who by your laſt Will bequeath reſt to me, and cares to him.

Caeſar was counſelled to have a guard alwayes about him. Whereto he anſwered: That he would have none; for he would rather die once, than live continually in jealouſie and fear.

After his Victory in Spain, againſt Pompey's Sons (conſidering the danger he had been in) he uſed to ſay, That only that day he fought for his life, and in all other Battels, ever for honour and victory.

When the Captaines and Souldiers would have given Valentinian a companion and equal in the Empire, He told them: It was in your hands, and in your pleaſure, when I was not Emperor, to give me the government and command of the Empire; but now, that I have the government, and am in poſſeſſion thereof, it is no part of your charge, neither ought you to intermeddle therein, for that it is my charge onely.

Valentinian the 2d. cauſed Ecius his General againſt Atila to be ſlain, having ſome ſuſpition of him; but demanding of Proximus, a diſcreet and noble Roman, Whether he had not followed the beſt and moſt profitable Counſel, by putting Ecius to death? He anſwered: Whether the Emperor hath put Ecius to death with, or without reaſon, I dare not determine; but this I dare affirm, that by killing him, thou haſt with thy own left hand cut off thy right.

The Emperor Henry the 4th. having ſlain his Competitor Rodulph, whoſe ſervants going about to bury the body of their deceaſed Lord, with the Enſignes and Ornaments of the Emperor, ſome asked of the Emperor Henry, Wherefore he ſuffered Rodulph to be buried with ſuch honour, ſeeing he was a Tyrant, and his enemy? Whereto he anſwered: I would to God that all mine enemies were like Rodulph, buried with the Ornaments and Enſigns of Emperors.

David Game, one of the braveſt and moſt judicious Souldier of his time, being ſent by Henry the 5th. to make an eſtimate of the number of the French Army (which infinitely exceeded the number of the Engliſh) went to the top of an hill, and ſeeing all the Champion covered with Tents, and blazing with fires, brought word back, That there were enough of them to be ſlain, enough to be taken priſoners, and enough to be made run away.

A Kentiſh Knight, having ſpent a great Eſtate at Court, and brought himſelf to one Park, and a fine houſe in it, was yet ambitious to entertain the Queen at it; and to that purpoſe had new painted his gates, with a Coat of Arms, and Motto, over-written thus, OIA VANITAS in great golden letters, the Treaſurer Burleigh offering to read it, deſired to know of the Knight what he meant by OIA? who told him it ſtood for Omnia: The Lord replyed: Sir, I wonder, having made your Omnia ſo little as you have, you notwithſtanding make your Vanitas ſo large.

The Philoſpher, when he ſaw a vain proud Gull, He wiſhed (he ſaid) that all his friends were but ſuch as that man thought himſelf, and all his enemies ſuch as he was.

Epiphanius having ſtay'd long at Conſtantinople, and being to take ſhip to return home again, he ſaid: He was leaving three great things, a great City, a great Palace, and great Hypocriſie.

Biſhop Andrews, whom no man will envy the reputation of one of the greateſt Clerks in his Age, when a plain man came ſeriouſly to him, and asked his opinion concerning an obſcure paſſage in the Revelation: Anſwered: My friend, I am not come ſo far.

Henry the 4th. King of France, uſed to ſay; That in his Kingdome he obſerved there was a double tribute uſed to be paid: One to the King, the other to his Officers; but the firſt was made intollerable by the ſecond.

Tierceline, a Knight of very ancient Extraction, obſerving in his time, the ſale of Honours and Offices, nay, the higheſt Dignitie of all, which is St. Michaels Order, was proſtant for money: He ſaid; The Order of St. Michael was become a Collar now for every Aſſe.

Robert, Duke of Normandy, when he was going to the Holy Sepulcher, being met by one of his own Subjects, as he was mounted upon a great Saracens back; and being much tyr'd, he ſaid: Commend me to all in Normandy, and tell them, I am going to heaven upon the Devils back.

It was a witty ſaying of King James, when he was onely King of Scotland, when he received a Caveat from his Godmother Queen Elizabeth of England, to take heed of the Spaniſh Fleet; He anſwered: For his part he deſired but one requeſt of the Spaniard, ſuch a one as that Polyphemus had promiſed Ulyſſes, that when he had devour'd others, he would ſwallow him laſt of all.

After the loſs of Calais, an Engliſh Captain, having truſs'd up his bag and baggage, to goe for England, as he was going out of the gates, in a jeering way, was ask'd, O Engliſhmen, when will ye back again to France? The Captain, with a ſad and ſerious countenance, anſwered: When the ſins of France are greater than the ſins of England, then will the Engliſh return to France.

When one told Tyberius the Emperor, of ſome aſperſions that were caſt abroad upon him; He anſwered: We are not angry that there are ſome who ſpeak ill of us; it is enough that we are in ſuch a condition, that no body can do us any ill.

Two Perſian Embaſſadors were imploy'd to Pope Ʋrban the 5th. who being admitted, and deſired to deliver their Embaſſage as ſuccinctly as they could, in regard of the Popes indiſpoſition; yet they made a long tedious Oration, which did diſquiet his Holineſs, as it was obſerved by the Auditors; the firſt Embaſſador having at laſt concluded, the ſecond ſubjoyned very wittily, ſaying: We have this moreover given to us in charge, that if you will not condeſcend to our demands, this my Colleague muſt repeat his Speech again, and make ſome additions to it. The Pope was ſo much taken with this, that he preſently diſmiſſed both of them very well ſatisfied for the buſineſs they came about.

A Gentleman, who in a Duel was rather ſcratcht than wounded, ſent for a Chyrurgeon, who having opened the wound, charged his man with all ſpeed to fetch ſuch a ſalve from ſuch a place in his Study. Why (ſaid the Gentleman) is the hurt ſo dangerous? Oh yes (anſwered the Chyrurgeon) if he returns not in poſt-haſte, the wound will cure it ſelf, and ſo I ſhall loſe my Fee.

A notable fellow, and a ſouldier to Alexander, finding his firſt admiſſion to be the greateſt difficulty, put feathers into his noſe and eares, and danced about the Court in an Antique faſhion, till the ſtrangeneſs of the Show brought the King himſelf to be a Spectator. Then this mimick throwing off his diſguiſe; Sir (ſaid he to the King) thus I firſt arrive at your Majeſties notice in the faſhion of a Fool, but can do you ſervice in the place of a wiſe man, if you pleaſe to employ me.

A man full of words, who took himſelf to be a grand wit, made his brag that he was the leader of the diſcourſe in what company ſoever he came; and none, ſaid he, dare ſpeak in my preſence, if I hold my peace. No wonder, anſwered one, for they are all ſtruck dumb at the miracle of your ſilence.

When once a Gentleman admired how ſo pithy, learned, and witty a Dedication was match'd to a flat, dull, fooliſh Book: In truth, ſaid another, they may be well match'd together, for I profeſs they are nothing a kin.

A Gentleman travelling in a myſty morning, ask'd of a ſhepherd what weather it would be? It will be (ſaith the ſhepherd) what weather ſhall pleaſe me: And being requeſted to expreſs his meaning: Sir, ſaith he, it ſhall be what weather pleaſeth God, and what weather pleaſeth God, pleaſeth me.

A rich man told a poor man, that he walked to get a ſtomach for his meat: And I, (ſaid the poor man) walk to get meat for my ſtomach.

A rich landed Fool, whom a Courtier had begg'd, and carried about to wait on him, comming with his Maſter to a Gentlemans houſe, where the picture of a fool was wrought in a fair ſuit of Arras, cut the picture out with a pen-knife; and being chidden for ſo doing. You have more cauſe, ſaid he, to thank me; for if my Maſter had ſeen the picture of the fool, he would have begg'd the hangings of the King, as he did my lands.

When the ſtanders by comforted a natural which lay on his death-bed, and told him that four proper fellows ſhould carry his body to the Church: Yea (quoth he) but I had rather by half go thither my ſelf.

One braved a Gentleman to his face, that in skill and valour he came far behind him: 'Tis true (ſaid the other) for when I fought with you, you ran away before me.

Sir Francis Drake, riding within the Road of Port-Rico, a ſhot from the Caſtle enter'd the Steerage of the Ship, took away the ſtool from under him as he ſate at ſupper, wounded Sir Nicholas Clifford and Brute Brown to death. Ah! dear Brute (ſaid Drake) I could grieve for thee, but now is no time for me to let down my ſpirits.

One walking in London-ſtreets, met a gallant, who cry'd to him a pretty diſtance before-hand, I will have the wall. Yea (anſwer'd he) and take the houſe too, if you can but agree with the Land-lord.

It was a mannerly anſwer which a young Gentleman gave to King James, when he asked him what kin he was to ſuch a Lord of his name? Pleaſe your Majeſty, ſaid he, my elder brother is his Couſin-german.

When one, being an Husbandman, challenged kindred of Robert Groſthead Biſhop of Lincoln, and thereupon requeſted the favour of him to beſtow an Office on him. Couſin, (quoth the Biſhop) if your Cart be broken, i'le mend it, if your Plough old, i'le give you a new one, and Seed to ſow your Land; but an Huſbandman I found you, and an Husbandman I'le leave you.

Arminius meeting Baudius one day diſguiſed with drink, he told him, Tu Baudi dedecoras noſtram Academiam: Et tu Armini (anſwered he) noſtram Religionem: Thou Baudius diſgraceſt our Univerſitie; and thou Arminius our Religion.

Henry the 4th. of France, being troubled with a fit of the Gout, and the Spaniſh Embaſſador comming then to viſit him, and ſaying he was ſorry to ſee his Majeſty ſo lame, He anſwered: As lame as I am, if there were occaſion, your Maſter the King of Spain, ſhould no ſooner have his foot in the ſtirrup, but he ſhould find me on horsback.

King James asking the Lord Keeper Bacon, what he thought of a French Embaſſador, who had then lately had his Audience? He anſwered, That he was a tall proper man. His Majeſty reply'd, but what think you of his head-piece? Is he a proper man for the Office of an Embaſſador? Sir, ſaid Bacon: Tall men are like high houſes of four or five ſtories, wherein commonly the uppermoſt room is worſt furniſhed.

Lewis the 9th. who, in the Catalogue of the French Kings, is call'd St. Lewis, was Baptized in the little Town of Poyſſy; and after his return from Aegypt, and other places againſt the Saracens, being asked by what Title he would be diſtinguiſhed from the reſt of his Predeceſſors after his death? He anſwered, That he deſired to be called Lewis of Poyſſy. Reply being made, That there were divers other places and Cities of Renown, where he had performed brave Exploits, and obteined famous Victories, therefore it was more fitting that ſome of thoſe places ſhould denominate him. No, ſaid he, I deſire to be called Lewis of Poyſſy, becauſe there I got the moſt glorious Victory that ever I had; for there I overcame the Devil: Meaning that he was Chriſtned there.

Don Beltran de Roſa, being to marry a rich Labradors (a Yeomans) daughter, which was much importun'd by her Parents to the match, becauſe their Family ſhould be thereby ennobled, he being a Cavalier of St. Jag • : The young Maid having underſtood that Don Beltran had been in Naples, and had that diſeaſe about him, anſwered wittily: Truly, Sir, To better my blood, I will not hurt my fleſh.

It was the anſwer of Veſpaſian to Apollonius, deſiring entrance and acceſs for Dion and Euphrates, two Philoſophers: My gates are always open to Philoſophers, but my very breaſt is open unto thee.

It is reported of Coſmo de Medici, that having built a goodly Church, with a Monaſtery thereunto annex'd, and two Hoſpitals, with other monuments of Piety, and endow'd them with large Revenues, as one did much magnifie him for theſe extraordinary works; he anſwer'd: 'Tis true, I imploy'd much treaſure that way; yet when I look over my Leiger-book of accounts, I do not find that God Almighty is indebted to me one penny, but I am ſtill in the arrear to him.

It was a brave generous ſaying of a great Armenian-Merchant, who having underſtood how a veſſel of his was caſt away, wherein there was laden a rich Cargazon upon his ſole account, he ſtrook his hand upon his breaſt, and ſaid: My heart, I thank God, is ſtill afloat, my ſpirits ſhall not ſink with my ſhip, nor go an inch lower.

Sir Edward Herbert being Embaſſador in France, there hapned ſome claſſings between him and the great French Favourite Luynes; whereupon he was told that Luynes was his enemy, and that he was not in a place of ſecurity there: Sir Edward gallantly anſwered, That he held himſelf to be in a place of Security whereſoever he had his ſword by him.

FINIS.

Faeneſtra in Pectore. OR, FAMILIAR LETTERS. By THO. FORDE.

Quid melius deſidioſus agam!—

LONDON, Printed by R. and W. Leybourn, for William Grantham at the Black Bear in St. Pauls Church-yard, neer the little North Door, 1660.

To the Reader. Reader,

THe witty Lucian brings in Momus, quarrelling at the Maſter-pieces which the gods had made; and the onely fault he found with Man, was, That he had not a window to look into his breaſt. For this reaſon, I call this Packet of Letters Feneſtra in Pectore; Letters being the beſt Caſements, whereby men diſcloſe themſelves. Judicium fit per Brachium, ſay the Phyſicians; and I know no better Interpreter of the Heart, than the hand; eſpecially in Familiar Letters, whereby friends mingle ſouls, and make mutual diſcoveries of, and to one another. The pen, like the pulſe, diſcovers our inward condition; if it become faint, or intermitting, like the paſſing-bell, it gives notice of the decay, if not the departure of friendſhip; which is the ſoul of humane Societie.

For theſe, I have no better Apology than their publication their impudence (if it be ſo) beſpeaking their innocence. They deſire to pleaſe all, to injure none. If you find ſome things in them that appear not calculated for the Meridian of the preſent times, know, that they are left but to ſhew what the whole piece might have been, had my time and the times accorded; they might then perhaps have given you ſome remarks of the miracles of our age, But the Dutch Proverb tels me, Who bringeth himſelf into needleſs dangers, dieth the Devils martyr.

Nulli tacuiſſe nocet, nocet eſſe loquutum.

And I very well remember that notable Apothegme of the famous (though unfortunate) Sir W. •• leigh: Whoſoever ſhall tell any great man, or Magiſtrate, that he is not juſt; the General of an Army, that he is not valiant; and great Ladies, that they are not fair; ſhall never be made a Counſellour, a Captain, or a Courtier.

Thou wilt ſay, it may be, I had little to do to publiſh my follies to the world, and I am contented thou ſhouldſt think ſo, if it may paſs for my Apologie, That I had little elſe to do. If it be a crime, the number of offenders in this kind, is enough to authorize the fact, and turn the guilt into a pardon, if not a paſs-port.

For they who write, becauſe all write, have ſtill,

That excuſe for writing, and for writing ill.

At this time I ſhall uſe no other, nor trouble thee any farther (Reader) when I have ſubſcribed the Author,

Thy Friend and Servant, T. F.

Familiar Letters.

To Mr. T. C. Sir,

AT my arrival here, I finde all out of order, though abounding with orders. The King and Queen are departed, which makes us all dead▪ for what cauſe I cannot tell you, unleſs it were for fear of the arrival of a ſtranger to this Kingdom, and one that hath been long ſince baniſhed from hence: Nor durſt ſhee appear now, but that 'tis Parliament-time. She was landed at Weſtminſter by the rout of Water-men, when they frighted away the Biſhops commig to the Houſe of Commons door, it was put to the Vote, Whether ſhe ſhould come in or no? The better part ſuſpecting by •• r habit it was Rebellion (they having ſeen her before in forreign parts) would not admit her: But the Major part carried it in the Affirmative, and the five Members were appointed to entertain her; which they, did, and ſome ſay, ſhe was placed in the Speakers Chair. She came not in the Lords Houſe, they could not Brook it; but I dare Say ſhe had a Conference with ſome of them in the Painted Chamber. Her Lodgings are provided in the City, where ſhe goes attired (as neceſſary) with a fair new cloak of Religion, a Scotch Bonnet, a French Doublet, and Coats like Dutchmens Slops; her hair red, like an Iriſhmans; neither Bands nor Cuffs, for ſhe indures no Linnen for ſpight of Lawn Sleeves, unleſs a two or three Night-caps, becauſe they are of Holland. You would wonder to ſee in what droves our Citizens flock after her, did you not know it is their nature, after ſtrangers. But I'll follow her no farther, leſt you ſuſpect me for one of her followers, who am, Sir,

Your Loyal Friend.

To Mr. T. C. Sir.

THe Fire is now broken out of the Houſe, and the ſparks of ſedition fly about the City, being blown by the long-winded lungs of ſome Pulpeteers. Here want not ſeditious Sheba's to blow the Trumpet, and as a Preludium, here is an hot skirmiſh of Pens, but the Kings ſeems to excel them, as much as an Eagles wing a Gooſe quill. The Women and Maids to eſpouſe the quarrel, bring in their Thimbles, Rings, and Bodkins, with as much zeal as the Iſraelites did their Jewels to making of their Golden Calf. Such a tyde of Plate every day ebbs and flows at Guild-Hall, that the Roman Emperour who ſwam in wine, had he enjoyed this, might have ſailed in an Ocean of Gold and Silver. They have exerciſed their hands and Pens ſo long, till their Arms begin to be engaged, and 'tis thought it may prove a Generall Engagement. I can go no farther for the Preſs, but muſt here remain, Sir,

Wholly at your diſpoſal,

To Mr. R. R. My worthy friend,

I Received your Letter, wherein Love and Friendſhip ſeem to our-vie each other; and which is predominant, were not eaſie to determine. Whereat, how I was tranſported with joy, you may eaſier gueſs than I expreſs. For thoſe unmerited Encomiums you ſo liberally put upon me, I conceive you rather thereby inſtruct me what I ſhould be, than tell me what I am. Or elſe, you look'd on thoſe poor m • tes with the Multiplying-glaſs of friendſhip. Your offer to continue this Literal correſpondence, I willingly accept, and was never ſo ill bred as to neglect ſuch a benefit, when profered. Willingly ſhall I exchange my glaſs for your Gold: yet how mean ſoever my expreſſions may be; you ſhall find them richly quilted with Love, which hath long ſince knit my affections to your vertues▪

Nec ſi ſurgat c • ntimanus Gygas, —divellet unquam. The Gyant with his hundred hands, Shall not untie thoſe ſilken bands, VVhich bind me faſt to your commands,

Concerning the Books you wrote for, I cannot but admire you ſhould not have received them, ſince I delivered them to the ſame Carrier that brought you my Letter. They ſet out together, however my letter out-ſtrip't them in ſpeed, but I wonder not, that being wing'd with love and deſire to viſit that breaſt, which the Muſes and Graces emulate to make their Habitation. I may not forget to remember my reſpects to your Brother, and Mr. P. and to aſſure you, that a letter from either of them would be very acceptable; and the rather, though you tell me my friends are all lame, that they are not • ame friends. This is the deſire of

Sir, your and their Friend and Servant, T. F▪

To Mr. J. A. Sir,

I know you will much wonder at this ſeeming Soleciſme, and I wonder as much at the cauſe thereof. Having found the truth of the former part of the verſe, that vox audita perit—I am bold to make an experiment of the latter, and try—Si litera ſcripta manebit. Since words, like running meſſengers, have the fate to have their errand forgot as ſoon as they are gone, may this ſerve as a more conſtant Leiger, to whiſper in your ears, that he who was ſo bold to requeſt that ſmall courteſie of you, was emboldned thereto by a conſideration, that he was ſtill, as you were once pleaſed to ſtyle him, your Friend. I proteſt, Sir, in that confidence I ſo long importun'd you, that I was aſhamed to appear to you again with the like requeſt. And yet, deſirous to ſee that poor brat of my own brain, I reſolv'd to make uſe of this Proxie, the rather, becauſe (you know) Literae non erubeſcunt. Sir, I readily believe that your occaſions are great; yet, if you pleaſe to make truce with your time, but ſo long as you may look that poor paper, I will engage the utmoſt of my abilities to make you a requital; and if you doubt of my ability, 'twill be a work of charity in you to forgive me.

In Solomons Temple there was an outer Court, into which ſtrangers were admitted; and an inner Court, where onely Jewes were to aſſemble; and the Sanctum Sanctorum, where onely the High Prieſt might enter. Give me leave to tell you, that though you ſhut me out of the Sanctum Sanctorum of your Friendſhip, nor will admit me into the inner Court of your Familiars, you ſhall not exclude me from the outward Court of your acquaintance. And in this reſolve he reſts, that is Sir,

What, or how you pleaſe to call him beſide T. F.

To Mr. C. F. My Real Friend,

I Received your welcome Letter, and as welcome Token: For the one I ſend you an Anſwer, though not anſwerable; but to the other, I forbear to retaliate, leſt I ſhould thereby turn your Gift into a Bargain.

Sir, I am very glad to hear that you receive your due money for your ſpiritual bread, although, I fear, it is not the Tenth of your deſert, knowing that you cannot feed them but with fine Flour. And although I would not rob your Family of their Dimenſum, yet ſhall I hope you will not deny me a continuance of thoſe witty crums that fall from their Table. Nor can I be ſo far mine own enemy, as not to think of yours, as Tully did of Atticus his Epiſtles, that the longeſt are the beſt. And aſſure your ſelf, as Cato ſaid, He never knew an old man forget where his gold was. My Fancy often turns Forreſter, and walks the round, till I meet with you, when I am infinitely tranſported with that but imaginary enjoyment of that perſon I ſo much delight in; the conceit of which, has driven me into a ſerious conſideration and ſearch, after the wonderful force of the Imagination. And I find, ſome have been kill'd, others preſerv'd, meerly by the ſtrength of their imagination. Here could I be tediouſly copious in as facetious as ſtrange ſtories to this purpoſe; but I will not, with Phormio, read a Lecture to Hannibal. It ſhall ſuffice me, to hope that ſuch Imagies of the brain, are no breach of the ſecond Commandement: Nor yet am I of the belief of that Prieſt, that was fully perſwaded, That nothing was falſe that was printed. Whatever be, I am ſure this is not, that I am

Sir, your affectionate Friend, T. F.

To Mrs. B. Miſtris,

ALthough unknown (but by your courteſie) I am bold hereby to ſalute you, and have ſent this poor paper to kiſs your hands, who have ſo kindly provided for mine; not doubting but you will as much admire at theſe rude lines, as I did at your kinder token. I call it yours, and therefore hold my ſelf obliged by the laws of Gratitude, to return you thanks. And, leſt that ſhould be too poor a requital for ſo great a favour, be pleas'd to accept of this ſmall token; for I hate to be ingrateful, and am loth to be in debt, either i • • oyn or courteſie. And, that I may not part thoſe whom God hath united, I muſt not forget to return like thanks to your loving Companion, as knowing it was from your Conjunction this Influence proceeded. May your Lives be as Lines parallal, knowing no date till they both meet in our common Centre of happineſs. But I fear to be tedious, time and opportunity may ſo propitiouſly befriend me, as in ſome kind or other, at leaſt, to endeavour you a larger requital: In the interim acknowledge me

Your ready, though unknown Servant, T. F.

To Mr. B. R. Sir,

BEing informed by our common friend N. H. that your intentions are for—next week, I thought it un mannerly, or rather unfriendly, not to bid you Farewel: And I know not better how, than in the words of the Lyrick Poet to his Florus,

I bone quo virtus tua te vocat, I pede Fauſto.

And this not being preſent in perſon, I am forc'd to do by Proxie, and with • o in the Poet, Litera pro verbis. I dare believe, though you go farther off, yet your affection will be never the leſs; for I may juſtly confer on you, what one once did on Auguſtus,

Rarus tu quidem ad recipiendas amicitias, ad retinendas verò conſtantiſſimus.

Story tells us of two Palm-trees, growing on the two oppoſite banks of a River, which notwithſtanding the diſtance of the roots, and deſpight of the intervening water, did lovingly infoliate and twine their branches▪ So, notwithſtanding the diſtance of place, our bodies are planted in, maugre all oppoſition, we may entwine our branches (Letters I mean) neither (I hope) ſhall any envious Catterpiller (or falſe friend) eat away thoſe leaves, ſo long as life remains in the root of

Sir, your unfeigned Friend, T. F.

To M. A. E. Worthy Sir,

THe opportunity of this Bearer is ſufficient importunity to me of troubling you at this time, and your wonted ingenuity, I hope, will be my ſufficient warrant: Nay▪ I ſhould be very much wanting to myſelf, and that reſpect I owe you, if I ſhould not. To let you know, that you have not ſown the ſeed of your favours in an altogether barren ſoyl, as doth he that confers a benefit on an ingrateful perſon. But it is my grief, that the crop of my abilities falls ſo much ſhort of your deſert, and my deſire. To tell you any Newes, were but to put you in mind of thoſe miſeries which you are already too ſenſible of; yet, leſt you ſhould expect it, be pleas'd to underſtand, there was another meſſage came lately from the K. to the H. H. who have voted an anſwer to it; God grant it may •• for Peace, the onely Aqua-vitae to reſtore • is fainting Kingdome. I hope it is not yet with us, as it was once in Perſia, when there was a Law made againſt Peace; though I know ſubjects ſeldome draw the ſword againſt their Sovereign, but they throw away the ſcabbard. I forbear to ſay more, becauſe I know not whoſe hands my letter may go through; ſuch is the miſery of our Times▪ that Burglary in this kind was never more practis'd▪ nor leſs puniſh'd: Nay, Lyes are more tolerable now in Print, than loyal Truth in Writing: Yet fear I not who ſees and knows that I profeſs my ſelf (as I am)

Sir, your devoted Servant, T. F.

To Mr. T. F. Sir,

NOt having had the happineſs to ſee you of late, and hearing that you intend to let the Country ingroſs your company, I thought good to viſit you by this ſilent, yet (to make it a Paradox) ſpeaking meſſenger, and I had rather you ſhould imagine the cauſe; yet, if you will not, I muſt be bold to tell you, that I much wonder I ſhould all this while hear no noiſe of my Viol. Seriouſly, Sir, I had ſuch a confidence of your reality to your friends (in which number I eſteem my ſelf one) that I could not believe the contrary, though it were ſtrongly inſtigated to • e. And Sir, whether your uſage of me hath been anſwerable to my expectation of you, I leave your ſelf to judge. I cannot imagine that you ſhould think I would ſell my—for the mending or lend it, with an intention to loſe it. I ſhould be very ſorry, that that which was made for Harmony, ſhould be an Inſtrument of Diſcord between friends; it lies in your power to prevent it: I am willing to believe you will; give not, I pray, my good opinion of you the lye, becauſe I deſire to remain,

Sir, your Friend, T. F.

To Mr. J. A. Sir,

SInce your departure, the cruel Fates, intending thereby to make me truly miſerable, have robb'd me of a very friend, and that by the irrecoverable hand of Death; and, as if they intended me the ſole object of their envy, have protracted, if not put off the performance of your promis'd courteſie; ſo that now I am left alone, ſolitarily pondering the complaint of old Eraſmus: Anicorum meorum, alii moriuntur, alii mutant animum. Me thinks I am depriv'd of all my Senſes, ſince I can neither ſee you, nor hear, either of, or from you. Knowing not the reaſon, I am ready to believe the beſt, and have Charity (which Eraſmus in his time compar'd to a Friers Cowle, becauſe it covers a multitude of ſins) enough to hide all ſurmiſes, till Time, the ſon of Truth, ſhall diſcover all things in their perfect colours. Me thinks I have the fortune of ſome children, who having loſt one arrow, ſhoot another after it, hoping thereby to find it, and not ſeldome loſe both: However you ſhall not Him, that will reſolve to continue

Your entire Friend, T. F.

To Mr. N. C. Sir,

I Have ſent you as many Letters, as there are Graces, and now, I hope, I may lawfully deſiſt, and I have the old rule for my warrant: Si ter pulſanti nemo reſpondit, abito. I have long look'd, and attentively liſtned for that happy word, which ſhould at once put a period to your ſilence, and mine expectation. Happily you may thereby tacitly inſtruct me of the unwelcomneſs of my too forward ſcribling; but I ſhall end with this, leſt I fall under the laſh of the Italian Proverb: Chi ſcrive à chi non riſponde, ò è matto, ò hà di biſognia: He that writes to one that anſwers not, either he is a fool, or has need of him. Your ſilent action makes me remember the conceit of one, that going in the ſtreet, and ſeeing the Signe of the Golden Croſs, would lay a wager with him that went with him, that he would make the Maſter of the ſhop (whom I very well know) to pull down his Signe without ſpeaking a word to him: The wager being laid, he pulls off his his hat, and drops half a dozen legs to the Signe; firſt, on one ſide, and then on the other; which the Maſter of the ſhop ſeeing, thinking to prevent his future Superſtition, ſuddenly pulls down his Signe, which is now ſupplied with the badge of the Gilded Trumpet. Enough this time, when I have ſubſcribed

Yours, T. F.

To Mr. R. R. Sir,

I Am ſo ambitious of continuing our ancient friendſhip, almoſt as old as our ſelves, that I cannot omit the leaſt occaſion, that may ei increaſe or preſerve it. And although, me thinks, I hear you tell me, that my ſounding on ſo ſlight a knock, doth but argue me the empter veſſel, whilſt you who are more full fraught, give no anſwer, though with much importunity; I have no other excuſe, but to tell you, that I do it, to let you ſee, I had rather ſeem to be a troubleſome, than a forgetful friend. Truly ſayes our Engliſh Proverb: He loves not at all, that knows when to make an end. And the Italians are not amiſs, who ſay, L'amore ſenza fine, non ha fine. Love that has no by-end, will know no end.

For my part, I profeſs no other end in my affections, but your ſervice, for which I once gave you my Heart, and now my Hand, that the World may ſee whoſe ſervant is

T. F.

To Mr. C. H. Mr. Ch.

AS I was going to Church, to keep the Faſt, your Letter encounter'd me, and (as good reaſon) turn'd my Faſt into a Feaſt; but ſuch a one, as my Senſes were more employ'd on, than my Palat: It rejoyc'd me exceedingly to hear of that ingenious Fl. though I expected to have heard from him before this: But I ſee

Non factis ſequimur omnia qu • loquimur, I am ſure, Non paſſibus aequis.

To thoſe Poeſies you tell me of, I ſhall only anſwer them with expectation, ſince the Inſtructer of the Art of Poetry tells me;

Nec verbum verbo, curabis reddere.

And to return you ſomething for your Newes, I can only tell you this, that our ſtreets abound with Graſhoppers ſilenc'd by our great Hercules; and others, that look like horſes thrown into a certain River in Italy, which are conſumed to the bare bones. For your deſire to be made merry, I muſt confeſs, Laeta decet laetis paſcere cor • a jocis. But for you to deſire it of me, ſeems to be a jeſt it ſelf. I doubt to be tedious, and well know Seneca's rule, That an Epiſtle ſhould not Manum legentis implere. I onely take time to ſubſcribe my ſelf▪

Your true Friend, T. F.

To Mr. S. M. at Barbados. Friend,

I Received your as welcome, as unexpected Letter; of which I will ſay, in the words of Seneca that famous Moraliſt, in an Epiſtle to his friend Lucilius, Exulto quoties lego Epiſtolam tuam, implet me bonâ ſpe: jam non promittit de te, ſed ſpondet. And God forbid that I ſhould be ſo uncharitable, as not to believe it: Yet, let me tell you, that without the reality of the actions, it is but a dead letter; nay, 'twill prove a deadly, for, ſhould you neglect to do, what you there promiſe, or ſpeak there, more than you do, that very letter will one day riſe up in judgment againſt you. Pardon my plainneſs, and think never the worſe of the Truth for my bad language; Truth may many times have bad cloaths, yet has ſhe alwayes a good face. It is a good mark of the moral Philoſopher, that ſheep do not come to their ſhepherd, and ſhew him how much they eat, but make it appear by the fleece that they wear on their backs, and the milk which they give. I will not wrong the ſharpneſs of your judgment by applying the Moral. I have read of two famous Painters, who, to ſhew their skill, the one drew a bunch of grapes ſo lively, that he cozened the Birds; the other drew a veil ſo perfectly over his grapes, that he deceiv'd the Artificer himſelf: Could we draw the colour of our good works never ſo lively, as to cozen every mortal eye, and draw ſo fine a veil over our evil deeds, as to conceit our ſelves into a conceit we had none, yet is there an All-ſeeing eye, to whom the darkeſt ſecret is moſt appar • nt. Did we but truly conſider this, it could not chuſe but hinder us from committing thoſe things we would be aſhamed to do in the ſight of Man, which we daily doe in the ſight of an Omniſcient God. Therefore the advice of the Heathen Philoſopher, may be made good Chriſtian practice, who adviſed to ſet the conceit of Cato, or like Grave man, alwayes before us, to keep us from doing what might mis-befit their preſence. It is a Character of the wicked man, drawn by the Divine hand, that in all his wayes he ſets not God before his eyes: There is alſo another witneſs within us, that can neither be brib'd, not blinded. O te miſerum, ſi contemnis hunc teſtem! O have a care to offend that Bird in the breaſt, that muſt one day ſing, either your joyful Elogie, or more doleful Dirge. Camd • n our Engliſh Hiſtoriographer, tells us of a place in Stafordſhire, call'd Wotton, in ſo doleful a place, under the barren Hill Weaver, that it is a common Proverb of the neighbours,

Wotton under Weaver, Where God came never.

But alas! there's no ſuch place on Earth to be found; yet can I tell a place where his pure Spirit abhors to enter, namely, into a perſon contaminated and defiled with ſin, and thereby made the harbour of Satan, and hatred of the moſt High.

Whereas you tell me you are faln to labour, let me comfort you with this, that it is as univerſal as unavoidable a Fate laid on us by the mouth of Truth. Man is born to labour, as the ſparks to fly upward: As if Man and Labour were Termini Convertibiles. But that you take more pleaſure now in Labour, than you did before in your Pleaſure, it much comforts me, aſſuring me that you are now ſenſible of that which the Romans taught by placing Angina, the goddeſs of ſorrow and pain, in the Temple of Volupeia, the goddeſs of Pleaſure; as if that pain and ſorrow, were the neceſſary conſequences of pleaſure: Whereas on the contrary, Goodneſs is like the Image of Diana, Pliny ſpeaks of: Intrantes, triſtem; Euntes, exhilerantem. How wretched therefore is their condition, that have their portion in this life! Well may we be ſtrangers in this worldly Aegypt, ſo we may be inhabitants hereafter of the Heavenly Canaan. And you, and I may ſay in the words of Seneca, Satis multam temporis ſparſimus, incipiamus nunc in vaſa colliger • : We have ſpent time enough already, and 'tis high time now to ſave the reſt and to make the beſt of the remnant of our life, becauſe we know not how ſhort it is. It was a wiſe caution of Eleazer, a Jew, who being demanded, When it would be time to repent, and amend? Anſwered, One day before death. And when the other replied, That no man knew the day of his death. Begin then (ſaid he) even to day, for fear of failing. Hoc proprium inter caetera mala, hoc quoque habet, ſtultitia proprium, ſemper incipit vivere, quid eſt enim turpius, quam ſenex vivere inſipie • s. Give me leave, not to inſtruct you, but to tell you what counſel I deſire to practiſe; for it was an envious diſpoſition of that Muſician, that would play ſo ſoftly on his Harp, that none could hear but himſelf. Firſt, 'Tis my care not too much to indulge my body, as knowing that thoſe things the body inclines to moſt, are of the world, which is enmity with God; and what the Spirit prompts to moſt, muſt needs be beſt, becauſe the Spirit is heavenly, and more of kin to the Deity. Honeſtum ei vile eſt, cui corpus nimis charum eſt; ſaid one, that knew well what he ſaid: 'Tis not for nothing that our inward ſpirit is alwayes moſt ſad, when our outward man is moſt merry. In the ſecond place, 'Tis my deſie to avoid ill company, becauſe, as 'tis ſaid of the Tyrant Mezantius, Corpora corporibus jungebat mortua vivis. In that the Living rather putrefied by reaſon of the Dead, but the Dead did not revive by the Living. Such is the nature of man ſaith St. Gregory, Ʋt quoties bonus malo conjungitur, non ex bono malus meliocriter, ſed ex malo bono contaminetur. It is a good caution therefore St. Bernard gives (in his 48th. Serm. in Cantic.) writing upon theſe words, As the Lilly among thorns, &c. Vide (ſaith he) quomodo cautè ambulas inter ſpinas. I ſpeak this the rather, becauſe I preſume you walk there among thorns, and I know not whether there be a place there like the ſtreet in Rome, that was called vicus ſobrius, becauſe there was never an Ale-houſe in't. And, as Socrates ſaid of Alcibiades (that miracle of his time) when he ſaw him among Gallants, I fear not Him, but his Company. Now the number of this Company, ſhould not be a meanes to make us run with them, but rather to run from them. And to this end, 'tis neceſſary for a man to be ever reſident on his Calling, leſt he be turn'd out of his Living, or at leaſt of his well living, for nonreſidency. Out of a mans Calling, out of Gods Protection. 'Tis an Apothegme of a late Wit, That he who counts his Calling a Priſon, ſhall at length make a Priſon his Calling. But whither do I ſtraggle? Me thinks I hear you ſay, as Queen Elizabeth once did to an Embaſſador, who made a long Oration before her in high terms, She anſwer'd him, Expectavi Legatum, Inveni Heraldum; I expected an Embaſſador, but find an Herald: So, me thinks, I hear you ſay, Expectavi Epiſtolam, Inveni concionem. I muſt confeſs, I might have learn'd ſo much modeſty from Roſcius the Roman Orator, who was ever mute when he din'd with Cato; and the Thruſh never ſings, if the Nightingal be by. I might very well have ſpar'd this labour, it being perform'd ſo well by—yet if I have done amiſs, it ſhall ſatisfie me, that I did it to ſatisfie mine own conſcience. Now might I relaxare animum, recreate your mind, by making you ſome mirth with the diſcords of our Times; but truly they appear to me a fitter ſubject for our tears of ſorrow, than of mirth. Aſſure your ſelf, I had not thus far tranſgreſt upon your patience, did you not know me to be

Perfectly your Friend, T. F.

To Mr. A. E. Sir,

THough I have not had the happineſs of late to be ſo propitiouſly be-friended by occaſion as to write to you,; yet am I ſo confident of your wonted ingenuitie, that you will not attribute it to any neglect of mine; which if I were conſcious to my ſelf were ſo, I ſhould judge it a crime ſo great, that I ſhould not forgive my ſelf. But the truth is, I find more danger in the conveying of Newes, than in the hearing of it: Nay, my miſery is, I cannot, or dare not at leaſt, inform you of more than every Pamphlet can; to ſuch a height of ſuſpition are we now arrived. Beſides ſo barren is each day of Newes, that 'tis not worth doing penance in a ſheet: yet, becauſe you are deſirous to know (and I as willing to ſatisfie your deſire) what's done in the Aſſembly and P. I will venture to tell you in an old ſtory. 'Tis this: Mr. Popham, when he was Speaker, and the lower Houſe had ſate long, and done, in effect, nothing, comming one day to Queen Elizabeth, She ſaid to him, Now, Mr. Speaker, what hath paſs'd in the lower Houſe? He anſwered, If it pleaſe your Majeſty, ſeven weeks. You need fear no danger in this, for 'tis Nothing; and the Treaty is come to as much, both Parties being not like to meet, ſtanding ſtill at their former diſtance. This was prettily Emblem'd by two Sphaerical bodies, touching onely in Puncto with this Motto, Pungere poſſunt, pacificari non poſſunt.

Thus, Sir, you ſee, amidſt theſe dusky clouds, Friendſhip dares mingle flames in a Convex, though not in a direct line. Aſcertain your ſelf of this, That as it ſhall ever rejoyce me to hear of your health; ſo it ſhall be my endeavour alwayes to be

Your unfeigned Friend, T. F.

To my Father. Sir,

AFter the remembrance of my duty, which at all times wants not in my will, though ſometimes in my power. I lately ſaw Mr. M. but cannot tell you whether with greater joy, or grief. It rejoyc'd me exceedingly to hear of your health, but grieved me more to hear of my Mothers grief, for a falſe information, that I was a Sectary, and a Malignant. Give me leave therefore to ſay ſomething, whereby I may at once recover her right opinion, and my reputation. And firſt for the Sectary, Should I ſay nothing, my practice were enough to teſtifie, that I do as much ſhun their Companies, as hate their Tenents. I count them as moles and warts, nay, wens in the face of the Body Politick, which, if not timely lanced, will in time not onely deface, but deſtroy our Common Mother the Church: Neither do I love to run into thoſe by-wayes of Sects and Schiſmes, but rather keep the ſafer road of the Churches practice. There is but one Way, one Truth; and I account all thoſe (not one better than another, but) all out of that one Way, all oppoſites to that one Truth. I eſteem them but as wilde beaſts broken into the Vineyard of the Church, the hedge of our Government being pull'd up; but as nettles and weeds, (ſown and water'd by that envious man) grown up to ſuch an height, that will in time, not onely o're-top, but o'return the good corn. They are true vipers, a beaſt, whereof Naturaliſts report, that firſt the ſhe-viper biteth off the he-vipers head, and ſo ſhe conceives with young, and thoſe young g • aw a paſſage through their dams belly; ſo that their life is the death of both Father and Mother, as I may ſo ſpeak. This ſtory I onely relate, not apply, the Time and Times will not permit me. But that theſe Vermin do daily encreaſe, is as true as lamentable; and they go on with that impudence, that they dare to quote Authority for their falſe actions. If this be not enough to evince my integritie in this particular, I here proteſt, that I am ſo far from falling, or leaning after any of theſe wayes, that I utterly abhor and deteſt them. I come now, to wipe off that other aſperſion of a Malignant; a term that hath as much ſimplicity as malice in't: For indeed, it is a name fitter for the Devil, than a Chriſtian; nay, the Devil, in French, is call'd The Malignant Spirit: And, according to the true ſignification of the word in our language, it ſignifies one that bears malice, or grudge to another. Now, if this be the thing is meant, I thank God, I bear no man in the world the leaſt grudge or ſpight; therefore, in that regard, I am no Malignant: But, if this be not their meaning, for my part, I doubt of knowing it, whilſt they are ignorant of it themſelves. Well, I ſee I muſt, like children, frame a Baby of clouts to ſhoot at, fancie a conceit in my brain, which I muſt confute. If then, by a Malignant, is meant one that oppoſeth the Parliament; be it known, that I never, in the leaſt word or action, did, or will do any thing to adopt me to be a Malignant: Or, if by it is intended ſuch a one, as will not run with the giddy multitude, that run before they are ſent, and are for that (with leſs ſimplicity, though as much malice, term'd Round-heads) that is, one that in ever turning, is never ſetled. And, indeed, I know not how they ſhould otherwiſe but wander in the Labyrinth of Errors, not following the Cloud of the Churches practice: whereas, it is the Character of a good man, to be like the Timber of Noah's Ark, which was (not round, but) four-ſquare, and would, therefore, not turn, but abide firm: If to be ſo, be to be a Malignant, I care not to profeſs my ſelf one. It is with men in theſe Times, as I have obſerv'd in a Company of Souldiers, upon any motion, thoſe that are skilful and tried Souldiers, it is but taking a ſtep with one foot, whilſt the other ſtand • faſt, and the motion is performed; whereas ſuch as are ignorant, run to and fro, perplexing themſelves, and putting the whole company out of order, before they get into theirs. So it is with us, we move not without the word of Command, and then we ſhall, without moleſtation, face about, if our Leaders think fit: Holding in this particular, the Politicians rule; However we admire what's paſt, to ſubmit to what's preſent. It were eaſie to be infinite in this diſcourſe. To ſhut up all, when I know better what it is to be a Malignant, I ſhall be ready to give an account of my judgment and practice. In the mean time, I beſeech you to believe, that I am neither Sectary, nor Malignant: But

Sir, your dutiful Son, T. F.

To Mr. E. B. Ned,

GIve me leave to tell thee a truth in the words of that witty Martial, to his Friend Priſcus.

Cum te non noſſem, dominum, regem que vocabam, Cum bene te novi, tam mihi Priſcus eris.

I will not venture at a Tranſlation, leſt it ſhould loſe by't. But let me tell thee, I ſuppoſe more friendſhip in that Monoſyllable, than all the ſwelling colours of abuſed Rhetorick. 'Twere a needleſs Tautologie, to tell thee thy Letter was welcome to me; Diu deſiderata dulcius veniunt. Thou doſt enhance my value of them by their ſcarcity. But, for mine, alas, poor ex tempore things! I make them as common, as they are eaſie; and yet am careleſs of my credit, that I may not ſeem careleſs of my friend. Thou needſt not beg ſuch a trouble, that is as certain as the Moons courſe. I am glad thou haſt got a witty Companion there, for 'twas long ſince (here) turn'd out of the Line of Communication. Commend me to L C. L. and tell him, his name ſhould ſpeak him my friend; for, really, I am more beholding to that name, than any one I know. But I need not goe ſo far about, 'tis ſufficient he is thy friend, and then he cannot chuſe but be mine; for, among friends, all things are common, and why not friends too? Really, I am ſo taken with that witty companion (and I know thou wilt not be-lye him) that if he will honour me with his name in a piece of paper, I will keep it as a Relick. And if I have run into an abſurdity, let my fault be excuſable, in that it is in relation to that thou calleſt Wit; and

If Cloris do at upon her face, The fault is in her Looking-glaſs.

But for Newes, I know your eyes out-ſtrip my pen, and, me thinks, I ſee thee firſt look for the Newes at the latter end; that thou readſt my Letters, like Hebrew, backward. Yet, this time, thou wilt onely finde, what's no Newes, that I am

Thine, T. F.

To Mr. C. F. Sir,

REſolving, not alwayes to act the Eccho onely in ſingle Anſwers, to your welcome Letters. No longer ago than the laſt night (my thoughts were wholly imploy'd upon a more pleaſing object than ſleep it ſelf) in a ſerious contemplation of you, my Second-ſelf: The reſult of my thought, after a full conſultation, were, to viſit you by a more real Proxie than my rambling fancie: For, though I have read of a Gentleman, who, going to the Spittle, to hear one of thoſe annual Sermons, it ſeemes his ſlowneſſe had ſhut him out of all hope of hearing, and almoſt ſeeing the Preacher; till, remembring he had a Perſpective glaſs in his pocket, thereby drawing the Preacher nearer to his ſight (to prove a communitie of the Senſes) the ſtory tells me, he heard him audibly. I never tryed the experiment, but I dare affirm, that by the Perſpective-glaſs of Fancy, I have both viſibly and audibly enjoy'd your wiſhed preſence. You know the old maxime is, Ubi amat, ibi animat: 'Tis therefore no Paradox to affirm, that I have often been in the New Forreſt, (which your ſweet preſence converts into a Paradiſe) although I was never there. But I fear, this is no better than Crambe bis co • ta, and ſo nauſeous, I quit it therefore, and return to my firſt purpoſe, which was to tell you, that your laſt letter really prevented my reſolved intentions, which yet I am (and ever ſhall be) glad of, to be thus intercepted, as profeſſing it to be more proper to my weak pen to be Reſpondent; which you will not doubt of, if you conſider, that Trumpeters love to ſound near Fordy places, where the Eccho uſes to be moſt ſolvibly Reſpondent: But I talk of an Anſwer, and return none.

In brief then, thus: I begin where you end, and here deſire to erect an Altar of thanks to the protecting providence, that ſhielded you (and in you my ſelf) from that firſt imminent, then eminent danger; as knowing the truth of that ſaying, That Bleſſings often ravel out, for want of h •• iming by thankefulneſs. I cannot ſpeak my mind fuller, than he has done to my hand: Now, to your deſire, I cannot yet return you other anſwer, than that the utmoſt of my endeavours were long ſince devoted to your commands: And for—I expect him daily in Town; when he is, I ſhall acquaint him with your intentions to him. I hear that he is already turn'd Predicant; me thinks 'tis ſomething too ſoon, to ſpend his ſmall ſtock of parts, which, I fear, will make him Mendicant. But I had forgot to tell you, that I cannot but apprehend, that Providence in your late delivery, hath plainly given you a Caveat, that you, at leaſt your Credit, will be moſt ſafe in your own houſe. Prethee pardon me▪ if my affection make me thus (if not too) bold, to tell th •• , that you betray that precious jewel of your credit to the rape of every felonious tongue, which would be far more ſafe in your own Houſe. I could ſay more, but verbum ſat, &c. Take it as the counſel of

Your really endeared Friend, T. F.

To Mr. E. B. Honeſt Ned,

IF there be one, whom the neceſſitie of my Stars compel me to love, 'tis thee: But beſides this, I find my ſelf entangl'd with a double tye; firſt, of thine unparallel'd Love, as the tree; and now a gift, as the fruit of that: And, how willingly am I impriſoned with theſe fetters! which, certainly if I could, I would not break; a three-fold cord is not eaſily crack't. Well, I acknowledge my ſelf, not onely thy Debtor, but thy Priſoner, and count it my onely Liberty. Expect no ſuch golden-mouthed Letter from me as yours was, nor any ſilver-tongu'd Complements▪ Believe me, where I ſee moſt complement, I ſuppoſe leaſt friendſhip. Let me onely affirm, that though our bodies are ſevered, our ſouls ſtill meet; though we are divided, we are not divorced; but like this Virgin-widow, ſtill flouriſh, though in the All deflowring Winter. Take it therefore, not as a Token▪ but an Embleme of our Love. I preſume it cannot be unwelcome; if not for the Senders, yet for the Author, and the Subjects ſake: And for the other, if there be a Sympathy in Friendſhip (as I believe there is) then cannot that be unpleaſing to you, which was ſo ſuperlative pleaſing unto me. However, I have aimed onely at a ſupplying you with what (I conceive) your Countrey is defective in. Sure I am, the offence cannot be great (if it be ſo) the gift it ſell being ſo ſmall; eſpecially from

Your faſt Friend, T. F.

To Mr. R. R. Worthy Friend,

WIth how much joy I received your exquiſite Epiſtle, is eaſier for you to imagine, than me to relate. You know me too well to expect the like Return from me; yet ſhall I deſire to follow you,

Tamen non paſſibus aequis.

And to pay you your Golden Royals (if the compariſon be not too mean) with my farthing language: Yet, hoping it may be Current among friends; for, I dare aſſure you, they carry the ſtamp of the Heart.

My Tongue's not tip't with Complements, which be But like green leaves to skreen Hypocriſie, With words as falſe as fair. Who Fucus layes Ʋpon her face, It's homelineſs betrayes. Nor skill I of the powerful charms of Art, But I can ſpeak the Language of the Heart.

I admire others Neatneſs, but practice Reality, which I eſteem ſo much the more, as I find it leſs uſed. I think the Publique▪ Faith has devoured all fidelity, and the Sword cut that (ſuppoſed) indiſſoluble knot of friendſhip, cancell'd the Bond of all Obligations. Henceforth, ſhall they be onely Names, and ſucceedings Ages not know what they meant. But to your Letter, and my Anſwer; which when I conſider I cannot but apply that proper Speech of the deep Putean to his Friend; Scribere ego poenè impudentiam, ſilere tu delictum cenſeas. Yet know I not of any letter that lies by me unanſwer'd; for, I hold it a breach of the Articles of Friendſhip, not to be punctual in Returns of this Nature. If you accuſe me of breach of promiſe, I cannot but tax you of delay in yours; though I count this but Billingſgate policie. Proceed, then, my Friend, and let our friendſhip be a Particular Exception from the General Rule of the worlds falſhood. Our ſweet Flower is tranſplanted to a remote ſoyl, near the Iſle of Wight. Pardon me, if I be covetous of your learned lines, to ſupply the vacuum of his abſence: Nor is this covetouſneſs unlawful; for I dare pronounce it (in Seneca's ſtyle) Avaritia Honeſta. And, hoping your fair Cham will not diſdain the ſilent whiſpers of a ſhallow Forde▪ aſſure your ſelf, you ſhall not hereafter complain for want of this kind of trouble: Although, to deal ingeniouſly with you (as I would have my friends to deal with me) I have ſo long diſcontinued this practice, that my pen is grown blunt, and my ink thick: But ſome of your Academick Flames, may contribute much to the ſublimating of my ſetled fancy, which ſhall wholly run in Channels of your commands: For I am

Sir, your ready Servitor, T. F.

To L. C. L Sir,

YOu are pleaſed to ſtyle me your Honoured Friend, which I muſt confeſs to be too high a ſtyle for my low deſerts to climbe, did I not conſider, that my Honour conſiſts onely in your Honouring me with ſo unmerited a Title. 'Tis a Maxime, Honor non eſt in honoranti, non in h ••• rato. Sir, I proteſt I intended nothing that might occaſion a bluſh; if it were, it was more proper for my ſelf: yet, having ſuch a mirrour, I was bold, againſt the rules of Maiden-modeſty, to look a ſtranger in the face. And truly, though I have no skill in Palmiſtry, yet, by thoſe fair lines of your Hand, I dare, without fear of flatterie, tell you, that Ned nothing wronged you; for, I aſſure you, I diſcover in them a great deal of ingenuitie. But, to caſt off all terms of diſtance, that we may meet in a cloſer conjunction, believe it, Sir, in plain Engliſh, that I love you with an implicite love; and ſhall count my ſelf not a little happy, if thoſe ſeeds of friendſhip, ſown in Winter, may flouriſh in the Spring, and out-date time it ſelf. This ſhall not be wanting, either in the deſires, or endeavours of

Sir, your as real as unknown Friend and Servant, T. F.

To Mr. E. B. Dear Ned,

I Should ſcarce believe there were ſuch a thing in rerum naturâ, as what we call a Friend, did not you come in, and convince me that you are one; and, what's more, Mine. Goe on▪ and let the world ſee, there is yet living that flame of antique friendſhip, which the Ancients boaſt, and we deſpair of. I heartily thank thee for thy laſt letter, though by the hand of a left-handed man-midwife it miſ-carried in the delivery; and (as bearing the fate of the Author) is gone on Pilgrimage as far as Exeter. I much lament the loſs, and ſhould more did I not think the kinder Fates did it out of love to me, leſt I ſhould have periſhed with too much joy. Haſt thou not heard? I am ſure I have read of many, that have been ſmothered with too much Happineſs. Alexander, when hearing that he was at once made Father of a Son, and Conquerour of his Enemies, deſired the gods to qualifie it with ſome croſs. It were eaſie to be copious in this ſubject, did I not write to one, that may read to me in Hiſtory: And, truly, my laſt letter had the fate to be out-dated long before I could get conveyance for it; wherein it much reſembled the worm (in Pliny) called Multipoda, or many feet, and yet hath a very ſlow▪ pace. Ned, I wiſh thee often here, yet am I never abſent from thee: For, ſince that friendſhip incorporated us, it is no Paradox to affirm, Hoc memorabile eſt, ego tu ſum, tu es ego, unanimi ſumus. Neither mayſt thou think, that diſtance, or cold can ſunder me, but I ſhall burn in friendſhip by an Anteperiſteſis. Things are now at the Height, that we expect a ſudden crack: I will not make my paper guilty of relating any of it, you will ſee it in Print. What effects 'twill produce, I will not Propheſie: But you know, The Philoſopher that looked too high, fell into the ditch. Farewel, and continue to Love

Thy conſtant Friend, T. F.

To M. C. F. My Alter Ego,

MY laſt was in anſwer to yours of the 18th of September; ſince when, I have been forced to recreate my fancie, with thoughts of thee my ſecond ſelf, as Dido, in the Poet, did her▪ Aeneas:

Illum abſens abſentem auditque, viditque.

Which I find well paraphraſed to my hand, thus:

Whilſt abſence ſever'd them apart, She ſaw, and heard him in her heart.

If my thoughts were ſo ſatiated with a meer what would your real Letters doe? which I know to be fraught with profitable pleaſure, the perquiſites of a true Epiſtle: And though mine be not equal to ballance yours, yet I ſhall endeavour to recompence in number, what they want in weight.

Yours are rich wares, mine poor baggatels, Yours Orient Gems, mine rugged oyſter-ſhels. Yet Tokens, with the true ſtamp, may Be currant, though of baſe allay.

Sir, flattery is no part of friendſhip; Non amo quemquam niſi offendam, ſaid a wiſe Heathen. Give me therefore leave to tell you, that you are too careleſs of your credit: I hear you have thereby loſt much ground in your P. affections, which I could wiſh by Mr. E's▪ example, you would be careful of; for I can aſſure you, in theſe times, the peoples affections are but a fickle foundation to build ones hopes on: 'Tis a thouſand pities, that the beſt ground ſhould be the dirtieſt, and the beſt work-men the worſt husbands; eſpecially one of your colour, who ought to walk not onely caſtè, but cau • è. You know who ſayes, A Miniſters Doctrine is like a candle, if not guarded by the lanthorn of a cautious life, will ſoon be blown out by the wind of detraction. The Egyptians Hierogliphick God by an open eye: He is totus oculus; and I am perſwaded, there is no colour ſo much in his eye as black▪ Enough of this: I am not willing to run into the common errour of the Times, to uſurp Moſes Chair. If my zeal to your welfare has already committed a treſpaſs, let it be ſufficient, that it was out of perfect friendſhip. It is ſaid of Gerſon (that famous Frenchman) that he took not content in any thing ſo much, as in a plain and faithful reproof of his friend: And, it is the note of that venerable Bede, that Semper optimos ſapientum ut dictum majorum auſcultent, aliquando minorum. And I will not onely ſuffer, but thank you, to deal ſo with me. Concerning Newes, I am of the Italians mind, That nulla nuova, is bona nuova; the leaſt newes is the beſt newes. Take it briefly thus: His Majeſtie doth lay aſide his own Intereſt wholly, that He may (if poſſible) comply with his Conquerors; that I may truly apply to him that ſaying of an undaunted Captain, ſlighting the inſulting braves of him that took him, thus: Thou holdeſt thy Conqueſt great, in overcomming me, but mine is far greater, in overcomming my ſelf. 2. Death is grown as inſatiable a Country C. M. for he hath of late ſwallow'd all the living creatures, men, women, dogs, cats, &c. in a whole Citie in Spain, not leaving one alive to relate it. But I forgot your buſineſs. I mention'd it to Sir Ch. who is no Orderly man, nor willing to receive it: I have mention'd it to others, with as much earneſtneſs as you can imagine, but the great diſtance of place, makes them not meet my deſires. Though I have uſed this (as I thought perſwaſive) argument, The farther out of ſight, the more ſafe: For I am confident, many a mans Good Living, and not his bad life, has entitl'd him to a Priſon. Therefore count I you wiſe, in ſequeſtring your ſelf, to avoid a Sequeſtration. Sir, I hope you will judge of my endeavours by the ſucceſs, but believe me to be

Yours as real as obliged Friend and Servant, T. F.

To Mr. E. B. Bad, wicked warr. Anagr. Honeſty, NOw muſt my wearied fancy undertake A tedious task: to ſeek I know not where, Whom I ſhall find, alas! I know not when: Yet on I muſt, bound by a thred of love, Which happily may prove a clew to guide Me in this wide Maeandring Labyrinth. So have I ſeen (as groping in the dark) An arrow ſhot at randome, hit the mark. On then, my Pilgrim-pen, mask'd in the weeds Of blackeſt ſorrow; and with big ſwoln eyes, Seek him thou canſt not ſee: make hils & dales Reſound with thy loud voicing of that name, Whoſe Eccho ſtands in competition with, And far out-vies the muſick of the Spheres: At whoſe ſole ſound my duller ſenſes dance A Galliard; but that failing, lifeleſs ſtand. Like that ſtrange Lake, that whilſt the muſick ſounds, Doth flow in meaſures; and then ebb as faſt, When that doth ceaſe: Or like the ſtones & trees That danc'd attendance on Orpheus Harp. Strike thou bleſt Lyre, and with thy muſick call My ſorrow-fetter'd ſenſes from the grave Of lumpiſh grief; which Reſurrection muſt Only be wrought by thine all-charming pen: Or elſe, as great Auguſtus, in a kiſs, Surrender'd up his lateſt breath unto His deareſt Livia; thereby making her Sole Heir to that ſurviving part, which long, By tranſmigration, lived in her breaſt. So muſt my ſtarved Hopes ſurrender to Thoſe long and fierce aſſailants, which beſiege Me, with their troops of fears, and pale deſpair, If not relieved by thy timely quill. But fear, like to a cunning enemy, Doth labour to perſwade my jealous thoughts, That thou art not in a capacitie. Now, therefore quickly, my Terpander, come With thy Harmonious layes, allay theſe ſtirs, And civil broyls, in my perplexed thoughts, For fear they mutinie, and me betray. Delay not, now, to give my fears the lye: For, ſpinning out the thred of time, will make But a ſad woof to cloath my ſorrows with, And turn my Tragick verſe to Elegies. And thus my many feet have almoſt run My fancie out of breath: Here I muſt reſt, And Tantalize with weary expectation, Till mother-time (that's gravidated with A dubious iſſue) be deliver'd of A maſculine, white boy of mirth, or with A female Negro of grief; which will be Strange welcome to Your Servant, Allégre.

To Mr. S. M. Sir,

IT is reported by Pliny, that Apelles, that famous Painter, was wont, when he had finiſhed any piece of work, or painted table, to ſet it forth in ſome open place, or thorow-fare, to be ſeen of Paſſengers; and himſelf would lie cloſe behind it▪ to hearken what faults were found in it; in that, preferring the judgment of the vulgar▪ before his own, imagining they would ſpie more narrowly, and cenſure his faults more ſeverely than himſelf could. Having expoſed this homely piece to publick view, I have, with Apelles, li • n unſeen, and to that purpoſe, unknown, that thereby I might the better learn what others opinions were thereof: Not truſting to my own, as knowing that Ely was not the onely indulgent Father to his own Off-ſpring. And, as it was his aym to relie upon the judgment of the moſt judicious (of which number, I eſteem your ſelf none of the leaſt) it had been preſented to you in the firſt place, had I not been deterred, as not daring to approach the ſcorching rayes of your ſeverer cenſure: Like him, that being in the preſence of Auguſtus▪ the Roman Emperor (who had a piercing Eagle-eye) turn'd away his face; the Emperour demanding the reaſon why he did ſo? He replied, Quia fulmen oculorum tuorum ferre non poſſum. The like may I affirm: Ter limen tetigi, ter que recedi. Oft have I been about it, and as oft repulſed by the conſciouſneſs of mine own unworthineſs: Yet have I, at length, adventured, in confidence that you have, as well charity to pardon, as judgment to find out errours. With ſuch a hope therefore, that you will skreen your ſeverer cenſure with a veil of charitie, I have, at length, preſumed this into your preſence: The rather, becauſe I do hereby but return you the Hony, made from the various flowers of your own garden; where, I hope, I have not (as ſome that do, Spinas libroru • colligere) weeded books; but crop't their bloſſomes, and yet left never the leſs behind me. Naturaliſts (thoſe Clerks of Natures cloſet) report of the Peach-tree, that it receives the qualitie of the ſoyl where it is planted. In Perſia it is poyſonous, elſewhere nutrimental: Such is the condition of our nature, that it ever reteines the ſavour of that liquor wherewith it was ſeaſoned in its youth. It hath been my care, and is my hope, that I may one day affirm that of the Philoſophers ſcholar, Me mihi melior reddidit, quàm accepit. Another obligation there is alſo, which hath occaſioned in me this preſent boldneſſe, and to you this preſent trouble: Tha • you are one that do not ſcaenam ſervire, but are truly ſenſible of the irregular actions of thoſe, who would be thought the line of Truth. I think the Poet Propheſied of our age, when he complain'd,

Victa jacet pietas, & cedit viribus aequum. Non metuunt leges, ſtat pro ratione voluntas. Omnia pro tempore, nihil pro veritate.

Comines complaines, that many mens Offices and Lands were taken from them for running away (in the Battle between Lewis the 11th. and the Burgundians) and given to thoſe that ran nine miles farther. But I have made too long a Parentheſis in your more ſerious occaſions; and, me thinks, I hear Apelles his Ne ſutor ultra crepidam, rounded in my ear. I here ceaſe, though not from being

Your faithful Servant, T. F.

To Mr. C. F. Sir,

YOur Letter of the 2d. of November, came ſafe; and though late, yet at laſt I return you an anſwer: For, though the Apoſtle ſaith, it is the duty of a good ſervant 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 not anſwering again: yet I think, it is no part of a good friend. Whereas you tell me, it is no Newes to hear of the theft of felonious tongues, but that it were a greater wonder, if they ſhould turn honeſt, it puts me in mind of a facetious ſpeech of the grave Cato: When one asked counſel of him ſoberly, what harm he thought boaded him, becauſe Rats had gnawn his Hoſe? He anſwered with this jeſt: That it was a ſtrange thing to ſee that; but it had been much more ſtrange, If his Hoſe had devoured the Rats. Now, to be ſerious. If you will needs know from whence that ſmoak came, I muſt tell you, it aroſe from the New Forreſt, but I diſcover'd it at London; and finding it might forerun a ſtorm, I was bold to fore-warn you of it, becauſe, you know, Praemonitus, praemunitus. Neither ought you (I ſuppoſe) to deſpiſe it, (eſpecially comming from a hand aimed only at your ſafety. Great ſhips have been caſt away by a little leak unlook'd to. I remember the Fable that the Butterfly asked the Owle, How ſhe ſhould deal with the fire that had ſcorched her wings? Who counſelled her, not to behold ſo much as its ſmoak And, becauſe you will know of me where this vapour did beat in; Truly, I was informed, you were like to ruine your fortune, and that by one whom I know you eſteem your friend. Therefore was I bold to adviſe you to provide an Ark againſt the Deluge: Not like the merry Scholar in Chaucer, that he might lie with the Carpenters wife. But I talk idle. Really, I had not ſaid any thing, had I not been confident, you would take it with the right hand, as I gave it; and the rather, that I might thereby engage you to deal with me in the ſame manner: For, Hoc officium (as I take it) is Maximum beneficium. And now, would not my very excuſe increaſe my fault, I would Apologize for my (I fear) too tedious prolixitie. I will onely add, that I ſhall be very glad your more urgent buſineſſe would permit you to puniſh me in the ſame kind: Who am, not queint, nor quick now, but ſtill

Your entire Friend, T. F. Poſte.

The Fratres Gladiferi are ſtill predominant. People were never ſo poor, nor never ſo brave, as if they would be proud by an Antiperiſtaſis.

To Mr. J. W. Sir,

THat you accoſt me with the name of Friend, I am not a little joyful, but more to be yours. It is a term uſed by all, underſtood by few, but practiſed by none, that I can find. But I will not build my credit upon the ruines of others: It is ſufficient, that I can boaſt of this, that I am yours; and I hope you will ſtill deign to be mine. And now Sir, I ſhall return an anſwer to the ſeveral particulars of my Letter, Ordine quiſque ſuo. Firſt, You tell me you are ſolitary and Hermetical. I could hardly forbear envying of your Happineſſe: 'Tis a life I as much deſire, as I little hope for. But, Sive pluit Jupiter, aut non pluit, non omnibus placet. And ſo I quit that, and am arrived at your deſire, which to me is a ſufficient command. 'Tis Newes you deſire, and it would have been Newes indeed, if you had not. In brief then, Kent is, for the general, quiet, onely ſome excepted places: But, to make you laugh, Prophet, Hunt, the other day, at a full Exchange, came crowding into the middle, with a joyntſtool upon his head; which, when he had ſet down, he ſtood up on, and cried, O yes, if any man in the Town, or Country, can tell me what good the Parliament hath done theſe eight yeares, let him come, and ſpeak, and I'll ſit down and hear him: and, that you may know the truth of it, he is in Bridewell for his labour. And now I meet with your Cordial, which is Cordiality, well may we invent new terms to ſignifie realitie by; for I think, hereafter the old will not be underſtood. I have remembred you to as many as I ſuppoſe your friends, and have only in return, Mr. Th. E's ſervice. The reſt, not concluding you aymed at them in particular, ſince you onely ſhot at Rovers in the general. The ſecond part of your commands, I have performed onely upon your welcome Letter, and have ſent this to kiſs your hands. If this may contribute any thing to the delivery of your expectation, I ſhall count your acceptance a ſufficient reward. But I will not add feathers to the wings of time, which I know you put to lawful uſury. Here then I take my Reſt, and reſolve to remain,

Sir, yours ready to ſerve you, T. F.

To Mr. W. L. Will.

LEt my Hand now ſpeak for my Heart, and know▪ that the lines of the one, is the language of the other. But I will not tire thee with a preamble, leſt it might be ſuſpected for a piece of Rhetorical inſinuation; but abruptly tell my errand, without reſpect ſo much as to a civil Complement. Will. How really I am obliged to thee in my affections, my engagements thereto, by thy many multiplyed courteſies, may ſufficiently teſtifie: And for that reaſon (to make ſhort work) I am reſolved to give thee that, for which, from another I ſhould have expected, and happily have had a price. You cannot imagine me ſo little Man, or that to coſt me ſo little paines, but that I muſt conceive it worth as much as every puny Pamphlet; or (grant it were not) think me ſo ſimple, as to run the Gantelope of the worlds cenſure▪ for Nothing. Yet is not any, or all of theſe ſtrong enough to draw me from diſpenſing with mine own profit, or credit, when they ſtand in competition with a friend. In brief therefore, if you can imagine it worth your acceptance, or but enough to ſtrike off the leaſt notch from the tally of mine engagements, 'tis yours. I refer it, and my ſelf, wholly to your diſpoſe. Some (you cannot but think) I muſt beſtow on ſome friends; and I ſhould be loth to buy, what I did not ſell, or have and muſt give away. My ſhort ſtay here, will not admit any long delay. Let thy anſwer be like my time, and my departure, ſhort and ſhortly. I am ſtill

Your long-laſting Friend, T. F.

To Mr. J. W. My friend,

FOr ſo I preſume to call you, becauſe, if your Tongue and Heart were Relatives when you wrote your laſt kind Letter, you were pleaſed to diſhonour your ſelf with that Title. To lay aſide all terms of diſtance, that we may cloſe, and mingle ſoules in the flame of friendſhip, pardon me hereafter, if I lay aſide the name of Mr. as incompatible with that of friendſhip. But let me tell you, that I can ſcarce think your invective againſt Complements to be real, ſince you cannot compleat your Letter without them. Tully once told a Lawyer, pleading a bad cauſe: Tu niſi fingeres ne ſic ageres. For your Complements you beſtow on me and mine, I ſhall onely aſſure you, you ſtruck the ball to an ill hand, if you look for a rebound. Your quibble upon my name, would have pleas'd me exceedingly, had you not married (and ſo marr'd) it with ſo diſ-agreeing an Epethite, as to call that deep, whoſe very name ſpeaks it but ſhallow: So that by ſtyling me deep, you have taken away my name of Forde. But if you will have my Etymologie, it is this; Vadum à vadendo, from going; and ſo it tells you, that I ſhall never be wearie of travelling in your ſervice. Or, if you will, it is 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 , trajicere, to paſs over, and ſo I paſs it by. That that poor draught has ſatisfied your thirſt, I am not a little glad; but it ſeems, it was of the nature of ſalt water, which makes the drinker but the drier. And, truly, I queſtion not but you are, if you keep your promiſe, and not drink till the return of this, which I wiſh may be anſwerable to your expectation. For your complaint of want of Books, I conceive it needleſs in you, who are a walking Library. Now will I relate what they here tell for truth. One Rolph, (ſomething near Ravillac) a Shoomaker, had plotted to have brought his Majeſtie to his Laſt; but (as Heaven would have it) he prov'd but a Cobler at it, and ſo was diſcovered. Your Letter which mine was big with, is ſafely delivered, by

Your Friend and Servant, T. F.

To Mr. E. B. My beſt of Friends,

FInding friendſhip to be as cold as the weather, we thought to repel it, by celebrating this preſent time with the remembrance of thee; when we turned thy Aurum Palpabile into Aurum Potabile; and I dare affirm it was Cordial. We did remember thee Pleui • poculis; and becauſe two make no muſick, we engaged two or three other Conſorts, to compleat our Harmony. And that thou mayſt ſee, we did not only drink like irrational animals, I will tell thee (if my memory fail me not) the Original of Healths. When the Danes Lorded it over our Kingdome, (whence by corruption they were termed Lurdanes) they were quartered in ſeveral Houſes, (a word, I muſt confeſs, I underſtood not when I read it firſt; but ſince, the Times have inſtructed me with a witneſs.) They were ſo imperious, that no man thought himſelf ſecure in their preſence: and knowing the advantage men have of one that is lifting his hand to his mouth in drinking, they uſed (which after was a cuſtome) to drink to one at the Table, who was thereby engaged to be their pledge, or ſurety for their ſafety, whilſt they were drinking▪ and ſome of our Countries do ſtill retein the original, in anſwering Sir, I pledge for you. To this I doubt not but the witty Waller alludes in his Poems, where he ſings,

Wine fills the veins, and Healths are underſtood, To give our friends a title to our blood: Who naming me, doth warm his courage ſo, Shews for my ſake what his bold hand would do.

Newes is ſo confuſed, that I know not where to begin; yet where ſhould I, but at home: and that's in the Church-yard, that you may know▪ In nomine Domini incipit omne malum. Our yard is a place of Rendezvouz, a Bridewel, an Execution-place, &c. Here the gallant Pitcher went to Pot: I mean, was broken, by the mercileſs blind bullets; or (if thou wilt have it in plain terms) was ſhot to death. I could not name him without an Elegie, but that I think my Muſe is run away, to ſeek a better Maſter in theſe hard times. And indeed, the Muſes may well be Maids, for they are commonly fartheſt off, when moſt intreated. Mary was once the hate and burthen of the City, and the name's but Anagrammatiz'd; but they are as weary of their Phyſicians, as they were before of their diſeaſe. I cannot reſemble our rich Citizens better, than to ſome Hogs I have read of, that were ſo fat, that Mice made neſts in their buttocks, and they felt them not. But now they have pretty well eaten through their fat, and are come to the quick, and now they begin to be ſenſible of them. Here are ſome deſperate Members, that gape wide to devour their Head, and there is nothing can reſcue him but a miracle. And now, I hope, the largeneſs of my Letter will excuſe me from adding any more▪ No wonder my Letters are ſo big, being ſo old before they come to hand. Let me onely add that I am ſtill

Dear Ned, Thine, uſque ad aras, T. F.

To Mr. C. F. Friend, or Brother, chuſe you whether, Natures bonds are ſtrong in either.

THough I never knew the happineſs of a Brother, I count that want infinitely ſupplyed, if not out-gone, by the adoption of ſome friends: of which number, I need not now tell you, you hold a chief place. You may eaſily imagine how welcome your laſt was to me, the rather, becauſe it aſſured me of your, not onely receiving, but accepting mine; which (ſeriouſly) I doubted, when afterward I read Seneca's Caveat: Vide, non tantum an verumſit quod dicis, ſed an ille cui dicitur veri patiens ſit. But, believe me, it was pure friendſhip that praecipitated my pen; and in friendſhip, thoſe are great faults, that are not venial. And now it lies in your power only, to make thoſe poor papers a true glaſs (as you are pleaſed to call them) in a reflection of my own face, without partiality; and indeed, this was the chief intent of my deſigne at firſt: and you cannot think how I will • ug it, nay, out-dote Narciſſus himſelf. I hope, though you have entertained the Graces, you have not quite caſhier'd the Muſes: For, though the Times be hard, yet they are no chargeable retinue. But, I know you expect ſome Newes: and truly, here is Nova, & ina • dita rerum facies. Here, they that count Stables as good as Churches, have made our Churches Stables. But enough of this, and for this time, when I have ſtyled my ſelf

Your diligent Obſerver, T. F.

To Mr. L. C. L. Noble Sir,

THe laſt clauſe of your laſt ingenious Letter, has proved a Propheſie: For, you are pleas'd to tell me, that you long for my anſwer, and truly I have made it a long anſwer, though a ſhort letter: and that, till it come, every day's a moneth; and I am ſure, it will be a moneth every day e're you have it: yet be confident, it was not for want of love, but want of leiſure. You know, Parvus amor loquitur, ingens ſtupet. Great love (like great grief) muſt move gradatim. Sir, that you tell me, ſince you ſaw my lines, you are grown womaniſh, and long for a view. I dare not think it flatterie, becauſe from a friend; yet am I not a little proud on't. Thus have we the happineſs (like Princes) to wooe by Picture, and wed by Proxie. For though I have hitherto been an Atheiſt to female love, yet have I thus often wooed, and as often won a ſecond-ſelf; for ſo's a friend, as well as a wife, and the marriage of the minds, is no leſs firm and honourable, than that of the body. And I will aſſure you, Sir, I am more ambitious of that happy viſit you are pleaſed to promiſe me, than ſome Amorett • would be of his Miſtris. In the mean-time, I ſhall hope to ſee you in thoſe lively Images of your ingenious ſelf. To thoſe unmerited Encomiums you are pleaſed to beſtow on my unworthy Poeme, I will anſwer nothing, ſave that I will make it an argument of your love to me; for 'tis a Symptome.

Quae minimè pulchra ſunt, e • Pulchra videntur Amanti.

If now you expect any Newes, I muſt deceive your expectation; for here is none, ſave what you will ſee by the Printed Papers: and truly, I am afraid this cold weather will uſher in a hotter Summer. You'l ſpell my meaning, though in a myſterie; becauſe, Plura literis committere, nec vacat, nec tutum eſt. But that I am

Your moſt affectionate Friend. T. F.

To Mr. C. F. Sir,

I Received your late (I think laſt) Letter, fraught with Flowers: and, credit me, with as welcome a countenance, as we behold thoſe early violets, the firſt fruits of the Spring, after a long and tedious Winter. I heartily congratulate your entrance into the Bond of Wedlock, for 'tis a bond, though a ſweet one, and queſtion not but you have a fit yoke-fellow. Now are you a Compleat Man, which the Rabbins ſay no man is, till he have his female Rib reſtor'd him, which before he wanted. That you have match'd one of my name, I cannot account any other than an act of the Divine Providence, to make our Friendſhip grow up into a Brotherhood: So that now it ſhall be no longer as you ſay,

Friend and Brother, chuſe you whether, But Friend and Brother both together.

Hereafter ſhall I be not a little proud of my name, that it may be ſerviceable to the production of ſuch ſweet Flowers as your ſelf. Wonder not now, that in ſtead of greeting you with an Epithalamium, I grace you with an Elegie. Indeed, I muſt acknowledge, that mourning is not fit for a Wedding garment, yet moſt fit for me at this preſent, being really ſenſible of the death of the general Father of our Country, and fearful of the death of my own dear Father in particular. And to expreſs my ſelf in the words of the Poet,

Hei mihi difficile eſt imitari gaudia falſa, Difficile eſt triſti fingere mente jocum.

Give me leave onely to preſent your Wife, my Siſter, with my as hearty, as inviſible ſalutes; and ſo I take my leave of you both, with that of the witty Catullus:

—Boni Conjuges bone vivite, & munere aſſiduo valentem exercite juventam.

This is the hearty wiſh of him that is proud to be accounted

Your glad (though ſorrowful Friend and Brother, T. F.

To Mr. E. B. Ned, dear N. my N.

AS I was going to write a Letter to thee, came thine to me; and, believe me, with no little welcome. I thank thee for thy Letter, more for thy Verſes, but moſt of all, for thy conſtant perſeverance in friendſhip. Goe on, and let us (if poſſible) draw the knot of our love yet faſter. I dare preſume thou wilt, and for me, may the Muſes, or what's more, the Graces hate me, when I ceaſe to love thee: For thy ſuperlative wiſhes, may they rebound a thouſand, times multiplied upon thine own head. But for the particular of Trading, truly, I ſhall chuſe (in theſe (times) to ſit down, rather than ſet up; not daring to put to Sea, while this Tempeſt laſts. Me thinks, we wander ſtill as in a night of miſeries, and yet ſee no Heſperus of any comfort appear, that might be the welcome Harbinger of a more wiſh'd for▪ than expected Sun: We ſtill like (the Andabates) fight blindfolded. No ſooner has two Parties conquer'd one, but they oppoſe each other: and yet, as if the Tragedie were ended, the Souldiers have routed the Players. They have beaten them out of their Cock-pit, baited them at the Bull, and overthrown their Fortune. For theſe exploits, the Alderman (the Anagram of whoſe name makes A Stink) moved in the Houſe, that the Souldiers might have the Players cloaths given them. H. M. ſtood up, and told the Speaker, that he liked the Gentlemans motion very well, but that he feared they would fall out for the Fools Coat. But you know who has Acted that part, and may very well merit that, among the reſt of his gifts. Ask me no more for Newes, for now I am careleſs how things paſs, as ſetting down this reſolution, that nothing can happen well, nor worſe than has. Being ſtun'd with that fatal blow, I am not ſenſible of any thing elſe: only that I am ſtill

Really thine, T. F.

To L. C. L. Sir,

LEaving the incloſed to ſpeak for it ſelf, and indeed the muteneſs of grief is Eloquence. I am ſorry that our infant-friendſhip ſhould finde ſo ſudden a grave of forgetfulneſs; but I hope it is not dead, though ſleeping: Let this be as the Trump to awaken it to a Reſurrection: For, aſſure your ſelf, it will be as welcome to me, as a dead debt to an Uſurer. We are faln into Times (like thoſe the Father ſpake of) In quibus non erat quandum vivere. And truly, theſe ſpeaking pictures of my friends, are the onely Scaene of mirth to me in this deep Tragoedy. Pardon me Sir, if I now claim a debt of you; for a promiſe is a debt, I mean an Elegie: I'll aſſure you I have expected it long, and I know it will not come ſhort of mine expectation: I know you have delay'd it all this while but to inhance its value; but there needs no art to make me prize a wel-writ Poeme, and ſuch I dare not but think yours to be, Fortes creantur fortibus, &c. I dare not flatter my ſelf into ſo high a preſumption, as to merit it by any thing of mine, yet may this ſerve as a challenge▪ and though I loſe my credit, I ſhall account my ſelf a gainer by the bargain.

The laſt, though not the leaſt of thoſe that honour you, T. F.

To Mr. C. F. Sir,

SO willingly could I have born the Bearer company, in ſo pleaſant a Pilgrimage, that I cannot but at once complain of my hard hap, and envy this papers Happineſs.

But though my body be confin'd To time and place, ſo's not my mind.

For with my nimble fancie I out-run both this and them, and ſalute you, as the Food Neſſus did Pythagoras, and called him by his name, as one admired for his flood of wiſdome, if we credit the faith of Aelian. And I dare not ſuſpect but you feed your friendſhip with equal flames, that it may be like the Veſtal fire, perpetual. Nor can I think your pleaſant Forde will prove a Lethe of forgetfulneſs, to drench the remembrance of our friendſhip. I have read of a mountain ſo high, that what was written in the aſhes of one years Sacrifice, was found legible in the next: So, hope I, the Characters of our friendſhip indelible by ought but Death. I am now changing the air, but not my mind of being

The admirer of your worth, T. F.

To Mr. J. P. Sir,

I Received your Letter, and that with as much welcome as Penelope did her Ʋlyſſes, after an Ages abſence. Seriouſly, that I have not hitherto writ to you, was not either for want of Love or Leiſure, but blind-folded by ignorance of the place you make happy with your preſence, I knew not how to find you out. Believe me, Sir, you, with my honeſt Lightfoot, are ſo deeply fixed in the faſteſt of my affections, that I ſhall ſooner forget my ſelf to be, than you to be my friends, or my ſelf your ſervant: And think not this a complement, but a lively Image of my thoughts; which, though I want your Art to give it colours, yet is as really decypher'd in this poor black and white, as in the richeſt tincture. Sir, I pray let the ſhortneſs of my time (at preſent) excuſe the ſhortneſs of my Letter, and be confident, that my next Anſwer ſhall be more anſwerable to your deſert, and my deſire; the height of whoſe ambition is but to continue

Your Th. Forde.

To L. C. L. True Philanax,

NOw have I found a way to try thy yet unqueſtion'd friendſhip; 'tis this. See here a poor Pamphlet ſhrowding it ſelf under the patronizing wings of all that dare ſtyle themſelves the Authors friends. My abſence from the Preſs, has fill'd it with an innumerable company of unpardonable Errata's: So that, beſides the principal of pardoning the irregularitie of the thing it ſelf, there ariſes an unexpected ſcore, for unlook'd for Errata's. Well, it cannot now be help't: 'Tis the Image of thine unknown friend; and, though much diſfigur'd in the limning, if thou canſt but diſcern a Real Heart, 'tis all I wiſh for. Read it over, tell the errours, and tell me of them, ſo ſhalt thou truly approve thy ſelf, what I would be loth not to believe thee. You know, Caecus amor proli. Parents eyes are blind to their own, they read with the multiplying glaſs of ſelf-love, which ſees a ſpark of fire through an heap of aſhes. Do me therefore that real part of friendſhip, as to ſend thy moſt rigid cenſure of it: And in ſo doing, thou ſhalt (if poſſible) yet farther oblige

Thy T. F.

To Mr. E. B. Ned,

BEing now reduced to my primitive condition, I have for the preſent ſhaken hands with the world, and retired my ſelf into my Cell: there will I lie perdu, and laugh at the madneſs of the Times, without envying their State. May they have as much as I contemn; 'tis riches enough for me, to loſe as little as I can, which whatſoever it be, I am able to make up with thoughts of you my real friends. Excuſe my preſent ſhortneſs, and meaſure not my love by my lines; but aſcertain thy ſelf I honour thee as an unparallel'd piece of real friendſhip. I cannot queſtion my farther diſtance will any whit turn the edge of thy quondam conſtancie, for what need words among friends. Ned, This unworthy piece will adventure upon thy charitie, ſeriouſly, not without the ſhame of the Sender; For, beſides the Errours of the thing, the Printer has filled it ſo full of groſs Errata's, that I cannot give one without an Apologie; and I cannot deviſe one good enough to equal the badneſs of the Preſs. However, draw the veil of thy friendſhip over the errours, and where thou findeſt them, pardon them. But one thing more, ſend me thy ſevereſt judgment of it; lay friendſhip aſide, and tell me truth, without reſpect of perſon: Then ſhall I boaſt to have been

Thine Eternal Friend, T. F.

To M. C. F. My double Flower,

AT length have I found a way, whereby this poor brat may bleſs the Author with the happineſs of kiſſing your hands. 'Tis Freeborn, though begot in ſervitude. But I dare not venture upon your more judicious brow, without an Apologie; not ſo much for the Printing, as the miſ-printing. I muſt needs ſay, whilſt I was at the preſs to overlook it, I durſt own it; but as ſoon as I was gone, the Printers ſo diſ-figured it, that I knew it not again, when I ſaw it. Had I been with them, I ſhould have ſerv'd them as the Philoſopher did the Potter, reading and miſ-reading his verſes, he brake all his earthen ware: The Potter demanding his reaſon, he anſwered; You break my head, and I break your Pots. Seriouſly, I think I ſhould break their pates as miſerably as ever was poor Priſſcians by any Pedantick. But, prethee exerciſe thy friendſhip ſo far, as to ſend me a perfect Anatomy of it: I mean, thy judgment, without hands or eyes. Shut out the name of friend, whilſt thou cenſureſt it, and ſend me that cenſure, as to one that is no whit indulgent to his own. Then ſhall I boaſt to have vowed my ſelf

Thine abſolute Friend, T. F.

One thing I forgot to tell thee, the Printer has rob'd it of its Letters of Credence: But you muſt put that upon his ſcore.

To Mr. J. W. Grace.

ANd now I dare promiſe my Letter a welcome, marching under, and with ſo good a Grace. But I long to hear whether thou haſt given thy Grace a Sirname yet, for I cannot find it among all the Catalogue of Virtues. Perhaps I miſtook the Index, and ſhould have looked for W. but I could not ſo readily hear of my Gloves. Thou ſeeſt I have found a way to whiſper my yet unparched friendſhip, though at a diſtance. I have read of a place called the Hall of Gyants, in Mantua, which hath this ſtrange and unuſual Art, that how low ſoever one ſpeak, at the Corners 'tis intelligible to be heard, whilſt thoſe in the Midſt hear nothing. Me thinks, it fitly reſembles our intercourſe by Letters: Hereby ſhall we be able to conquer diſtance, and live together, though far aſunder: Friendſhip hereby works like weapon-ſalve, at a diſtance, and undiſcernable. But I intended a Letter, not a Character of Letters. Now, having in part paid my debt promiſed, it will not be unmannerly to demand yours; for promiſes are debts: and I love as little to be indebted in courteſie, as in coyn. If thou ſearcheſt the File of thy promiſes, among other particulars, thou wilt find this, Item, A Letter to

The expecter of that Happineſs, T. F.

To Mr. E. B. Dear Ned,

WIth thy Letter I received an Anſwer to my Search. 'Tis too long, and my time too ſhort, and my wit too weak to return a Reply. Be contented onely with an acquittance for the receit of it; the rather, becauſe I would not fail your expectation; for I hate abortives of that nature. But before I give you a diſcharge, I muſt quarrel with you, for ſome bad coyn. Tell me of Hiſtory, Quotations, and Comments! What Galilaean-glaſs didſt thou uſe for Spectacles, when thou read'ſt my letter? Your Comment has bely'd my Text: And what argument haſt thou to prove me a Poet, except poverty; and perhaps, an ill face, with Hipponax, who was no Painter, as you make him, but a Poet, with ſo ugly a face, that two Gravers in ſtone ſet out his Statue to the world, and him to the deriſion of the beholders: At which he was ſo inraged, that whetting his Pen with anger, he did ſo thick diſcharge his Porcupine-quils, and his Badger-Jambicks ſo bit, that (as the Stories ſay) for very anger made the two Gravers hang themſelves. Newes I can tell thee none, but that Trading, which before was wounded, is now dead. That the Army have now done what the King all this while fought for, namely, put a point, if not a period to the perpetual Parliament. And having ſeized the King in Hurſt-Caſtle, have poſſeſt themſelves of the major part of their Maſters, and thrown them into Hell. But now I begin to grow as tedious to thee, as the time of thy abſence will be to me: In deteining thee too long from that name

So much obliged to you, T. F.

To Mr. W. L. Honeſt Will.

THe Romans had a cuſtome, that after any one was dead, one hollowed three times in their ear, and after the third call, pronounced, Conclamatum eſt, He's paſt recovery. I have called three times without an anſwer, yet I dare not pronounce a conclamatum eſt of our friendſhip, I know it is not dead. Thy laſt was in anſwer but to a part of mine. Doſt thou mean to Comment upon my Letters in Tomes and Volumes? Certainly we ſhall make excellent Harmony with the ſeveral notes of Muſick, in Longs, Briefs, Sem-briefs, Minims, Quavers, and Crotchets. But J. H. acts a part, (or rather no part), which, I think, is beyond the Muſicians Ela: I find no name for it; but let not them overhear me, and I'll call it a Pauſe. Well, this conceit is neither Meane nor Baſe, but, if you will, Treble, becauſe we are three. Send me word what fortune my poor brat finds in the world. how it goes off, and is reliſhed: And do it as forgetting me to be the Author, or

Thy Friend, T. F.

To Mr. J. H. My beſt of friends,

LIttle leſs than infinite will number mine engagements to thee; and when I ſhall quit ſcores with thee, I know not; yet may it ſhew a willingneſs to pay, in him that confeſſes the debt. I am glad of ſuch an argument of ſomething good in that worthleſs piece, as the diſlike of the world will draw for a Concluſion. Really, I never intended they ſhould like it, and ſhould have ſuſpected it, if they had: For he that will pleaſe the Times, muſt go attired in a Fools coat, not a Scholars habit. Didſt thou never hear of the Philoſopher, that when (in an Oration) the people applauded him, turn'd about to ſome of his friends, and asked, What he had ſaid amiſs • Thy Newes of the Hangmans ſo untimely death, when he was at the full ga •• of one and thirty, drew this ex tempore Epitaph from me.

Here lies the Royal Headſman, who in's time, Of the Court-cards hath cut & drawn the Prime: But oh ſad fate! death thus ſhould Trump about, And now at one and thirty put him out.

But I haſte to ſubſcribe my ſelf

Thy much engaged Friend, T. F.

To Mr. T. P. Sir,

I Had hitherto fully reſolved, that the name of Mecoenas now lived onely in Horace lines; but your late Largeſs has made me recant my humour, and believe that there are yetſome that dare patronize the Muſes when grown poor: But as the ſcarcitie increaſes your honour, ſo would it my ſhame, if I ſhould be ſo ingrateful as not to acknowledge it; though I muſt confeſs, my retribution will be as bad, as my mind is good, to erect a Pyramid to your ſingular example in this Age. Not that I intend any Panygerick of your praiſes, that were fitter for the Pen of Pliny, or the Mouth of Cicero, Give me leave only (without a bluſh) to acknowledge my many engagements to your merit, leſt I ſhould meet with the obloquie of the French, who (the Hiſtorian ſayes) remember good turns no longer than they are in doing. Sir, when I ſeriouſly conſider your large reward of ſo ſhort a deſert, me thinks (had I Plutarchs art) I could parallel it with the bounty of Artaxerxes, who return'd precious gifts to poor Sinaetas for his handful of water: Or, if that be too ſmall, to Alexander the Great, who returned doubly to Anaxar • hus, for a ſmall gift he received of him. Thus rich grounds yeild double flowers, for ſingle ſeeds. Or yet, if theſe be too low, to Streton, who ſtudied to excel all other men in Liberalitie. And might it not be thought flattery (to praiſe a man to his face) I would tell others, that your Generous diſpoſition is a miracle in this Age) equal'd, if not excel'd one, of whom the Ancients boaſt, that was readier to give, than others to receive. But I fear to offend your modeſty, & will therefore ſilently admire, what I cannot ſafely ſpeak, knowing there is alſo an eloquence in ſilence. Yet would I not altogether have my thankfulneſs (like men near the River Ganges) without a Tongue. Alas Sir! what worth was there in that plain piece, that ſhould cauſe ſo rich a recompence! Truly, Sir, beſides the reverence (which as a dictate to natures law) I alwayes bare you, your many favours, but eſpecially the laſt, will exact from me (without a complement) the ſpeech of Furnius to Caeſar, Efficiſti ut viverem & morer ingratus. Excuſe the relating it in it's proper Idiom: For, though it be ſaid, that the Tuſcane Speech ſounds better in the mouth of Sirangers, than of the Natives, I think not ſo of the Latine. You have ſo obliged me, that (to uſe the expreſſion of a Father to his friend) I owe you, Et quae poſſum, & quae non poſſum. So that, did I not hope to meet with a merciful Creditor, I muſt break without hope of compounding: However, though you have caſt your gift into a ſhallow Forde, yet it is ſo tranſparent, that you may ſee it, without fear of being covered with any Lethe of forgetfulneſs. Nor have you caſt your coyn on ſo ſoft a nature, that you ſhould not hear it gingle, at leaſt in an Eccho of Thanks: Although, when I have done all, my Thankfulneſs muſt be like Timantes his Pictures, wherein was more to be underſtood, than there was expreſt. Thus, Sir, aſſuring you here is nothing, but what is the immediate Tranſcript of my Heart, I crave leave to boaſt my ſelf,

Sir, your ſolely engaged Servant, T. F.

To Mr. J. H. Honeſty,

THy Letter was as welcome to me, as ever was rain to the parched earth. I thank thee thee infinitely, but that's no payment. Well, ſet all upon the Tally, and 'tis poſſible we may one day croſs ſcores. Excuſe my ſhortneſs at this time, and let this Country Newes ſupply the defect. 'Tis this: That Phoebus (now) courts the Lady Flora as rudely as he did his Mother, that bit off her ear, when he ſhould have kiſs'd her.

That the Quadrupled Animals fare deliciouſly, for they feed on Roaſt-meat every day.

That the Sun hath ſaved the Husbandmen a labour of mowing and making their Hay; for it now grows Hay, like him that ſowed Malt, to avoid the charge & trouble of making it of Barly.

That the world being turn'd Round, our Climate is exchang'd for Spain, or ſome more ſweating Country: That we here know no reaſon of this unparallel'd Heat, unleſs it be becauſe we have now ſo many ruling Suns in the Sphere where there uſed to be but One.

That, if this weather hold, we are like to have no raw fiſh, but all ready boyl'd before taken, and all our drink burnt-wine, or vinegar.

That the poor Ephemeris ſuffer Martyrdome every day.

That, at night, when Sol is with our Antipodes, we feel his heat through the cracks of the earth.

That this extream heat makes the Heavens ſweat a little ſometimes, in ſtead of rain.

Item, That my Ink is converted to Jet.

Item, That there's no more Newes.

For 'tis none that I am

Your T. F.

To Mr. R. R. Sir,

I Dare not pretend to ſo much Philologie, as to criticize upon your term of Infinitiores gratias; your adopting (by your uſing) it, is ſufficient to patronize it, and paſs it through the guards of the ſtricteſt enquiry. Here could I well ceaſe, and, in ſtead of anſwering (which I ſhall never) admire at your Elegant Letter you were pleaſed to honour me with: wherein, what ſtreams of Eloquence! what flames of Love! what Rhetorick! what Realitie! nay, what not! So that, were all Epiſtles like yours, I would not wonder that Learning and Letters are terms convertible. I honour the preſence of my friends; but may it ever be ſupplyed by ſuch Letters, and I ſhall never complain of their abſence. Before, I loved you as a friend, but now, I honour you as a Wit. But how eaſily doe paſſions exalted tranſport us! And how willingly do we yield the cloak of our reſolutions to the flatttering Sun of praiſe! But I am too conſcious of mine own unworthineſs, to admit thoſe large Encomiums your flouriſhing pen hath adorned me with. 'Tis a Poſ • e of rare beauty; but I dare not accept it, leſt there ſhould lie a ſnake of flattery, under thoſe fairer Flowers: And I wiſh you have not ſhown your Wit, and hazarded your Judgment. When I read your neat lines, really I cannot but love them for their gallantneſs, and pitie them that, they had no better a Subject. Me thinks, they ſeem like rich cloaths upon a poor man (that do not ſute) or like the Kings Saddle upon the Millers horſe. Who will not ſuſpect your eyes blindfolded with love, that have made Paris choiſe, and extoll'd a homely face, for an Heavenly beauty. Well, ſince my deſerts are too ſhort to ſcale them, I ſhall (I'll aſſure you) keep it by me, as too rich a cloth for my meanneſs, and ſhall lay it before me, as a pattern of what would I be, rather than a picture of what I am. Now, to your Why, let me return a Wherefore I have (to uſe your expreſſion, and who can uſe better) masked my ſelf under the ſingle letters of T. F. that being unknown, I might more freely hear the worlds cenſure. I remember a facetious tale of a Frenchman, that had printed much, concealing his own name: One asking a man that brought his Copies to the preſs, Who the Author was? He ſaid, 'Twas one that deſired to ſerve God inviſibly. My humbler ambition flies no ſuch pitch; 'tis enough for me, if it may but reach to the ſervice of my friends, of which number, I know you to be ſo intenſely one, that, as 'tis ſaid, that Plutarch once being named, the Eccho anſwer'd, Philoſophy; ſo, ſhould I call R. (I doubt not but) it would return friendſhip. This is the Happineſs of him that cares not to ſacrifice his credit to your worth,

T. F.

To Mr. R. R. Sir,

THat my late lines have produced your later Letter, I am not a little glad; but that they ſhould occaſion a quarrel, I ſhould be more ſorry. If the exception be my fear of flatterie, know, that it was not the Height of your expreſſions, but my own lowneſs, that frighted me into ſuch a fear. Would not a little David think himſelf mock't, to be proffer'd a Goliah's armour? But, for my part, your merits are caveat ſufficient to keep my words from the leaſt ſuſpition: And the conſtruction of my words will be beſt made by the Grammar-rule of friendſhip; for I was never guilty of ſo much Rhetorick, as to tell a learned lye. My tongue and my pen (if I deceive not my ſelf) are alwayes Relatives: Becauſe Favorinus praiſed the Feaver, ſhould not we praiſe Health? And becauſe ſome Romans ſacrifice to that, might not others to Aeſculapius? 'Twere more ſhame to d • ny praiſes where they are due, than to admit them where they are not. Why therefore are you ſo baſhful? as if thoſe parts (ſomething above the degree of admiration) had erept into your boſome unawares? And though your modeſty is ſuch, (as may ſilently ſhame my forwardneſs) that you will not ſhew your ſelf to the world, like that plant in Pliny, which buds inwardly, and ſhooteth out no bud, bloſſome, or leaf outwardly; yet give us leave to admire it, though you bury your worth in the ore of obſcuritie. We count him a rich man, that has his wealth in his cheſt, not on his back; yet excuſe me, if I think it an envious diſpoſition, in him, that would play ſo ſoftly on his Lute, that none ſhould hear but himſelf. But whether is my pen ſtragled? Surely as far from the matter of my firſt intentions, as the anſwers of the two deaf perſons were from one another, that pleaded before a deaf Judge in the Greek Epigram. To return therefore from my digreſſion to your Letter. How ſhall I interpret thoſe expreſſions, of exact, ingenious, and learned Comment? rare, tranſcendent, and incomparable Anſwer, not to ſay of flatterie, but of very large Hyperbolies!

But you have made me amends for them, when in the next ſentence you handſomely call me fool under the name of the Indians: where you tell me, I look on my ſelf afar off, through a perſpective, and upon you near hand, &c. Me thinks, I cannot obtein of my ſelf to believe, that I am farther from my ſelf, than I am from you; and therefore the multiplying glaſs muſt go with the greater diſtance: But I am afraid I have turn'd the wrong end, and rather overſeen than over-valu'd your creſcent parts. To your deſire of ſeeing ſome other pieces of mine, I muſt onely anſwer, that I am very much unprovided of any, for my ſtore lies in a Chaos, as yet unformed, in mold unmelted, or unminted; but ſuch as I have will be proud of your Sight and Cenſure. And for a continuance of this literal correſpondencie, know that I cannot be ſo much an enemy to my ſelf, as not to deſire it; and with as much affection as I am

Your humble Admirer, T. F.

To M. J. H. Honeſt Jack,

THe ancient Romans, who made a Deity of every thing, yet ſacrificed not to death, becauſe from death are no Returns. For the ſame reaſon, ſhould I not write to London, and by conſequence, not to your ſelf. Trumpeters love to ſound where there is an Eccho, and I love to write whence I can hear an anſwer. Seeing once a Weaver at work, I obſerved, that by caſting his ſhuttle from one ſide to the other, he finiſh'd his web: Therein I ſaw a lively Embleme of friends correſpondencie by letters; if either fail, the web's imperfect. I make it now my imployment, that the ball ſhould not fall on my ſide. I muſt confeſs I have been from home of late, but now I am returned to that, and to my cuſtome. Letters unanſwered, like meat undigeſted, breed no ſweet breath. Well, I ſhall expect an anſwer as long as the time I have waited for one, till when I ſhall reſolve to be

Your moſt aſſured Friend, T. F.

To Mr. S. M. Sir,

OBliged by your courteſies, your command, and my duty, that ingratitude muſt be more than Herculean, that could break this three-fold tie. I have reſolved therefore now, to be rather preſumptuous, than ingrateful; that I may tender you thanks for the engagements you have laid upon me, though the very act increaſe them; and to aſſure you, that I am nothing of the nature of that beaſt, that is ſo forgetful, that though he be feeding never ſo hard and hungrily, if he caſt but back his head, forgets immediately the meat he was eating, and runs to look after new. And if my ſilence ſeems to accuſe me, believe me, Sir, it was meerly out to ſelf-conſciouſneſs of my own unworthineſs to preſent you with any thing worth the reading; yet alſo remembring, that the great Alexander would admit a return of Epiſtles between himſelf and Publius his Bit-maker. I am a little encouraged you will at leaſt pardon my poor ſcribling; if not for it ſelf, or the ſender, yet becauſe it carries thanks in the front, and they are currant coyn, and in which the pooreſt may be rich, without • ear of a Sequeſtration. That word that ham-ſtrings all induſtry, and makes men embrace the Stoical ſaying for a Maxime, Benè qui latuit, benè vixit. And truly, for my part, I think we are faln into Nero's age, in which Tacitus ſaith (Inertia, ſapientia fuit.) Sloth was a virtue. When the Ship of the Common-wealth is ſteer'd by a Tempeſt, 'tis beſt lying ſtill in the Harbour: But I intend an Epiſtle, no Satyre. I am

Sir (without a complement) your very humble ſervant T. F.

To Mr. J. A. James,

PArdon the familiarity of the Title, I uſe no complements to my friends; not do I think them my friends that uſe them to me. The Italians ſpeak out of experience, The more tongue, the leſs heart; and you know their Proverb, La penna della Lingua ſi dove tingere nel inchioſtro del cuore. I could wiſh that all the letters of friends were like Tullies, Epiſtolae Familiares; and the Polite Polititian tells me, that the greateſt ornament of all Epiſtles is to be without any. James. I love thee, I honour thee, and that ſine fuco, ſine fallaciis. I would have my letters like the Herb Perſica, which the Egyptians offer'd to their god Iſis, whoſe fruit was like an heart, and the leaf like a tongue. Hereby do I talk with thee, now abſent, and if thou wilt vouchſafe me the like, thereby ſhall I ſee thee. Pardon me, if I challenge, nay, expect your your promiſe, which if you perform not, I ſhall ſuſpect your humour ſomething of kin to that of an excellent Archer, that would rather loſe his life, than ſhew a trial of his skill. Letters are like thoſe mutual pawns the Grecians gave as Symbols of their friendſhip; like Dido's little Aeneas, to ſupply their abſence. Hereby are they preſent in England, Spain, or France, all in an inſtant, and at once. Let it not be thought a Paradox, for Love goes beyond Art. But what do I talk of love and friendſhip in this Age, wherein faſt friends are gone on pilgrimage, and their returns uncertain. But I grow tedious: 'Tis the fault of parting friends; and now, like one in that extaſie. I know not what to ſay next: whether to commend thy diligence, in outvying Ʋlyſſes, in that which the Poet ſayes made him wiſe. Whileſt I am like the ſilly Graſhopper, that lives and dies in the ſame ground: Or ſhall I fear thy danger, and with Charonidas, wonder not at thoſe that go to Sea once, but at thoſe that go again: Or ſhall I dare to aſſume the preſumption, for me, who am no Traveller, to counſel thee, that art; no, I dare not. Yet let me remember thee of the Speech of one that was; That a Traveller muſt have Eagles eyes, Aſſes ears▪ the tongue of a Merchant, a Camels feet, a Hogs mouth, and an Aſſes back. In a word, mayſt thou meaſure, thy happineſs by the Ell of thine own deſires, which ſhall not exceed the wiſhes of

T. F.

To Mr. J. H. Sir,

YOur Letter was as welcome to me, as your abſence is tedious. Complements ſuit not the reality of my intentions; but imagine all the meer complemental expreſſions of flattering Courtſhip put into truth, and all fall ſhort of my affections. To obey your command, if your patience will pardon the tediouſneſs, I will give you as brief an account as I can of my preſent eſtate. I have read, that one Philoſtratus lived ſeven yeares in his Tomb, to acquaint himſelf with Death. Truly, I have converſed above two ſeven years among the Dead, for ſo are our Authors eſteemed; and indeed, our Shops may not unfitly be reſembled to a Charnel-houſe: and there, and thus, have I gotten ſuch a familiaritie with thoſe faithful and unflattering Counſellours, that I rather choſe to lie in the valley of obſcurity, than to climb the dangerous Alps of aſpiring greatneſs, ſo long as the wind blows ſo high, and the ſtream runs ſo ſwift. Rather had I ſit ſtill (by their perſwaſion) than riſe to fall; or to fare hardly, than feed on others bread: And, me thinks, I find my ſelf very well decypher'd by the Embleme, which repreſented certain Graſhoppers, that ſuck the dew, and paſs their time ſinging, with this Motto; Di queſto mi contento, è megilio ſpero. With this I am content, and hope better, when God ſhall ſo order the tide of occaſions, and the blaſts of my friends favour, to lanch me from the poor harbour, where I now lie windbound. Thus, Sir, I hope I have made you reparation for my late ſilence, not doubting but you will make it but a Parentheſis, which ſhall break no ſence in our friendſhip: And this I ſhall eſteem a very great addition to your former Engagements; to all which, I ſhall without ſcruple Subſcribe

T. F.

To E. W. Eſquire. Sir,

COuld my meſſenger have delivered his errand in but intelligible non-ſenſe, I ſhould willingly have ſpared you this trouble: But ſince it muſt be ſo, I ſhall endeavour to make a virtue of neceſſity, and from hence take occaſion to tell you, that ſo many have been your favours, and ſo few the returns of my thanks hitherto, that they have rendred mine ingratitude as ſuperlative as your goodneſs. Though you write your courteſies in running water (to which a Forde is of very near kin) I deſire to write my thanks in marble; and had I ſo advantagious an occaſion, I would make the whole world the Witneſs of mine Obligations. To this purpoſe, I could wiſh this poor paper immortal, that my gratitude, at leaſt, might rival your bounty. But, Sir, you have endeavoured to make me live and die in your debt, which I ſhall rather reſolve to ſuffer, than to ſlander your nobleneſs with a thought of my ſlender requital. Now, Sir, if you pleaſe to honour me with the additional courteſie of your Cambden, you ſhall hereby infinitely add (if they ſurmount not that piece of Arithmetick already) to your former favours and my engagements. And may this ſerve for my Surety, that I will keep it carefully, uſe it warily, and return it ſpeedily. Thus, Sir, kiſſing the hands of your fair Venus, and her three Graces, I humbly take my leave, who am proud to wear the livery of

Sir, your and their moſt obliged Servant, T. F.

To Mr. E. H. Sir,

HAving armed my ſelf cap à pe, with patience to receive as you promiſed, your moſt rigid cenſure, I finde, in ſtead of arms, you encounter me with flowers, and, like Paris, make me ſtoop to your golden ball. Nor do I leſs wonder at it, than the poor Norvegian did, the firſt time he ſaw roſes, who durſt not touch them for fear of burning his fingers, being much amazed to ſee (as he ſuppoſed) trees to bear • ire. With little leſs wonder, do I behold your learned lines, nor with leſs amazement, to ſee flames of love, and ſtreams of eloquence ſo Homogenial.

To your Letter, I ſhall return nothing, but onely tell you, that what I underſtand is excellent, and ſo I believe, and admire the reſt. Your Allegory of the Cook is neatly dreſs'd, but except you be pleaſed to tinde one of his lights, I ſhall fear to remain in darkneſs, and diſcover no farther than his ſuperficies. The cenſures of thoſe blind-minded Jewes you ſpeak of, I ſhall account my greateſt commendations: Like Crates the Philoſopher, who, having received a blow on the face by one Nicodromus, a man full of baſe condition (and as baſe conditions) was contented, for revenge, to ſet theſe words on his wound, Nicodromus faciebat. To thoſe large Encomiaſticks you beſtow on my poor Pamphlets, I ſhall onely ſay I am ſorry they had no fitter ſubjects; yet am I glad I was ſo happy to afford you any ground for your nimble fancy to work on, and ſhall here promiſe you, that if you pleaſe to continue this literal commerce, you ſhall not want a whetſtone to ſharpen your ſythe, as you are pleaſed to deſire; and this property I may have (like the whetſtone) though blunt my ſelf to ſharpen another. Nor need you fear that you can uſe too much ingenuity to me; for I am no whit affected with the hereſie of the Times, which count learning and wit (as you ſay) the ſcum of the bottomleſs pit; but know how to honour it as much as I want it. In a word, Sir, I thank you for your Letter, more for your Verſes, but moſt that you pleaſe to ſtyle me

Sir, your very Friend, T. F.

To Mr. R. R. Sir,

I Return you your New-Forreſt, with as many thanks as it merits, and that's infinite; which ſubmiſſion to your better judgment (from which I would no ſooner diſſent, than from truth it ſelf) I conceive this not at all behind the firſt part, but in time; it appearing to me of as fine a thred, and no leſs curious workmanſhip. Happily the others, being chequer'd with forreign flowers, may render it more delectable. But why ſhould we think a forreign garden of flowers, and perhaps ſome weeds, better than an Engliſh Forreſt? Well may it be more ſightly, but, I'm ſure, 'tis not ſo ſerviceable. Scarce can I hold my pen from glutting in his praiſes, who is far above it's higheſt flight, did not the Italian proverb check me, and tell me truly, La Lode naſcer deve, quando è morto chi ſi ha da Lodar: That praiſes ſhould not be born, till the praiſed be dead. I will therefore content my ſeff to ſay, that I hope ſuch pleaſant groves are not ſuperſtitious; and could wiſh, that the whole Kingdome were ſo turned to a Forreſt, and the Author the Ranger General.

That's body might not be confin'd, Who's a free Monarch in his mind; One who with's Majeſtick Pen, May give the Law to other men.

Sir, I have ſent you a Clavis to it, not that I think you need any, but that, if you invite any friend to thoſe pleaſant walks, they may have an entry of underſtanding, without picking the lock by a falſe conſtruction. It was done at a heat, and I have not time to file it over, but ſuch as it is, 'tis yours. If you pleaſe to ſend me the laſt Edition of the Kings learned pieces, I ſhall keep it carefully, return it ſpeedily, and remain continually

Sir, yours to command, T. F.

To Mr. W. L. Sir,

I Muſt eſteem it an happineſſe to hear of you, though I cannot hear from you: and that I heard nothing of your ſickneſs, till I heard alſo of your recovery; ſo that now to tell you I am ſad or ſorrowful for your ſickneſſe, were as prepoſterous, as to grieve for your death after your reſurrection, or to bid you good-night in the morning when you are riſen. But like the trembling needle between two equally attractive Loadſtones, ſo am I between the two different paſſions of joy and ſorrow: Joy for a friends recovery, and ſorrow for a friends reſtraint. Not to be joyful for your recovery, were to envy a publick good, and I might juſtly be accuſed for an enemy to the State, in not rejoycing at a happineſſe ſo common, that deſerves a day of Publick Thankſgiving. Then, not to be affected with the ſorrows and ſufferings of a friend, and ſuch a friend as E. B. were as great a crime as his whom the Romans condemned to death, For wearing a Crown of Roſes in a time of common calamity. I long to hear how our honeſt friend ſtands, ſince the High Court ſits; which if I do not now from thee, I ſhall think, that whilſt thy body ſuffer'd under the fire of a Feaver, thy friendſhip was ſick of an Ague; that though the Dog-ſtar reigned in thy blood, thy affections laboured under Capricorn. But, ſince thy ſickneſs is in it's Declenſion, I ſhall expect thy friendſhip to be again Aſcendant, that before did Culminate. And for my part, think not that thirty miles diſtance, cold raines, or your ſilence, can make me forget you, or that I am

As much as ever Sir, your Friend, T. F.

To Mr. J. H. Sir,

HAving hitherto waited with ſilence, to hear of your receit of my Letter, and finding none, makes me fearful that it miſcarried in the delivery; and I am not ignorant, or inſenſible of the many abortives of the Carriers Midwifery. But I hope your candor is ſufficient to diſpel all clouds of ſuſpition that might ſeem to ecclipſe my realitie, or to think that I am ſo much foe to my ſelf, as not to deſire, or at leaſt not to endeavour the gainful commerce of your letters. I am not ignorant that all kind of Learning hath been wrapt up in Letters: And I aſſure you, Sir, I ſhall, in the enjoyment of yours, think my ſelf little leſs honoured, than I do Lucillius by Seneca's. Nor ſhall I be a little proud, that I may be any wayes (though but occaſionally) inſtrumental to you, to exerciſe your excellencie in this way: Neither do I altogether doubt of the pardon of my rude ſcribling, becauſe I am

Sir (without Complement) your very humble Servant, T. F.

To Mr. E. H. Sir,

THough I have paid the Principal, in returning your books, I am ſtill indebted for the Intereſt you were pleaſed to lay on them, in giving you my account of them. For your Cauſſin, I return you thanks, in ſtead of cenſures, wiſhing that he were now alive, that our late Tragedies might be acted over again by his highflying quill, and be thereby committed to incredulous poſteritie. The Novum Lumen Chymicum, I underſtand, is lately Tranſlated; and indeed it were a wonder, if there were any New Lights, that we ſhould not have in Engliſh in theſe Times. But, becauſe you told me you lent me that onely to laugh at, I ſhall only tell you, it no whit failed your intention, or my expectation. Now for your Vaughan, be pleaſed to take notice, that he is ſince anſwered by one Moore learned and better famed than He; and therefore I ſhall let that Anſwer be mine: Yet withal, that I ſerve ſuch Books as the good Biſhop ſerv'd Perſius, when he threw him on the ground with a Si no • vis intelligi, debes negligi. Thus, as the Hollanders ſometime made money of paſt-board, I make my payment in Paper, and in this coyn I ſhall pay you liberally for your Arithmetick. Believe me, Sir, 'tis Homers Iliads in a Nut-ſhell, and ſo handſomely compacted, that the doggedeſt Critick cannot faſten on it; onely let me tell you, it is deficient in one thing, and that is, that it is not able to help me to number the Engagements you have lain upon

Sir, your unmeriting Friend, T. F.

To Mr. R. R. Sir,

HE's a bad debtor that payes by halfs; but he's a worſe that never payes. That I may not be guilty of that ſuperlative ingratitude, I have ſent you two Books of your three. And for Bacon, I pray think it not long, if I ſhould keep it till Lent; for I mean, to all his Experiments, to add one more of your friendſhip. If you expect an account of your I ••• B •• : know, it is far above my cenſure, as my praiſe; I go to that, as to my Bible, yet ſomething in Allegiance. Certainly, that Portraiture was drawn by a Divine hand, and wrote with a pen pull'd from ſome Angels wing. If there be one that wrote by divine inſpiration ſince the Apoſtles times, 'twas He, when He pen'd thoſe Meditations. Henceforth his Pen ſhall be his Scepter, His Book his Throne, and the whole World his Empire: There ſhall he live and reign, and be as immortal, as ſome of his enemies malice.

Take a more particular account of your Balzack thus: I undertook the reading of him, rather for penance, than profit; but having read him once, that induced me to read him again, and the ſecond time drew on a third, and the third a fourth; and now I ſend it you home, leſt if I ſhould keep it a little longer, I ſhould tranſcribe the whole Book. A better Character cannot be given of him, than he gives of himſelf, take it therefore in his own words, That his Writings ſmell more of musk and amber, than of oil and ſweat. But to ſave time, I have ſent you a Pamphlet, that may ſerve as a foyl to ſet off Balzack the better: Wherein expect neither Cicero nor Seneca; neither Howel nor Balzack; neither Learning nor Language; nor any Letters beginning with the ambitious title of My Lord, or Madam, they are more proud of the name of Friend, and, carrying that ſtamp, they preſume to be currant, though they be but braſs. Not that I intend to make my private Letters publique, but onely to advance a communitie in friendſhip, and to fulfil a command of yours in a letter (in that particular) yet unanſwered, of ſeeing ſome pieces of mine. And truly, theſe are no other than pieces; yet, as in the ſeveral pieces of a broken Looking-glaſs, you ſhall in every one ſee the perfect reflection of

Sir, yours in all Offices of Friendſhip, T. F.

To Mr. E. B. Honeſt Ned,

RAther had I accuſe the Carrier with negligence, than thee with forgetfulneſſe: Nor can I think the requeſting of a friendly courteſie, could ſcare thee into an unfriendly ſilence. Sure ye are all ſtruck dumb at London, or your ink, if not your affections, is frozen. The ſerious thought of which, hath made me almoſt believe, that the name of friend is but the fabulous birth of ſome Philoſophical Poets, or Poetical Philoſophers, and fitted for Sir Thomas Moore's Ʋtopia, or Plato's Common-wealth; not for an Iron Age, or the dregs of Time. If thou art ſilent becauſe thou haſt no Newes to write, write that thou haſt none: However, let the world ſee there is one dares call himſelf a friend, though in ſuch an Age as this. And believe it, that the all-ſelf-devouring teeth of time ſhall never eradicate the name of B. from out the heart of him, whoſe onely pride is to tell the world who is

Ned, thine inſeparable Friend, T. F. Poſtſcript.

You may, if you pleaſe, communicate this to all thoſe that call themſelves my friends, and tell them, that till I hear the contrary, I ſhall ſuppoſe their practice of ſilence intended for my pattern.

Vale.

To Mr. W. L. Will.

NOr will I accuſe your ſilence, nor excuſe my own; 'tis ſufficient I have broken the Ice, and adventured to tell thee, 'tis poſſible to be a friend, and ſilent; nor do I deſpair to hear the ſame from you: In confidence of which, I ſay no more now, but tell you, I expect it. To your Father thus much. Concerning the re-printing of my Characters, and augmenting them, I have had ſome ſerious thoughts, and the reſult is this. I find them, upon peruſal, not ſuitable to the preſent State, being Calculated for the Meridian of a Kingdome, not a Commonwealth, they are now like old Almanacks out of date. And to go to them with the Arithmetick of Addition and Subſtraction, with the Penſil and the Spunge, were to make my ſelf guilty of what I there condemn. Beſides, they were then my reſolved (and not yet retracted) thoughts: So that I hold it not ſafe for you to print, or me to enlarge them, nor this, farther than to tell thee, I long to hear from thee, and of our deareſt Ned. I have a Letter hath been deſigned for him a long time, did I but hope there were a creviſe in his cloſe priſon, that I might peep through to aſſure him that I am his (as thine)

Still conſtant Friend, T. F.

To Mr. E. H. Sir,

YOur laſt Letter I met on the way, as drawn thither perhaps by Sympathy, like the Magnetick ſteel, to meet her loved Loadſtone▪ I know love and friendſhip work miracles, and act in Paradoxes: It makes the enjoyers thereof flame without conſuming, preſent and diſtant (if that word may be admitted in friendſhip) all at once. By this I ſee my friend, when inviſible, and hear him, though ſilent. Like the Philoſophers Stone, of which the Chymiſts ſo much boaſt, Contraria operatur, ſed ſemper in beneficium naturae. This is (if any thing) the true Sympathetick powder, that works truer, and at a greater diſtance, than weapon-ſalve. Willingly could I loſe my ſelf in this pleaſing Maeander; but I will rather commend the Theory to your more active Pen, and reſolve to act the practick part my ſelf. For your Verſes, I will rather remain in your debt, than pay you with bad coyn. I aſſure you Sir,

I have no vein in verſe; but if I could, Incloſe each word a Mine, believe't I would: I onely Court her that drops▪ Elegies, Whilſt others Muſesſing, mine onely cries.

Yet ſhall I not refuſe what your injunction ſhall lay upon me, becauſe I am

As really your Friend, T. F.

To Mr. T. P. Sir,

FOr me to attempt an Anſwer to your Letter, were to venture at the flights of an Eagle, with a Sparrows wing. The Italians tell me in a Proverb, The higher the Ape climbs, the more he ſhews his nakedneſs. And truly, ſhould I endeavour to reach the pitch you have ſet me for a pattern, I ſhould rather imitate Icarus in his fall, than you in your flight. It is enough for me to admire and applaud the happineſs of your undertakings, that can at once captive Apollo and the Muſes, and make the Triumphs of former Ages, the Trophies of your Pen's victories. Where you profeſs your ſelf Davus, I muſt confeſs my ſelf no Oedipus: Giving you therefore the libertie the Civil Law allows (and I ſhould be uncivil if I ſhould not) to interpret your own words, I will gueſſe at your meaning, and return you, not onely an Anſwer to your Riddle, but the reaſon of it. Sir, if my leſſe comprehenſive Genius deceive me not, you like not Latine lace to an Engliſh ſuit; and herein you have light upon an humour, that I have long ſince retracted, and eſteem now as too pedantical. But you may perceive they ſavour of the ferula, and imagine my then regnant humour; like young ſtomacks, that like raw fruit, better than reaſted food: Yet muſt I farther confeſs, I have been ſo conſcious of mine own inabilities, and ſo confident of the Ancients worth, that I have preferred to uſe their more refined lines, than my unfiled language: So that I diſcover in my ſelf the fancie of the Painters boy, who thinking to ſupply the defect of his skill, by the richneſs of his colours, had loaden Venus picture with gold and ſilver, in ſtead of native beauty: For which he met with this cenſure from his Maſter, that he had made her rich, whom he could not make fair. So have I embroidered my courſer cloth with others ends of gold and ſilver. It onely remains that I tell you, that I cannot tell you how much you have won me by that one act of dealing freely with me; and to aſſure you, that you could not have ſtudied a way to oblige me more. And that you may believe my realitie herein, be pleaſed to inform me of the Author of your Utinam neſcire Literas; and if it prove the ſpeecch of that Negro-black Tyrant, you ſhall find my ſubmiſſion as humble, as your conqueſt noble. If you think the Frontiſpiece diſcrepant to the following leaves, I ſhall conform the printed Title to the written Book, not the written Book to the printed Title▪ For I reſolve not to change their name, nor alter their propertie of Familiar Letters, for my private friends. But I hinder you too long, from what I onely intended, to acknowledge my ſelf

Sir, your conquer'd Servant, T. F.

To Mr. T. P. Sir,

THat that poor grain of mine hath produced me ſo ſudden, and yet ſo large a return, argues the fruitfulneſſe of the Soyl wherein 'twas caſt, not the goodneſſe of the ſeed, or of the Sowers leſs skilful hand. Hereafter ſhall I believe, what before I took for a fable, That there is ſome ground ſo fruitful, that the husbandman reaps at night, what he ſowed in the morning. Your Chriſtning my fancie with the name of a Thruſh, might very well teach me the modeſtie of that volatile, who is ſaid to be ſilent, whileſt the Nightingale (chief Chaunter of the aiery quire) produceth her more clear and tuneful note, did I not hope by my plain Song to gain your more artificial deſcant. Your proclaming my attempt rather Pheatontick than Icarian, is no more (pardon the boldneſſe of my ignorance) than for a man to be killed with a ſilver ſword, rather than an iron dagger, the only preheminence being in this, that he periſhed like the other, but with this addition of honour (if it be ſo) of falling under the burthen of more bold attempts. Where before I but confeſs'd, I now profeſs my ſelf no Oedipus, nor made I any riddles, but gueſs'd onely at the meaning of yours, and therefore am not apprehenſive of your Analogie of the Cobler (whom I leave to maintein his more ambitious title of a Tranſlator) unleſſe you intended your picture of your friend, like Horace's monſter, which begins with a fair womans face, and ends in a foul fiſhes tail at laſt. But it was your Phaetons fate, to meet with ſo dangerous a fall, from the Chariot of the Sun to a Shop-window. Nor need we any Sphin • , to unriddle this repugnancie in terms, whoſe part it was to make them. At what words of mine you admire, I know not, 'tis my endeavour to avoid that Seleciſme Auguſtus found fault with in M. Antony, of writing ſuch things as men ſhould rather wonder at, than underſtand. I applaud the happineſs of your Genius, who can coyn words with your own ſtamp; onely I ſuppoſe, that of unoepodize, would be no whit leſſe currant, were it ſhorter by the firſt ſyllable. Of that Socratick vice you ſpeak of, I have not ſo much in me, as to defend it: Far be it from me, to adopt the quarrel of thoſe great Clerks; it is enough for me, if I may boaſt my ſelf their, and Learnings unworthieſt ſervant. To your confirmation of Nero's Ʋtinam, I now yield my full belief, and ſhould do ſo, you affirming it, though all Hiſtorians denied it, and withal, my promiſed ſubmiſſion: Only give me leave to cleave the hair, and tell you, that it was the ſpeech of Nero, though not then a barbarous tyrant, having then but newly entred his Quinquennium, ſo much by all extoll'd, whileſt reteining his Maſter Seneca's more than Philoſophical inſtructions. And ſo I leave him, when I have told you, I ſhall accept thoſe unmerited Encomiums you impoſe upon me (with that then good Emperors ſpeech to the Senate giving him thanks) Cum meruero. Sir, I do, and ſhall (I think) perſiſt in confining thoſe poor papers from the eye of the world, not daring to let them goe abroad in this ſuper-fine Age, in ſo homely a dreſs; nor herein can I apprehend my ſelf guilty of that 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 , you Propheſie me guiltie of, unleſs it be, in that I have anſwered your letter before I had returned you the due thanks & praiſes the worth of that would juſtly exact from the moſt ſullen ingratitude. Believe me, Sir, you are Maſter of an Imperial pen, and would you once break through the veil of derogating ſilence, your beams would be ſufficient to create a day, even in the nightie Chaos of my duller intellect, to caſt a cloud upon all former names, and be night poſteritie. But I ſhall rather chuſe an admiring ſilence, than an undervaluing commendation, becauſe I deſire to make good to a tittle the title of

Sir, your faithful Servant, and not unfaithful friend, T. F.

To Mr. T. L. Sir,

THat you may ſee how willing I am to comply with every occaſion that may put me in a capacitie of ſerving you, I ſhall now anſwer your command, with my opinion of Speed, and his Hiſtory. For the Hiſtory, it is a work of deſerved commendations, and without any exception. For the Author, I cannot ſo well aſſure you; but if Speed be not too much wronged in the relation, he was but the Journeyman-Taylor in the buſineſs: It was (ſay ſome) cut out by abler workmen, he onely made it up, and in that hath merited the commendations of a very good workman, beſides what we are indebted to him for the faſhion, the lining, facing, and preſſing; but for the laſt, I believe we are more beholden to the Printers preſs, than to his gooſe. This preſents me with a fair occaſion of preſenting you with a Copie of Verſes, not unworthy your reading, upon Speeds Chronicle, ſent from a Son to his Father.

God be my Speed, ſo I began, 'tis true, And now 'tis time to wiſh a Speed to you: Then briefly thus, as long as life endures, God be my Speed, and let my Speed be yours. If great books be great evils, loe a ſhift, To turn this Speed into a leſſer gift.

Take but ſome vowels out, and then 'twill be but an Epiſtles Preface, S. P. D.

Excuſe me, for once, if I make it the Epilogue, and with it conclude my ſelf

Sir, your real, though remote Friend, T. F.

To Mr. C. F. Sir, Parvus amor loquitur, ingens ſtupet.

WOuld you meaſure my love by my ſilence, you could not pronounce it ſhort. Oft hath my pen been on the paper to write to you, and as oft been taken off, with a conſideration of the rudeneſs of my ruſtick ſcribling, which is now worn into ſuch an habit, that you will willingly retract whatever ſuſpition you have formerly had of any ingenuity in me. However, leſt a continued ſilence ſhould caſt me in (and out of) your affection I am reſolved to ſay ſomething, though it be but to confeſs my ſelf guilty of that moſt unpardonable offence in friendſhip, Ingratitude. Yet am I not without ſome excuſes, which would be ready to plead in my behalf, did I not rather wiſh to receive a new life, of happineſs by your pronouncing my pardon. I am your priſoner, deal with me as you pleaſe, onely grant me my liberty, without which, I cannot make good, as I deſire, the title of

Sir, your though rude, yet real Friend and Servant, T. F.

To Mr. D. P. Sir,

PReſuming your goodneſs will pardon the rudeneſs of the addreſs, I have ſent a brace of Pamphlets to kiſs your hands. Being conſcient to themſelves of their own unworthineſſe, like trewant Scholars, they durſt not appear without an Apologie; neither ſhould they, or this, but that I know you daily meet with ſuch Exerciſes of your patience, and that I know you have indulgent charitie enough to cover the faults of thoſe you love. Pleaſe you to ſuſpend your ſeverer thoughts, and to make a ſmall truce with your nobler employments, I ſhall humbly beg their pardon in a very few words. That they came no ſooner, was out of neceſſity; that I ſhall crave you will vouchſafe to indulge; that they come now, is out of duty, and that I ſhall promiſe my ſelf, you will deign to accept. Sir, I hate to be officiouſly injurious to my friends▪ and therefore I will not increaſe my fault▪ in excuſing theirs: only let me impetrate one thing more, which, I conceive, will deceive your expectation. It is not that you will correct their faults, that the world knows you can do; nor that you will forgive them, that your wonted candor flatters me you will doe; but, that having atteined your hands (which are the bounds of their ambition) they believe they have obteined their end, and they deſire not to out-live that happineſſe; but that you will condeſcend, as I have made them an offering, to make them a ſacrifice, be you the Prieſt, your harth the Altar, and their Urne; and beſides the courteſie you ſhall do your ſelf, in ſaving the reading of ſuch nugacities, you ſhall thereby anſwer their deſert, and my deſire, who am ſo far from craving their reprieve, I would my ſelf be the haſtener of their puniſhment. Here would I ceaſe, but I am loth to leſſen the noble office of your mercie; by what impulſe of ſpirit I know not, but ſuch is the tendencie of my deſires, to expreſſe the realitie of their profeſſions to your ſervice, that to ſay I love you, is beneath the ardor of my affection: I am ready to profeſſe, with that old Roman, who proclamed, he was not onely in love with Cato, but inchanted with him. Onely here is the defect, that, as the Italians ſay, He that paints the flower, cannot paint the ſmell: So, in profeſſing my ſervice to you, I cannot diſcover the realitie farther than you will pleaſe to give me credit, and believe that I am

Sir, your moſt real Friend, and Servant, T. F.

To Mr. T. J. Sir,

WHat in Superiors is counted gift and bounty, in Inferiors amounts to no more than homage and gratitude: And well it is, if, in ſtead of abating, it increaſe not the audit of their Obligations. Such is the nature of the preſent; and though it pretend not to acquit the leaſt part of that debt your civilitie hath involved me in, yet ſhall I hope it may arrive at the tender of a grateful acknowledgment; and I wiſh my thanks may prove but as large, as you were liberal. Think it not ſtrange that I have been thus long ſilent, nor account me an unclean beak, if I ſtill chew the chud in a thankful remembrance. Sir, the noble entertainment you vouchſafed to me, a ſtranger hath cheriſhed the incloſed pamphlets into a confidence, that you will deign them not onely a favourable acceptance, but that your goodneſſe will alſo grant them the benefit of the late Act of Pardon, without which, they will ſeem as much ſtrangers to our Common-wealth, as their Author was to your ſelf, who ſhould now too much wrong your noble nature, if he ſhould not profeſſe himſelf,

Sir, your moſt indebted Servant, T. F.

To Mr. C. A. Sir,

I Being of late arreſted at the ſuit of ſome importunate occaſions, which would willingly be called neceſſary, I have been ſo much their priſoner, that till I had ſatisfied the utmoſt minute, I was ſo far from a poſſibilitie of being your ſervant, that I was not my own Maſter. Now muſt I compound with you, and intreat, that if my ſo long ſilence deſerve not to be anſwered with a repeated act of that dormant pardon you long ſince pleaſed to grant me, yet, that you will at leaſt, accept of this as Intereſt, till opportunitie ſhall enable me to diſcharge the whole. I ſhall now begin to turn the weekly hour-glaſſe of our Commerce, and hereafter meaſure my life by my letters: For, though I have intermitted my conſtant courſe▪ you are in no more likelyhood to be rid of this trouble, than you have hopes of loſing your Ague by the alteration of the fits. If friendſhip be the incorporating of two bodies, by an union of ſouls making but one of two: Me thinks, this conſtant correſpondence fitly anſwers to that deſervedly applauded notion of the Circulation of the Blood. It ſhall be my care, that no ſtop be made on my ſide, that we may preſerve the life of our Friendſhip, during the life of

Sir, your Servant, T. F.

To Mr. T. P. Sir,

BEſides the natural Antipathy of my Genius to Controverſies, I have been of late ſo divorced from my ſelf and my own thoughts▪ by the motion of an higher wheel than my own occaſions, that I am altogether diſcouraged to give you any account of this piece, upon ſo tranſient a view, that I fear I ſhall give you as ill an account of it, as he did of Venice to King James, that told him, He knew nothing of it, for he rode poſt through it: Yet, to ſatisfie your command, againſt all theſe diſcouragements, I ſhall adventure a few haſty lines to your more ſetled judgment. Sir, did not the Authors worth out-poize thoſe petty exceptions that might be taken in advantage, as the ſcarce ſenſe of the title, and ſome other inconſiderate expreſſions in the whole, that ſeem to claſh one againſt another, I ſhall onely commend to your conſideration theſe few thoughts. The Proverb is common (wherein wit and experience club, to ſay much in a little) That marriages are made on Earth, but matches are made in Heaven. I am eaſily induced to believe, that the omniſcient providence, which deſcends to take care of the falling of a ſparrow, and the number of our hairs, ſhould much more take care of that grand Climacterical Action of a mans life, the reſtoraration of his loſt rib: I ſhall therefore not fear to affirm, that a man hits not upon his mate by chance or caſualty, but by the undeclinable • ate of Gods prae-determination: And having laid down this for a ground, I ſhall adventure this Superſtructure, that it is not in the power of a man to diſ-joyn himſelf from the companion which providence hath joyned him to, in ſo indiſſoluble a link of amitie, that one member is not more truly a part of a mans body than his Wife; and therefore he ought rather to undergoe with patience what God hath ordained him, perhaps for other reaſons than he can underſtand, than to forgoe it with wilfulneſſe. I remember it was the reſolution of a compleat man, That he took the untowardneſs of his wife as a School of patience. Yet, to purſue the Allegory, though I would not have a man to cut off a limb for a curable diſeaſe, yet if it out-face art and nature in a remedy, then Enſe reſcidendumeſt. And having done ſo, I cannot ſuppoſe it lawful (though I ſhould grant all his aſſertions for indiſputable truth) that ſuch a man ſhould admit another member, like a wooden leg; and, if I miſtake not (to help him a little) the weight of our Saviours argument, lies in the laſt clauſe, that whoſoever puts away his wife for other cauſe than adultery, commits fornication, If he marry another. To come as near therefore as I can, to comply with your Author, I ſhall lay down this Poſition, that it is altogether unlawful for a man or wife to divorce, If both parties be not equally agreeing to it, and if either of them marry again. And to this I ſhall add this inconvenience, that being parted, they muſt not expect that the Devil, who is the Father and Factor of diviſions, will be leſs active in ſo wide a breach, that is ſo ready to widen the leaſt cranny of diſcontent into his advantage: He that will creep in when the doors are ſhut, ſhall we imagine him to be leſſe willing to enter when they are wide open? This farther, I muſt confeſs, there are ſome natures ſo Hetrogenious, that the ſtreighteſt, and moſt gordion knot of Wedlock is not able to twiſt, of which the Epigrammatiſt ſpeaks my mind better than I can my ſelf:

Non amo te Sabide, nec poſſum dicere quare, Ho • tantum poſſum dicere, non amo te.

Take the Engliſh, is the words of a Gentleman to his wife.

I love thee not Nel, But why, I can't tell: But this I can tell, I love thee not Nel.

So that I muſt confeſſe I cannot but afford them my pitie, that are thus joyned in you know whoſe phraſe, like a Spread-Eagle, with one body▪ but two heads: But whether this diviſion ought to make a Divorce, I had rather ſubſcribe to your judgment than tell you my own, who am

Sir, wholly at your diſpoſe, T. F.

To Dr. S. Sir,

NOt to confeſs your favours, were a ſullenneſs beyond the ſin of ingratitude; they were too late to be forgotten, and too large to be requited▪ Civilities, that might very well conſtitute a Turkiſh Paradiſe: A debt beyond my meanneſſe to diſcharge, ſo that you have paid me before-hand for all the ſervices I ſhall ever be able to do you: And it ſhall be my endeavour, that my performances of your commands, may be as ſwift as Lightning; or the flights of that Bird, which is happy to make his neſt in your Arms. My thanks will bear the better weight (for they are too light of themſelves) if you pleaſe to tender them to Mr. L. whom it were a Soleciſme to put laſt: To your ſelf varyed, and your ſelf multiplied: And give me leave to kiſſe your hands, as I give you mine, that I am

Sir, your much obliged Servant, T. F.

To Mr. C. A. Sir,

IT was once my miſerie, and your good fortune, that I have had, of late, no leiſure to diſcharge my weekly tribute, which indeed amounts to no more, upon your audit, than the product of a conſtant trouble. Aſſure your ſelf, I take no pleaſure in being my own enemie: For how many rare fi • h might my courſe bait happily have taken! But truly, I have been ſo crampt, or rather crippled with ſome not unneceſſary diverſions, that my pen hath been forced to wander from the direct road of your ſervice. Now, having retrived an opportunitie of in happying my ſelf, by this literal exchange, I ſhall take leave to tell you, that I will not forgive my ſelf, till you pronounce my pardon. And I cannot but indulge my hopes, with confidence that you will once more exerciſe that noble virtue, from the many repeated acts of which goodneſſe, I am apt to plead pr • ſcription. Though, having dealt ſo unworthily with you, I am ſomething ſuſpitious you will retract that title of worth, your friendſhip hath formerly faſtned on my unworthineſs, and no longer vote thoſe lines for jewels, which in the midſt of Summer, preſent you with conceits as cold as ice, or our modern charity. However, in obedience to the Sovereignty of your Judgment' I ſhall reſolve to eſtimate my ſelf by your valuation of me, and make your opinion the Standard, whereby to meaſure my abilities to your Service. And, as we meaſure our hours by minutes, and thoſe by the minuter attoms of ſand, may my ſeveral Letters but run into Syllables, by which together you may read me (though imperfectly)

Sir, your very faithful Servant, T. F.

To Mr. C. F. Sir,

PArdon the baſhfulneſſe of my Pen, that hath been hardly drawn to the preſumption of endeavouring an anſwer to your ingenious lines. Had my fancie been better, or yours worſe, you had long before this time received an Anſwer. But ſuch is the unequal fate of the greateſt merits, that they alwayes meet with the leaſt returns; ſtupendious worth exacting from our ſurprized ſenſes, but admiration (at beſt) in ſtead of praiſe; and admiration is never ſo well dreſs'd, as when 'tis cloathed in ſilence. Sorry I am that you ſhould waſte your ſo great reſpects upon one that deſerves ſo little, and that hath nothing to return you, but the proteſts of a moſt real affection. The Gentleman you ſpeak of, I have not yet ſeen, nor heard of, but in your relation: Whenever he comes, aſſure your ſelf he ſhall be as welcome as his own worth and your commends can render him: But he ſhall pardon me, if I wiſh rather it had been your ſelf. It is an Age, me thinks, ſince I enjoyed you, and I grow old in my unhappineſſe: 'Tis in your power to create a Spring in my ſoul, and to make thoſe faculties live again, that have hitherto been buried in a ſilent grave of negligence. One li • e of yours will be ſtrong enough to draw me from that depth of dulneſſe into which ſome late melancholly thoughts have thrown me, though it were as profound as the pit wherein Truth lieth hidden. The fire that ſhines in your expreſſions is onely able to call forth that quondam ingenuitie you accuſe me of: If ever I enjoyed any ſuch thing, 'twas when I enjoyed you; and that left me, when I left London: Like inſects in Winter, retired to their firſt nothing, as reſolving to enjoy no life, in the abſence of the Sun their Father. Since I cannot encircle you in perſon, let me embrace your picture, and let your pen ſupply the ſilence of your tongue. If you will ſometimes vouchſafe me this happineſs, I ſhall quit ſcores with my wiſhes, and reſolve to be no happier in this unhappy Age. Thus, becauſe you have expected it long, I have at length returned you a long Letter, to aſſure you that I am, and moſt ſincerely

Sir, your Friend and Servant, T. F.

To Mr. C. A. Sir,

THis Letter muſt begin, where yours ended' becauſe, what you commend to me as an object of my pitie, hath been the ſubject of my thoughts; for it is impoſſible my friends ſhould ſuffer any loſs, and my ſelf not be ſenſible of, and ſorrowful for it. If the ſtream of your grief may be ſubſtracted by diviſion, I refuſe not, and that willingly, to take my part, that yours may be the leſs. The cauſe that challengeth our grief (for now 'tis mine as well as yours) ſpeaks it ſelf in the loſs of a Friend, of a Mother. To begin with that ends all, Death, me thinks, I can find as little cauſe to lament, as to wonder at it, it being ſo general a neceſſitie, that none ever did, or ever ſhall avoid it. We were born to live, and live to die. It is the onely thing we can here expect, without a fortaſſ • , the onely certainty of which we cannot be deprived. Epictetus wondred no more to ſee a mortal man dead, than to ſee an earthen pitcher broken. And as wiſe a Philoſopher as the former, entertained the newes of his Sons deaths, with no more but a Scivi eos mortales eſſe natos: As being a greater wonder that they ſhould have ſo long, than that they died ſo ſoon. Why ſhould we wonder, or grieve, to ſee one goe before us, the ſame way that we our ſelves muſt follow. Vale, vale, nos t • ſequemur, was the ſolemn leave the Ancients took of their deceaſed friends; and, if we believe the Grammarians, from thence we call a Funeral Exequiae, the ſame being noted not without a ſilent leſſon in our common cuſtome, of the Coarſe's going before, and the attendants following after. It is Seneca's obſervation, Nature hath ordained that to be common, which we account ſo heavy, that the cruelty of the fate may be leſſened by the equality. But 'tis the death of a Mother, and here nature and affection will put in a plea, and plead preſcription for our grief; yet may we entertain our fortune with dry eys. We know ſhe was mortal, and ſo liable to the common • ate; a mother, and ſo by the order of nature to goe before her children: She was before them, that they might be after her. It was thought ominous among the Jewes, and not without the re-mark of a puniſhment, for the Father to burie the Son, as if it were an inverſion of the courſe of nature, and not to be ſeen without a Prodigie. But I remember what the Schools teach: That an Angel of an inferiour, cannot enlighten a ſuperiour Hierarchy: Yet I preſume you will excuſe the raſhneſs of the attempt, ſince it proceeds from the affection of one devoted to be in all relations

Sir, your ready ſervant, T. F.

To Mr. C. A. Sir,

THat a diſcourſe of death from a ſick perſon, and firm arguments from an infirm and ſhaking brain, ſhould have the good hap to rout, or, at leaſt, to prevent the triumph of your ſorrows, was certainly to be aſcribed to the benevolent Planet that co-operated in their production; or rather, to your own more favourable Aſpect. I ſhall not purſue a flying enemy, nor torture that argument to a martyrdome, that is already a willing Confeſſor. Your quoted Author hath expreſſed himſelf Fuller, than the ſmalneſs of my reſerve pretends to. That the death of one, breaks anothers heart, is not ſafe to contradict, ſince it hath obteined the general vote of a Proverb. But I ſhall humbly adventure to lay the Scene at a greater diſtance, and date it from that Golden Age▪ when hearts were ſo entwined, they could not part without breaking, when that Gordian knot of amitie was not to be united, till it were cut by the Sythe of him that out-conquers Alexanders ſword. Were it not to upbraid the preſent Age by the compariſon, I could willingly venture at a Character or Encomium of that venerable Friendſhip, the Imitation of former, and Deſpiar of later Ages. But I ſhall do the ſubject more right to commend it to your more commanding Pen, and ſtudy always to make good the preciſe value you are pleaſed to put upon

Sir, the meaneſt of your ſervants, T. F.

To Mr. D. P. Sir,

WHether this ſhould be an Apologie for my former, perhaps too frequent viſits, or my later, as uncivil forbearance, I know not, ſince both have been equally liable to the piquant cenſures of detracting tongues; and in ſo loud an accent, that I queſtion not but they have long ſince arrived your eares. It is not my intention to make this paper guilty, by relating thoſe ſtories which would be tedious for me to write, and troubleſome for you to read. Had they been vented with as much innocence as falſhood▪ I could have looked upon them as ſome pretty Romances, and at once both laugh'd at the Relation, and pitied the Relator. But finding them ſo loaded with the over-weight of ſcandal, as well as ſlander, I ſhould belye my own thoughts, if I ſhould not ſay they have touched the moſt ſenſible part of my ſoul. That I have hitherto been ſilent, and contented my ſelf to be an auditor onely, was, that ſo, if it had been poſſible, they might have found a grave in their birth▪ And it is a common ſaying among the Jewes, That lyes have their feet cut off; they cannot ſtand long to what they ſay. But ſince I ſee (by what deſigne I know not) that they have already out-lived the common age of a wonder, though I know you are too wiſe to take up any ware upon truſt from ſuch walkingpedlers (for ſo I am informed the original ſpeaks a Tale-bearer) I am not altogether diffident of your pardon if I ſhall enter my proteſts (which is all the re-action I ſhall endeavour) that whatever ſome have fancied, or others reported, I never propounded any other end to my ſelf (either in a direct or collateral line) in my approches, than to make my ſelf happy by the enjoyment of your ſocietie. This was the cauſe that inducted me into your acquaintance, and I am not conſcient to my ſelf of any Apoſtacy from my firſt reſolutions, or that thoſe real intentions have ſuffered any dilapidations. I muſt confeſs, 'twas my ambition to rival your goodneſs, and to make my reſpects (i • it had been poſſible) as infinite as your merit; and I have read, that exceſſes in friendſhip are not onely tolerable, but laudable. But that what I thought obedience, ſhould be interpreted impudence, is a falſe conſtruction of the Syntaxis of my intentions. 'Twas not your fortune, but your favour▪ that I have courted; were you as poor as Codrus, I ſhould love you no leſs than I do; and were you as rich as Croeſus, I could love you no more. I conceived my ſelf obliged by my Profeſſion to wait upon you as a Scholar, and by your courteſies, engaged to love you as a friend; and if this be a crime, I bluſh not to confeſs my ſelf guilty in a very high meaſure: But if any of my words have been wrack'd by others, to make them depoſe any thing contrary to what I here profeſs, believe them not. I liſt not to enter the pitch'd field of a diſpute; nor will I retreat to the common intrenchments of excuſes, I lay down my Arms at your feet: And, as I can have no other witneſs, I will have no other Judge but your ſelf; reſolving to be either innocent, or guilty, as you ſhall pronounce me. It was no ſmall commendation Paterculus gives of Pompey the Great, where he affirms, that he was Amicitiarum tenax, in offenſis exorabilis, in recipiendâ ſatisfactione facilimus: Of this I believe your continual practice an exact Tranſlation. What though the Comical Speech of Florence be Canonical, Mulier aut amat, aut odit nihil eſt tertium; it would be as falſly applied to you, as truly to the Sex 'tis ſpoken of. And for my part you ſhall do me but right to believe that I ever was, am, and will be

Sir, your Friend and Servant, T. F.

To Mr. C. Sir,

NOt out of any uncivil diſ-reſpect to your commands, nor any unwillingneſs to ſerve you (ſo far as the too ſhort line of my abilities will ſtretch) have I hitherto been ſilent. Could I have wrought my ſelf to that height of preſumption, as to think any thing of mine of merit enough to arreſt your ſight, you had long ſince had an anſwer, and perhaps as long as your expectation. It was not that I thought a letter loſt to me, but becauſe I knew it would be loſs to you; and hereof this is too ſufficient a witneſs. Yet, Sir, leſt you ſhould think I am either too full of buſineſs, that I cannot, or of idleneſs, that I will not write to you, I have ſent theſe lines to kiſs your hands, and to aſſure you, that you have infinitely obliged me by your late letters you vouchſafed to honour me with: So full fraught were they of your wonted ingenuitie, that (to tell you the truth) I could ſpare no time from reading of them, to return any anſwer to them. But now, ſince you are pleaſed to deſcend ſo far below your ſelf, as to entreat for what you might command, I ſhall no longer diſpute, but obey: Yet will I not tire my ſelf with troubling you, farther than to re-aſſure you that I am

Sir, your very humble Servant, T. F.

To Mr. C. Noble Sir,

HAving already confeſs'd the debt, your late ingenious Letters have engaged me in, I ſhall take leave to pay you (ſince you are pleaſed to grant me that favour) as unſolvent debtors do their patient creditors, by ſmall ſums weekly. I would willingly ſpeak my gratitude in as loud an accent as you have done your goodneſs: But, as you have honoured me beyond the utmoſt of my wiſhes, and placed my meanneſs on ſo high a pinacle of happineſs, as my moſt ambitious thoughts durſt never aſpire to; ſo you have onely left me modeſtie enough to bluſh at my own unworthineſs, and to promiſe you, that I ſhall hereafter lay hold on every handle of time, and court all opportunities to ſerve you. But, Sir, I wiſh you have not undervalued your judgment, by over-valuing thoſe looſe lines you undertake to call moſt choiſe jewels; which ('tis my fear) will prove but pebbles, or Briſtow-ſtones at beſt: If they carrie any thing of jewels in them, it is onely this, that they have nothing of worth, but what your valuation puts upon them. However, ſince it cannot be admitted as Hiſtory of what I am, may it prove a Prophecie of what I may be, and that my endeavours may overtake the mark your charitie hath already anticipated, that you may not repent that you have owned me for

Sir, your very Servant, T. F.

To Mr. J. S. Sir,

SO long it is ſince I received your Letter, that I ſhould be aſhamed to confeſs it, did I not believe that I have hitherto done you a courteſie, by not troubling you with my rude lines: yet dare I no longer maintein that opinion, leſt you ſhould vote that for a neglect, which I have thought a favour. You would pardon, if not pitie me, did you know how I have been rack'd with diverſions, neither pleaſant, nor profitable, but as vexatious as the tediouſneſs of the law, and the much buſineſs of the Lawyers could render them▪ But, I am now in hope that my Cauſe will hang in ſuſpence no longer than till the next Aſſizes. The old rule was, Inter arma ſilent leges: I ſhall alter it, and ſay as truly, Inter leges ſilent literae▪ I muſt hope my friends will forgive me the Lawyers faults, ſince they have rob'd me of the moſt neceſſarie functions of my life: nay, I am in doubt whether I may put this laſt year into the account of my life, ſince I have not had time to tender you the ſervices and reſpects due from

Sir, your humble ſervant T. F.

To Mr. C. M. Sir,

YOur civil reception of the tender of my endeavours to your ſervice, hath made me preſume, that your goodneſſe will maintein your firſt favour with a ſecond; and, if occaſion ſerve, to mention my deſires to thoſe noble Gentlemen in conjunction with you; from whom I cannot deſpair of a favourable Aſpect, being repreſented by ſo happie a Medium ▪as your ſelf. But I ſhould be too injurious to the publick good, to detein you longer from your more noble employments. I ſhall onely beg the happineſſe of a room in your memorie, in qualitie of

Sir, your moſt humble Servant, T. F.

To Mr. T. P. Sir,

HAving long ſince received your Letter and not receiving any anſwer, you might juſtly think I either not received, or ſlighted your command. But, when you have read this, you will believe that my ſilence was neither out of ſloth, nor ſlighting; it being much againſt my will that I have deprived my ſelf of the pleaſure I take in ſerving you. The reaſons that obliged me this delay, were more juſt than I wiſh they had been: For, this vagrant Pamphlet that now attends you, was ſtragled from me, and much time paſs'd before I could procure a Paſs to ſend it home to the place of its birth. Since when, I underſtood that your occaſions called you to a greater diſtance, which rendred me uncapable of ſerving you. Thus, Sir, you ſee it was not out of any covetous or envious humour, or a fear of the expence of a few lines; which when you have them, are ſo worthleſs, that I might have done you a greater courteſie to have forborn them now. Onely this rudeneſs may ſerve to let you ſee how much I eſteem you my friend, in that I have taken no more care to entertain you with that ſtudied reſpect which I ſhould, to any but my Familiar. I ſhall not Apologize for the rudeneſs of this undreſt Pamphlet, which now waits upon you in obedience to your call; nor tell you, that I deſire you would read it to your own ears onely; nor that I ſhall long to ſee it again: But onely deſire you to remember what place you hold in the number of his firſt friends, who is

Sir, your old Friend and Servant, T. F.

To M. C. F. Sir,

I Have heard of thoſe men-moles, that Ner • like, rip up the entrails of their Mother Earth, to plunder her of her hidden Excrements (who many times dig ſo long under ground, that they meet with their own graves before they are willing) though none of the beſt men, yet have they this good qualitie, that they are continually calling and talking to one another, that if a ſudden damp ſhould ſurprize any of them, the reſt may ſpeedilie be readie to help and aſſiſt them. It is no ſhame for the beſt to learn what's good, though from the worſt of men. Conſidering therefore the many clouds and vapours that continually are readie to overwhelm and ſtifle us in this vault of earth (where we are but day-labourers) it is a neceſſarie dutie of friends to be frequent in theſe Offices of friendſhip. How unhappie had I been, had that boiſterous wind blown down your earthlie tabernacle, and deprived me of a friend without any warning! And though my eyes and ears were lately the happie witneſſe of your recoverie: Yet, me thinks, I know not how to credit them, till you vouchſafe to give it me under your hand and ſeal, and confirm to me the continuance of my health and happineſs in yours. Certainly, there is more intended in theſe viſits, than common cuſtome and complement. Letters are the lawful Spies and Intelligencers of amitie; the honourable Leigers to continue a good correſpondencie amongſt friends. And, if, as our late Phyſicians hold, moſt diſeaſes and diſtempers of the bodie are occaſioned by the ſtopping of the bloods circulation, ſurely, the omitting of theſe correſpondencies, breed no good blood, but, like the intermitting pulſe, proclame the decay, if not the death of friendſhip. It is not enough that you are alive and well, unleſs you tell me ſo, and communicate your happineſs to me, by the information. I cannot ſafely ſay I am well, unleſs I know my friends are ſo, who are my ſelf. Let your Letters ſometimes tell me how I do, and be at once my phyſick and Phyſician; and I ſhall duly pay you the Fee of being

Sir, your officious ſervant, T. F.

To Mr. S. S. Sir,

HAving ſounded a retreat to my ſelf from my former, perhaps too familiar converſe with the world; being able by experience to confirm the wiſe mans cenſure, that it is not only vanity, but vexation of ſpirit. I have confined my ſelf to my own home: Yet, becauſe man is Animal ſociale, and God himſelf thought it not fit for Him to be alone, I have undertaken (that lawful Negromancie) to converſe with the dead; the beſt and moſt impartial inſtructors. I ſhall make bold (in obedience to your command) from your well-furniſhed Market, to borrow ſome ſupply: For knowledge is truly pabulum Animae, and Books the beſt Caterers of that entertainment. Had I time, I would venture at an Encomium of thoſe beſt of Companions. But the meſſenger ſtayes, and I cannot. Let me therefore (without a Preface) crave the priviledge of your Fuller; from whoſe Piſgath, I am ambitious to take a view of that Holy Land▪ for which, and your many former favours, I muſt ſubſcribe my ſelf

Sir, yours obliged, T. F.

To Mr. T. L. Sir,

AMongſt the ill turns of my croſs fortune, it was not the leaſt, that I could not attein the happineſs of ſeeing you, when laſt in London; though your goodneſs often endeavoured it, and I was not idle in the like returns. If you will pardon me my City-misfortune, in recompence, I will enjoyn my ſelf the penance, or rather the happineſs of a twelve miles pilgrimage, to kiſs your hands, at your own home, when the weather and the way ſhall ſo far be-friend me. In purſuance of that ſervice I owe you, I have now ſent, &c.—I ſuppoſe you expect, and I preſume, as good and as cheap as you could have bought them: For I would willingly obtein your belief, that my ſervice to my friends is not mercenary; and that I look not to be paid again for thoſe acts of dutie which your courteſies have paid me for before-hand. This is no complement, but the real, though ex tempore dictates of my Heart.

Sir, your humble ſervant, T. F.

To Dr. S. Noble Dr.

THe ingenious Italians have three ſignificant phraſes whereby they character a work exactly done. They ſay, it was performed, Con diligenza, con ſtudio, & con amore. Without any ambition, I muſt crave leave to tell you, that in order to the content I take in ſerving my friends, and eſpecially your ſelf (to whom I am bound by ſo many repeated acts of friendſhip) I have not failed in any of thoſe particulars in my ſearch for—. For, to have enjoy'd the pleaſure of ſatisfying your expectations, I uſed all the diligence and care that could be thought on: For I think I left not a ſhop unviſited, though yours were my onely errand, and, but for one place, I muſt have returned with a non eſt inventus. Sir, your goodneſs makes me apt to believe, that you will not cenſure the Act by the Iſſue; and I ſhall live in hope, that ſome other command may render me more happy in the performance▪ Let the ſhortneſs of my time and paper excuſe this abrupt tender of my thanks and ſervice to your ſelf, your good bedfellow, and the reſt of your happie Familie; and do me the favour, or rather the juſtice, to believe me to be

Sir, your very ready and real ſervant, T. F.

To Mr. S. S. Sir,

AS needie debtors pay one ſum, but with an intent to borrow a bigger; ſo I ſend you home three Books, with a requeſt to borrow a fourth. Thus doe I link your courteſies, and my engagements together; and knowing the undoubted fertilitie of your friendſhip, I ſhall make every former favour the Parent of another. So that, if it be a fable that Pliny tells of ſome Mice in Caria, that are ſo fruitful, that the young ones are with young in their Dams belly: The pregnant acts of your Friendſhip may be the Moral. I ſhall therefore requeſt the uſe of your Plutarch's Morals, which (I doubt not) will inſtruct me how to return you due thanks for your many courteſies, whereby you have ſo many times bound me to be

Sir, your thankeful Friend and Servant, T. F.

To Mr. C. F. Sir,

OF all pleaſures, reading is the beſt: of all readings, thoſe Antelucanas Lectiones are to me the moſt pleaſant and profitable. And ſurely there is ſomething in it, that Lectus and Lectio are of near affinitie. Theſe are the onely Curtain-Lectures. Not long ſince I faſtened upon Sir Richard Bakers Soliloquie, or, as he calls it, Pillar of thoughts; deſervedly ſo ſtyled, for the ſolidity of the compoſition, the rareneſs of the materials, and height of the fancie. There, amongſt other choiſe notions, he falls upon the immortality of the Soul, and hath ſo well diſcharged himſelf in it, that he hath left no place for a Sceptick to reſt in: Onely I could not ſee (for indeed my candle is not of the largeſt ſize) how he doth clearly evince the Original of the rational ſoul, but (with St. Auguſtine) refuſeth to determine whether it be propagated, or infuſed. I dare not reſolve, where ſo great men doubt, and wherein the ſoul it ſelf is ignorant, or ſilent; as if it had drank of Virgils Lethe, before it came into the bodie, forgetting how it came there. Weighing the arguments of both ſides, my reaſon holding the ballance with an equal hand, the arguments for the Traduction, in my eye ſeem to be moſt weightie. Perhaps becauſe I know not how to anſwer them. When I conſider the births of baſtards, and other ſuch like irregular productions (the Anomalies of nature) I cannot (me thinks) ſalve Gods juſtice, who, if the ſoul be not ex traduce, muſt favour thoſe irregularities, ſo much againſt his Holineſs: And what hath the poor innocent ſoul done, to be impriſoned in a ſinful polluting bodie? For, if the ſoul be not propagated, then the bodies of Infants onely have ſinned, and are onely liable to the puniſhment of Original ſin. Now certainly, it cannot be properly ſaid that the bodie ſinneth, for the bodie is but the ſouls inſtrument, and what evil hath the ſoul of a young dying Infant committed, if his ſoul were not derived from Adam? And if the ſoul be infuſed, who doubts but that it comes pure and unſpotted from the hands of God? It was an errour reckoned upon the ſcore of the Arrians, that our Saviour took onely fleſh of the Virgin, but not the ſoule: But it is the opinion of the Church of England, that Chriſt took mans nature upon him in the Virgins womb; whence it muſt neceſſarily follow, that he took both body and ſoul, ſince either, without the other, make not perfect man. Yet, if this be evaded, as extraordinary, in the Hiſtorie of the Creation, when God took Eve out of Adams ſide, it is not ſaid, that He breathed into her the breath of life, as before He did to Adam: Perhaps (and if ſilence may be interpreted conſent) to intimate that her ſoul was derived with her body from the man. But, that the ſoul, which Philoſophers call Anima, compoſed of the vegetative and ſenſitive faculties, is ex traduce, is yielded; the onely queſtion being about the Spiritus, which, they ſay, is the breath of God, infuſed in the third, or four th' or ſixth moneth; or, to ſay truth, they know not when. Now, if this Spirit be infuſed before the birth, why ſee we not the effects and workings of this Spirit? But it ſeems as dull as the body is feeble; whereas, experience tels us, Chickens as ſoon as hatch'd, fall to pecking, ducklings to padling, the colt fals to ſucking as ſoon as foald, the lamb as ſoon as faln; whereas this Spirit in man is not ſeen, till almoſt the third part of his life be ſpent, and perhaps not at all▪ Let a child be brought up in a wood, or a wilderneſs, what difference will appear between him and a beaſt? So that this Spirit ſeems to be encreaſed by, if not derived from civil ſocietie, and liberal education; whereas, if the ſoul be infuſed by God, that it muſt come perfect from his hands, who makes a queſtion? Theſe things my faith can eaſily leap over, and turn theſe mountains into mole-hils; but my reaſon is at a ſtand, and craves the favourable aſſiſtance of your courteous hand, becauſe I know you will doe it, and that dexterouſly. If you have the good fortune to rout theſe light arguments, which I ſend out as my forlorn hope, I have yet a reſerve left, which may tell you, that a man may be victus in praelio, and yet victor in bello. But I leave you to your good fortune, with aſſurance that your enemy is no other than

Sir, your Friend and Servant, T. F.

D. P. B.

INfandum (Philippe) jubis renovare dolorem▪ Dolorem ſub ſigillo ſilentis ſignandum eſſe, vel lachrymis potius quam verbis exprimendum▪ Nefandâ illâ nocte, flagranti amicitiâ, fluenti eloquentiâ, medio de fonte leporum, ſurgit amari aliquid. A Cacumine montium ſum dejectus, è Paradiſo ejectus; in orbem iturus, rediturus nunquam: foemininae linguae gladius verſatilis regreſſum prohibet.

Heu! quae nunc tellus, quae me aequora poſſunt accipere, aut quid jam miſero mihi denique reſtat? Silentium olim pendidit Amyclas, jam vana loquacitas perdidit Amicos. Nunc ſeriò, ah nimis ſera! illud C • mici, Mulier aut amat, aut odit, nihil eſt tertium. Tu tamen vale & conſtanter Ama.

Conſtantiſſimum tuum Amicum, T. F.

To Mr. S. S. Sir,

CHriſtian moderation is the beſt reconciler of all controverſies; for it hath been too often found by ſad experience, that in the heats of diſputations, men have ſought victory, rather than verity, Truth being often loſt by an overhot and haſty ſearch: Witneſs the many, and too eager Diſputes concerning Admiſſion to the Lords Supper; to which ſome men, by a too haſty, and leſs charitable zeal, have excluded all, though never ſo worthy, leſt they ſhould loſe the authoritie of Examination, which the Scripture no where commands, no • hardly anywhere allowes; it being not poſſible for any man to know what is in man, but the Spirit of man which is within him. The Apoſtle St. Paul therefore layes the injunction upon every man to examine himſelf, not ſending him to another to uſurp the power of Auricular Confeſſion, which they condemn in the Papiſts, yet would exerciſe themſelves. I denie (under ſubmiſſion) that any man can ſhew any one direct place of Scripture that commands or enjoynes the Miniſter to examine his Pariſhioners; it being his Office to teach them their duties, to reprove them for, and convince them of their errours, and it is left to the people to examine and reform themſelves by that glaſſe which the Miniſter holds out unto them. We accuſe the Romaniſts (and juſtly) of grand Sacriledge, for denying the Cup unto the people, whileſt we are deprived not onely of part, but of all. How juſtly, let the Scripture, and the practice of all Ages (till ours) ſhew. It is denied that Judas received the Sacrament with the other diſciples, though three Evangeliſts abſolutely relate it, and the fourth doth not denie it. It is alſo denied, that the Sacrament is a converting Ordinance, becauſe the Scripture doth not ſay ſo in expreſſe terms: By better reaſon we ſay it is, becauſe the Scripture no where denies it, and reaſon it ſelf ſpeaks the uſe of it to be verbum viſibile, it ſetting forth Chriſt and his Paſſion to our eyes, as the Word preached doth to our eares; and we have alwayes been taught, that the Eye is the apteſt Scholar If it be not a Preaching action now, it is becauſe we have it not to ſee; elſe to what purpoſe did our Saviour command us to uſe it in remembrance of him? That all ſhould receive the Sacrament of the Supper, becauſe all have been Baptized, is an argument framed onely by the Con • uters thereof; for none (that I know) who plead for a free admiſſion, but make ſome exception from this general rule, as infants, fools, and excommunicate perſons; for that all have a right to eat, is an argument never maintein'd, the onely queſtion being who have this right, and who have not? That Infidels, Ideots, and Children have not, all agree, for reaſons too plain to be queſtioned. That ſcandalous perſons have no right, we denie not neither, onely ſay, they are not to be accounted ſo, till excommunicated: Nor can that man be lawfully accounted guilty in the ſence of the Law, till proofs have convicted, and ſentence determined him to be ſo: For to denie a man the priviledges his birth allowes him till the Law determine that he hath forfeited them, is an injuſtice, and no command of Chriſt or Scripture. Sure I am, the Maſter in the Parable reproved not his ſervant for admitting him without the wedding garment, it was their part to invite all, and if any would preſume to come unfitted, it lay upon himſelf to bear the ſentence of their Lord; the Apoſtle telling us, as it is a dutie upon every one to examine himſelf, ſo he comes upon his own peril, to eat and drink his own damnation. And becauſe he that eats and drinks unworthily, eats and drinks his own damnation; yet it followeth not that the Sacrament ſhould be denied them: For who knows not, that though a man have been looſe and careleſs in his converſation, yet God may work a change in him in an inſtant, even in the very act of Adminiſtration: And certainly, no meanes ought to be denied any man, that may conduce to, if happily not produce that good end for which all the Ordinances of the Goſpel are ordained. But I forget, I intended a Letter, not a Diſpute, ſince without controverſie I am

Sir, your Friend and Servant, T. F.

To Mr. S. S. Sir,

I Am not at all infected with that itch of Diſputation; how contrary it is to my more peaceable temper, all that know me can witneſſe. But having routed the main body of your arguments, I ſhall now ſcatter your reſerve. It is ſaid the Church of Epheſus is commended for trying and judging of men: But it is clear by the next words, that this trial was of their doctrine, not of their lives; and that they were found falſe Apoſtles. Neither can this (if it were as is pretended) authorize a particular Miniſter to that, which may be lawful to the Church, it being too tender a thing to be truſted with one man alone to determine; for what inconveniences would thence follow, may eaſily be imagined. The Prieſts indeed (as you ſay)▪ were commanded to make a ſeparation between the clean and the unclean, but it was of beaſts for the ſacrifices, as the Texts expreſs themſelves. And St. Peter ſaith God had ſhewn him, that he ſhould not call any man common and unclean: And St. Paul tells the Corinthians, that he had no power to judge them without. That Chriſt gave the Supper onely to his Apoſtles, is plain, but it is as plain that one of them was a Judas; and what ſelect company was ever in this world, wherein was not ſome cloſe hypocri • e? and no Devil to the white Devil. I have done with your arguments, and ſhall now ſound a retreat to my ſelf, and reſolve to draw my pen no more in this quarrel: For I know not whether this kind of duelling be not forbidden by the late Act; if it be not, I wiſh it were, for I love not to contend with my friends with any other weapons than love and ſervice. When you conquer me at thoſe weapons, I muſt forget your merit, or that I am

Sir, your friend and ſervant, T. F.

To Mr. T. F. Sir,

HAving lately (not without pleaſure and profit) read your Church-Hiſtory; by which, you have not only indebted our Church in particular, but the whole Common-wealth of Learning in general; my memory continually upbraided me with ingratitude, till I found out this way to convey my reſentments. For, though our Returns of thanks ought to be large and univerſal, as your merit, yet your goodneſs (I hope) will not refuſe the ſingle gratitude of private perſons. In that number (though the laſt, and the leaſt) I am bold to tender my mite. A task indeed better befitting a more equal pen, ſince none is able to do it but your own. But I know your modeſty is as great as your merit, the higheſt worths being always accompanied with the loweſt humiltie. May your name ever live, who have rais'd ſo many to life, and reſcued their memories from the tyranny of oblivion. Amongſt many others, I am particularly obliged to your courteſie, in the remembrance of that good man Mr. Udal, whom by kindred I am ſomething related. One, of whom we have this tradition, that he was the firſt man King James asked for when he came into England; and being anſwered, that he was dead, the King (whoſe judgment was an exact ſtandard of learning & learned men) reply'd, By my ſal, then the greateſt Scholar in Europe's dead. And certainly, by his own party (if they may be admitted for competent Judges) it is not yet reſolv'd, whether his Learning or his Zeal were greateſt; and they think they juſtly boaſt him a Confeſſor, if not a Martyr for that Cauſe, which ſince hath paid thoſe ſcores with Intereſt. Now, though I am no heir to his opinions, yet a ſmall affinity to his Perſon, makes me embrace the opportunitie of proffering you that Intelligence you complain to want, the rather, becauſe (perhaps) no man can now do it but my ſelf; and I have a Relation of all his Trials, Cenſures, and Sentence, written by himſelf; which (I doubt not) may give you a ſatisfactorie account in what you deſire. If you pleaſe to command it, I ſhall be ambitious to ſerve you, and the truth therewith. But I could wiſh you would review that paſſage in the 31 Sect. After the Execution of Udal, &c. for he died at the White-Lyon (juſt as his pardon was procured) and was buried at St. Georges Southwark. And ſo I leave him to his Reſt, wiſhing his good name and doctrines may ſurvive his diſcipline. Sir▪ you have not onely engaged Learning, but Religion, to perpetuate your labours. Fame is much in arrears to your Deſert, and therefore cannot in juſtice but continue that veneration in length to your memorie, which it yet wants in breadth. Thoſe Religious Houſes, erected by a better devotion, than that which deſtroy'd them, are more beholding • o your Pen, than to their Founders, or Materials; you having made them a task for the remembrance and admiration of future Ages, ſo long as Time ſhall hold a Sythe, or Fame a Trumpet. I would ſay more, if the univerſal applauſe of all knowing men had not ſaved me a labour. And (to pay you in ſome of your own coyn) It is no flattery to affirm, what envy cannot deny. Did I not fore-ſee that the relation would ſwell my diſcourſe beyond the limits of a Letter, or the length of your patience, I ſhould aſſume the libertie to inform you, that my neighbourhood to the place, acquaints me with ſome Relicts of Religious Houſes, at and near Ma • don, bearing ſtill the name of an Abbey, a Friery, and a Nunnery. And, if we may judge of Hercules by his foot, of the whole piece by the remnant, and of them by their Remaines, I ſhould ſuppoſe them not behind many in England. As yet, I know little of them, but their ruines; but, if you vote it convenient, I ſhall endeavour to improve my preſent ignorance into a diſcoverie of them▪ I ſuppoſe it will be no hard task; I am ſure it ſhall not, when in relation to your command. I muſt now take pitie of your patience, which had not run this hazard of abuſe, did I not know I have to do with ſo great a Candor, from which I can expect no leſs than pardon. And in that preſumption I crave your leave to be, as I ſubſcribe my ſelf

Sir, your moſt aſſured ſervant, T. F.

To M.— Madam,

WEre I ſure of the cauſe of your malady, I could eaſily hope the Cure; but, being to gueſs at the one, it will be no wonder, if I miſs the other. Of all diſeaſes, thoſe of the mind are worſt, of thoſe, that of melancholy: of melancholies, the religious. I know not by what unhappy wit, the the badge of melancholy hath been faſtned upon the ſpirit of Calvin, that Patriarch of Presbytery. This I know, ſince that unhappy Planet hath reigned over us, we have too ſenſibly felt all thoſe unlucky effects that an ill-boading Comet could produce. What wars, what blood-ſhed, what ruines have we ſeen in the State? What factions, what fractions in the Church? What envy, what hatred, what diviſions amongſt private perſons? What doubts, what feares, what diſtractions in all mens minds? In a word, what not?

Gladly doe I remember thoſe happy dayes (now happy onely in the remembrance) that Golden Age, wherein we had but one Truth, but one Way, wherein men walked lovingly together, without contentious juſtling one another. When thoſe Silver Trumpets of the Sanctuary gave no uncertain ſound; when the way to Heaven was, though a narrow, yet a plain and direct path; not block'd up by envious cenſures, by diſtracting clamours. But now I ſadly ſee, and ſigh to ſay, our Rents are like to prove our Ruine, and our diſtractions our deſtruction. I remember a Storie of a knaviſh Painter (ſo my Author calls him) who, being to make the Picture of ſome goddeſs for a Citie to worſhip, drew the Counterfeit of his own Miſtris, and ſo cauſed her to be courted▪ that (perhaps) better deſerved to be carted. I wiſh this tale were not too true of our times. It is too obvious to conceal the Parallel. Do we not daily ſee Religion dreſt up in the ſeveral ſhapes of every ones fancie, and obtruded upon the eaſie multitude, as the onely Deitie for their adoration and obſervance? our faith made as changeable as our faſhions? And, what's the miſerie of our miſeries, none are ſo eaſily deluded, as the well-meaning, ſimple-hearted, honeſt Chriſtians; who, out of an exceſſe of Charitie, are ready to believe all men mean truly, becauſe they doe ſo themſelves.

If this be your caſe (and I am to ſeek if it be not) let me give you this Caution, Beware of that evil which commeth near to the ſhewof good; none can ſo eaſily deceive you, as thoſe Hyaena's, who have learn'd your voice, to draw you out of the way. Take heed of thoſe ſerpents of the colour of the ground. Let St. Paul beſeech you to mark them which cauſe diviſions and offences: Contrary to the Doctrine which you have learned, and avoid them. I am miſ-inform'd, if the ſame word which we read Contrary, doth not alſo import near. There are no opinions ſo dangerouſly contrary to the truth, as they that ſeem very near it.

Let me aſſure you, it is the old way, which is the good way, wherein you ſhall find reſt. There ſhall you find a direct road, without any turnings and windings of private intereſt or faction: No briars and thorns of quarrelling diſputes; no ſoul-deſtroying doctrines, under the oſtentious titles of ſoul-ſaving truths. It is no ſuch long and melancholy way, as we ſee now chalk'd out by thoſe who have found out new paths to heaven, that our Fathers never dream't of. There ſhall you find gravity without moroſity▪ and mirth without madneſs; Chriſtian cheerfulneſſe as well commanded, as commended. Religion is no ſuch frowning fury: Pſalms and Hymns ar her daily practice, as well as prayers and teares. The ſame Holy Spirit that commands us to pray alwayes, enjoyns us alſo to rejoyce evermore. We ſin, if we rejoyce not: There is not more errour in falſe mirth, than in unjuſt heavineſs. Can they be ſad, who have a God to defend, a Chriſt to ſave, and an Holy Ghoſt to comfort them. It is for thoſe that know not God, or know him diſpleas'd, to droop, as men without hope.

An humble practice of thoſe Common truths, alone neceſſary to ſalvation, is far more ſafe, more happy, than all the towring and lofty ſpeculations of unquiet Heads, and too buſie Brains. There is ſome reaſon in the old Scotch Rithme.

Rob. Will. and Davy, Keep well thy Pater noſter, and Ave, And if thou wilt the better ſpeed, Gang no farther than thy Creed: Say well, and do none ill, And keep thy ſelf in ſafety ſtill.

Our way is not tedious, nor our burthen heavy; why then ſhould we add length to the one, and weight to the other, by an un-neceſſarie ſadneſs? Whileſt hypocriſie lies under the clouded brow of a Phariſee; a cheerful countenance is the badge of innocence. It is a diſparagement to our Maſter, and his ſervice, to follow him ſighing, I have done. Pardon me this (perhaps un-neceſſary) length, and believe me, however the Phyſick chance to work, it is tender'd with an hand ayming onely at your happineſſe; and that would gladly wiſh no better employment, than to ſtrew your way to heaven with Roſes. This is the height of his ambition, who is

Madam, your moſt humble Servant, T. F.

To M. D. P. Sir,

THe Italians ſay in a Proverb, That words are but females, deeds are males. I can allow them to be females, ſo they be fruitful in theſe maſculine productions, and not ſubject to miſcarry of thoſe fruits, with which they often ſeem ſo big. I have endeavoured my promiſes ſhould not prove abortive; but it hath ſtaid ſo long by the Carriers Midwifry, that what you expected as a gift, will amount to a purchaſe; for, a courteſie delay'd, is dearly bought. Beſides, I cannot expect it ſhould ariſe to the merit of a gift, ſince it will hardly amount to the leaſt mite that I owe you. Your courteſies have been ſo many, your favours ſo large, and the continuance ſo long, that I deſpair of diſcharging the Intereſt, ſhould your goodneſs abate me the Principal. But if a thouſand thanks, and ten thouſand good wiſhes may paſs for pay, you ſhall never have cauſe to call me ingrateful; for herein I can be as liberal as your ſelf. I remember the Dutch Hiſtory tells us, that at the Siege of Alcmar, the ſouldiers within, being without pay, the Magiſtrates cauſed dollers of tin to be coyned, of three ſhillings a piece, with promiſe, that the Town being delivered, they would redeem them for good ſilver at the rate. I will wrap up this poor preſent with a faithful promiſe, that when propitious Heaven ſhall tranſmute my tin and copper into gold and ſilver, payments ſhall be more proportionate to your merits, and my obligations, by which I ſtand firmly bound to profeſs my ſelf

Sir, your Servant, T. F.

To M. J. W. Madam,

NEither out of ſloth, nor ſlighting; not out of forgetfulneſs, nor unwillingneſs, have I hitherto delay'd this debt of duty, which you may juſtly have expected ſooner. Believe me, I have not yet forgot thoſe many, many favours whereby you have perpetually bound me to ſerve you. My ſilence thus long, hath been not out of negligence, but deſigne. I was not willing to meet your ſorrow in its full careere, reſolving rather to await the turning of the tide, and expect an ebb of your paſſion; leſt in ſtead of a lenitive, I had brought a corroſive; and in ſtead of abating, encreaſed your grief. By this time, I hope, your Reaſon hath ſubdued your Paſſion, and natural affection given place to Religion; which, as it allows a moderate ſorrow for the death of our friends and relations, ſo it appoints bounds to our tears, and commands us, Not to weep as thoſe without hope. When my thoughts reflect upon your loſſe of ſo dutiful a daughter, ſo good a wife, ſo pleaſant a companion, ſo true a friend, in the fair flower of her youth, in the pleaſant Spring of her age; me thinks, I could mingle my tears with yours, and forget what I intended. But when agen I conſider the miſeries of this life, the troubles of this world, the loſſes and croſſes, the corroding cares, the doubtful fears that attend us here: when I ballance our loſs with her gains, the miſeries ſhe is paſt, with the happineſſes ſhe enjoyes, I can find ſo little cauſe to mourn, that I muſt confeſs we have infinitely more reaſon to rejoyce. Alas! what is our life but a ſea of troubles, a pilgrimage of dangers, a race, a warfare, a baniſhment; the world a priſonfull of chaines and captives, at beſt an Inn, no habitation? Death is our quiet harbour, an end of our journey, a concluſion of our warfare; that brings us from exile to our native home; that gives us a Kingdome for a priſon, crowns for chains, and for this poor baiting-place of earth, an everlaſting habitation in Heaven. Shall we then grieve for thoſe are gone before us, who are releaſed from the evils preſent, and ſecured againſt thoſe to come, who are taken from labour to reſt, from expectation to fruition, from death to life. Is it not unjuſt? Is it not envious? The Philoſopher, who was asked, Which was the beſt ſhip? wiſely anſwered, That which is ſafely arrived. Shall we weep for thoſe, who have already made their voyage, or rather for our ſelves, who are ſtill toſſed upon the waters of ſtrife, who are ſtill ſubject to thoſe ſtorms and tempeſts, which they have happily paſt? They are not loſt, but gone before; not periſhed, but perfected; not dead, but departed. A long-ſick man commanded this Epitaph to be written upon his grave, Here I am well. Fortune (they ſay) moſt hurts, whom ſhe ſeems to favour; Death moſt favours thoſe he ſeems to hurt. Nor may we account an early death untimely: The fruit which to our apprehenſion is blown down green and untimely, is gathered full ripe in Gods providence. The faireſt flowers ſooneſt fade. The Sun and Moon, the moſt bright and glorious of theſe heavenly bodies, fulfill their courſes in a ſhort ſeaſon, whileſt the dimmer and duller Planets are longer time wheeling about. It is ſometimes the happineſs of young John, to out-run old Peter to the Sepulchre. This is Gods will, and therefore not to be reſiſted, not to be repined at. It is their happineſs, therefore not to be lamented. Can our feares profit them where they are, or bring them back to us? I could allow you to be laviſh of your ſighs, to be prodigal of your tears, were they not unfruitful, were they not unlawful. I can eaſily believe your loſs of her, to be as great as your love to her; but your meeting again will be more joyous, than your parting was grievous. But what do I do? I forget that I write to one, whoſe Chriſtian carriage hath (I doubt not) already prevented me this office; and whoſe excellent parts are able to anticipate whatſoever I am able to ſay. Give me leave onely to kiſſe your hands, and once more to aſſure you, that I am ſtill as much as ever,

Madam, the moſt humble, and the moſt real of your Friends and Servants, T. F.

To Mr. T. C. Sir,

IT is informed from ſeveral parts, that the Butchers have knock't down the Exciſe-men, and cut the throat of the Exciſe upon meat: And they have ſo generally thrown off that yoke, that it is believed they will hardly be brought to admit the putting of it on again. Whither do theſe confuſions tend! Where will they end! We are like the poor Aſs in the Fable, who often changed his Maſter, but alwayes for the worſe. Will not all theſe miſeries yet open the eyes of the blinded multitude! I would be-ſpeak them in the words of Ananus, one of the Jewiſh Prieſts, inciting the people againſt the factious Zealots; amongſt other paſſages (which you may find in Joſephus) he thus queſtions them,—But why ſhould I exclame againſt the tyrants? Did not you your ſelves make them great, and nouriſh their power and authority by your patience? Did not you, by deſpiſing thoſe who before were in authority, being but a few, make all theſe, who are many in number, tyrants over your ſelves?

When Conſuls ſucceeded the Roman Kings, the Hiſtorian ſayes, they changed gold for braſs, and loathing one King, ſuffered many tyrants, ſcourging their folly with their fall, and curing a feſter'd ſore with a poyſoned plaiſter. Do we not plainly ſee the Fable moralized by our ſelves? The Serpents Tail would needs one day fall a quarrelling with the Head, ſaying, that ſhe would by turns goe before, and not alwayes come lagging behind; which the Head having yielded unto, was the firſt that repented it, not knowing how, or whither ſhe ſhould goe; and beſides, was all rent and bruiſed, being forced, againſt nature, to follow a member that had neither ſeeing nor hearing to conduct it. Our factions, fractions, and lawleſs liberty, render us like the poor Bactrans, of whom it is ſaid, that they are Sine Fide, ſine Rege, ſine Lege. But whither is my pen running? Since I began with the Exciſe in England, I will waft you over into Holland, where it firſt began, and was invented; there you ſhall ſee how ill the Dutchmen at firſt reliſhed this Tax upon their drink: It occaſioned this Libel in Dutch, which you ſhall read in Engliſh:

I wiſh long life may him befall, And not one good day there withal; And Hell-fire after this life here, Who firſt did raiſe this Tax on Beer.

With this Poſtſcript, The Word of God, and the Tax on Beer, laſt for ever and ever.

But it is no wonder the Dutchman ſhould be ſo angry with this charge upon his drink, ſince you know it is ſaid, Germanorum vivere, eſt bibere. And they account the turning of water into wine, the greateſt Miracle that ever Chriſt did; which miracle onely made one of them wiſh that Chriſt had lived in their Country. No more now, but that I am ſtill as always,

Sir, your Servant, T. F.

To Mr. T. C. Sir,

WE have now (thanks to our Preſerver) lived to ſee thoſe men confuted to their faces, who would needs determine the end of the world, before the end of the year; and upon no better ground, that I could hear from any of them, than this, becauſe (ſay they) the old world was drowned in the year from the Creation, 1657. And I find the Learned Alſtedius fathering of this fancie, becauſe he found the ſame number of yeares in the Chronogram of Conflagratio Mundi. How miſerably, and yet how often have the too credulous vulgar been deluded by the vain Predictions of ſuch idle Aſtrologaſters! I remember Hollingſhed tells a ſtorie of the Prior of St. Bartholomews London, who built him an houſe on Harrow-hill, to ſecure himſelf from a ſuppoſed flood foretold by an Aſtrologer: But at laſt, he, with the reſt of his ſeduced company, came down again as wiſe as they went up. Such is the fate and folly of thoſe falſe prophets, that they often live to ſee themſelves confuted. It is a witty jeer the Cambro-Britannian Epigrammatiſt puts upon the Scotch Napier, who more wiſely had determined the end of the world at a farther diſtance.

Cor mundi finem propiorem non facis? ut ne ant • obitum mendax arguerere: Sapis.

Thus, as is well obſerved, by a late and Learned Author, Aſtrologers have told of a ſad and diſcontented day, which would weep it's eyes out in ſhowers, which when 'twas born proved a Democritus, and did nothing but laugh at their ignorance and folly.

Infinite are the Stories upon Record of the madneſs of thoſe men, and the vanitie and credulity of the eaſie multitude: Strange, that they ſhould be ſo groſſely, and yet ſo often cheated with the ſame bait! But I conclude with a more ſerious obſervation of Ludolphus, of the two deſtructions of the world: As the firſt, ſayes he, was by water, for the heat of their luſt; ſo the ſecond ſhall be by fire, for the coldneſſe of their love. In hopes that ours is not yet grown cold, I ſubſcribe my ſelf,

Sir, your loving Friend, T. F.

To Mr. E. M. Sir,

BOdin the Frenchman, in his Method of Hiſtory, accounts Engliſhmen barbarous for their Civil Wars: But his Countrymen, at this time, have no great reaſon to caſt dirt in our faces, till they have waſh'd their own. They who have hitherto ſet us on fire, and warm'd their hands by it, are now in the like flames themſelves. It hath been one of their Cardinal Policies to divide us, leſt our union ſhould prove their ruine. It was the ſaying of the D. of Rohan, a great Stateſ-man, That England was a mighty Animal, and could never die, unleſs it kill'd it ſelf. Certainly we have no worſe enemies than our ſelves, as if we had conſpired our own ruine: For Plutarch calls the ardent deſire of the Graecians to make Civil Wars in Greece, a Conſpiracie againſt themſelves. But well may the winds and waves be Pilots to that ſhip whoſe inferiour Mariners have thrown their Pylot overboard. Dum ille regnabat, tranquillè vivebamus, & neminem metuebamus, ſaid the people of the Emperour Pertinax. We remember the time when we lived in peace and plenty, till we ſurfeited of our happineſs; and as our peace begat plenty, ſo our plenty begat pride, and pride brought forth animoſities and factions, and they, if not prevented, will be delivered of our ruine and deſtruction.

In times paſt (ſayes Cornelius Tacitus of our Countrymen) they lived under a Monarchy; now, that they are ſubject to divers Maſters, one can ſee nothing but faction and diviſions amongſt them. This was ſpoken of our forefathers; and our Poſteritie will think it meant onely of us. The God of union re-unite us, and out of this Chaos of confuſion, create an happy concord amongſt us, before our rents prove our ruine, and our diſtractions our deſtruction. This is the conſtant and hearty prayer of

Sir, your aſſured Servant, T. F.

To Mr. T. C. Sir,

I Muſt tell you, you are not juſtly troubled at the injuſtice of our new Judges, ſince they have thereby rendred thoſe brave men Martyrs, which otherwiſe had died as Criminals. Socrates his wife exaſperated her grief by this circumſtance, Good Lord, ſaid ſhe, how unjuſtly doe theſe bad Judges put him to death! What, wouldſt thou rather they ſhould execute me juſtly? replyed he to her. The injuſtice of the Judges ſentence, declare the juſtneſs of the condemned's cauſe. It is not the being a Judge that makes his ſentence juſt, or the priſoner guilty: There have been thoſe, and we have ſeen them, who have committed murther with the Sword of Juſtice, and executed Juſtice as a malefactor. Nor have the friends of thoſe happy Martyrs any cauſe to be aſhamed of, or grieved for their death, or manner of it: Damnari, diſſecari, ſuſpendi, decolari, piis cum impiis ſunt communia: (ſayes Eraſmus) Varia ſunt hominum judicia, Ille foelix qui judice Deo abſolvitur. The old Martyrs have accounted martyrdom the way to heaven on horſ-back. The firſt man that died went to heaven, but the firſt man that went to heaven died a Martyr, ſuffered a violent death by the hands of a cruel and unmerciful brother. We have lived to ſee that politick principle of Periander put in practice, who being conſulted with how to preſerve a tyranny, bid the meſſenger ſtand ſtill, whileſt he, walking in a garden, topt all the higheſt flowers, thereby ſignifying the cutting off, and bringing low of the Nobility. Yet will not this do with us; it is but like Cadmus his ſowing of ſerpents teeth, which will raiſe up armed men to revenge the quarrel of thoſe brave ſpirits: For though our Curfeu-bell hath been rung out, and the fire of our zeal rak'd up in the aſhes of Acts and Orders, yet it is not extinguiſhed: Witneſs thoſe Sparks who have revenged the death of their Sovereign with the hazard of their own lives.

By this time, I doubt not, but they who moſt endeavoured his Majeſties death, have ſeen cauſe enough to wiſh him alive again, and are ready to engrave that Motto upon his Statue (which they threw down with contempt) which was ſet upon the Statue of the Roman Brutus, Ʋtinam viveres. It is yet ſome comfort that we can mingle ſighs, and aſſiſt one another with mutual counſels and courteſies, which ſhall never be wanting from

Sir, your aſſured Friend, T. F.

To Mr. T. L. Sir,

BEing lately at our New Court, there I ſaw his Highnoſe, ſo environed with his guard, as if he had been their priſoner, and wondred how he durſt venture himſelf amongſt ſo many dangerous weapons. I was ready to have ſaid unto him, as Plato did to D • onyſius the tyrant, when he ſaw him compaſſed about with many ſouldiers of his guard, What, haſt thou committed ſo many evils, that thou ſtandeſt in need of ſuch a guard of armed fellows? To ſee the difference betwixt fearleſſe innocence, and fearful guilt! M. Aurelius, that good Prince, never had any guard; for (ſayes my Author) he ſtood not in fear of his ſubjects. Innocence is the ſureſt guard, as Pliny told Trajan the Emperour: Haec arx inacceſſa, hoc inexpugnabile munimentum, munimento non egere. Fruſtra ſe terrore ſuccinxeret, qui ſeptus charitate non fuerit. Armis enim arma irritantur.

White-hall is now become Black-hall, with the ſmoak of coals and matches: But it would make one ſad and ſigh to ſee what havock is made of his Majeſties goods and houſhold-ſtuff, and to whoſe uſing his houſe & furniture is faln. It minded me of a ſtory in Q. Curtius, who ſays, Alexander (that great robber, as the petty Pyrat call'd him) ſitting in Darius Seat, which was not fit for him, but higher than ſerved for his ſtature, his feet could not touch the ground; one of his Pages put a board underneath for him to tread upon; whereat one of the Eunuchs that belonged to Darius, looked heavily, and fetch'd a deep ſigh, whoſe ſadneſſe when Alexander perceived, he enquired of him the cauſe? He anſwered: That when he beheld the board whereon Darius was wont to eat, employed to ſo baſe an uſe, he could not behold it without grief. Who can ſee thoſe brave horſes which uſed to draw his Majeſtics Coach, now drag in enemies cart, without pity & indignation? But enough of this, and for this time I am,

Sir, your very Friend, Servant, T. F.

To Mr. E. H. Sir,

HAving now retrived my rude draught of that excellent, but loſt virtue of friendſhip, I ſend the picture to you the pattern, that it may be corrected by the compariſon. It cannot be expected that it ſhould be an exact piece, or that I ſhould draw it to the life, which hath been dead to us poor mortals; eſpecially having had ſo little light, and at ſo great a diſtance as we are removed from that golden age wherein friendſhip flouriſhed. I cannot but admire, that ſo noble a ſubject hath found ſo few friends: For, except that Triumvirate of Eloquence, the Roman Cicero, our Engliſh Seneca, and that great Dictator of Learning Sir Fra. Bacon. I have found few or none, who have written any juſt diſcourſe of it: From their trine Aſpect hath my diſcourſe received ſome light and augmentation. Yet have I not altogether trod in their ſteps, nor made any better uſe of them, than admire thoſe I could not imitate; neither have I uſed any gay or painted language, but plain and ſimple, like the ſubject I handle. I have laboured to make it like, rather than handſome. An Embaſſador comming to Treat with the Roman Senate, having his head powdered, and his face painted, Cato told them, they could not expect any truth from him, whoſe very locks and looks did lye. I have therefore ſtudied to repreſent this Lady, ſine fuco, ſine fallaciis, without the dreſſings of any artificial handſomneſs, or auxiliary beauty. If you like it, love it; if not, draw the curtain of your charity over it, and let it lie, till ſome abler workman ſhall take the penſil in hand. It is enough for me, if it can but ſpeak the Author

Sir, your true Friend, T. F.

To Mr. J. A. Sir,

DId not the ſame peremptory buſineſſe that preſſed me down, ſtill keep me here, I ſhoud (at leaſt) have prevented the Office of this Paper, and not been beholding to a mute proxie for the delivery of a meſſage I ſhould rather, if not better, have done in perſon. Since fate will have it thus, let me crave your credence, that what you ſhall here read, is not ſo much the dictate, as the tranſcript of my heart. Sir, I left not my careful thoughts with your line of Communication; they have been, and will be my conſtant companions. Haeret lateri lethalis arundo; and I deſpair of any other cure, than the dictamen of your friendly counſel. I am confident your goodneſs will doe me not onely the courteſie, but the juſtice to believe that my receſſe was rather retreat, than a flight from the negotiation we had in hand, A buſineſſe (if my thoughts deceive me not) too weighty to be carried to the end without a reſt. Pardon me, if I am willing to look before I leap.—But after the verdict of my moſt conſiderate and ſerious thoughts, I muſt profeſſe I have a large and long experience of the skill and fidelity of you my leader: Nor doe I fear a miſcarriage where you are pleas'd to be my guide. To ſay nothing of other circumſtances I am not forgetful of, though ſilent in, allow me the liberty to tell you, Spem de futuris foveo: principium liquet; and it ſhall not only be my wiſh, but the moſt earneſt of my endeavours, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . I have hitherto but tythed my thoughts, which ſhould I allow my pen the liberty to write, would be too tedious for you to read. In a word therefore (to doe you the courteſie of concluding) I ſhall promiſe, that one line from—(if he pleaſe to maintein his firſt favour with a ſecond) will eaſily and quickly draw me from the moſt earneſt of my engagements to tell him Vis à vis, that I am what I ever was, and ſtill hope to be accounted

Sir, your very very Friend, T. F.

To Mr. R. H. Sir,

IN my addrereſſes to my friends, I do always intend too much reality, to be beholding to a Complement, in this to you, if an exceſs of affection ſhould unawares tranſport my pen to an extravagant flight, your merits to me, and my obliged reſpects to you, may ſufficiently ſecure me from the guilt of a ſuſpitious hyperbole. When I have ſaid all I can, I ſhall be ſo far from thinking it too much, that I muſt confeſſe it to be too little. I could rather have contented my ſelf to have been ſtill your ſilent debtor, than by the adventure of a few haſty lines to ſtand in need of your pardon. To think to quit ſcores with you, by any thing I can ſay or doe, is beyond the moſt confident of my hopes; and had not your command exacted it, I ſhould not now have put you upon a new exerciſe of that goodneſſe, to which I am already ſo much indebted. In the large Catalogue of thoſe whom your repeated civilities, and conſtant courteſies have purchaſed to be your friends, I dare affirm, you have none more ſeriouſly ſenſible of your favours, or that doth more really wiſh your welfare, than my ſelf. May ſucceſs and proſperitie wait upon all your undertakings; may health and happineſs be your conſtant attendants; and may the ſame good Angel that carries you from us, guide you in your journeys, and return you in ſafety.

Let not your dear Conſort (the beſt of wives and women) think that I have all this while forgotten Her: She is too much your ſelf to be divided from you in our good wiſhes. Sir, I am equally, and at once her and your

Moſt obliged Friend, T. F.

FINIS.

LOVE'S LABYRINTH; OR, The Royal Shepherdeſs: A TRAGI-COMEDIE. By THO. FORDE, Philothal.

Quid Melius deſidioſus agam? Fata viam invenient. Comica feſtina gaudet ſermone Thalia.

LONDON, Printed by R. and W. Leybourn, for William Grantham, and are to ſold at the Signe of the Black Bear in St. Pauls Church-yard. 1660.

To his Worthy Friend Mr. Thomas Forde on his LOVES LABYRINTH. TRue Friend, while others me out-vie, and grace the • (As thou doſt them far more) I ſcarce can trace thee I many thouſand miles do wander Of Pilgrimage in thy Maeander, Till by the golden thred, Of Love I'm ſafe through led. Thy Wit is far beyond the Serpentine; Thy wreathings chequer-work and warp divine; Thy curious inter-woven Plots, Rich twine, • y'd all in Lovers-knots: Thy Skill is exquiſite, To untie and unite. Thy Tent-works in-let pleaſes me ſo well, I'de have none out-let: I'de rather dwell. I love thy labyrinth, and approve, That thou ſhouldſt labyrinth my love: There I poor well-hous'd elf Might ſafely loſe my ſelf. I ſee, work-women a'n't above workmen▪ How far ſhort comes the needle of the pen! Thoſe Damoſels, who are ſo devouts In pricking little holes in clouts, Thy lively Tapeſtry-ſtory Out-ſtrips their painted glory▪ Let ſpleen it ſelf judge eithers manu tract: Their female works can't ſpeak, thy male-words Act. A drop of this your art (Sr.) paſſes Beyond an Ocean of alluſiv • ad gr. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . the Laſſes Their by as-ſtitch doth ſquint, But thine's down-right in print. Nay all thou do'ſt would be ſuch ne'retheleſs, Though it ne're ſaw the light, nor felt the preſs. Thy laſt impreſſion comes behind, The firſt and chief is in thy mind: Thou art beyond the reſt, Thy firſt Edition's beſt. None living can (I probably conjecture) No not thy ſelf) repair this Architecture. Each line's right perpendicular, Reaſon thy Pium, and Truth thy Square: Each full-point may be ſead, A nail driv'n to the Head. But I could wiſh there were no period, That (though all's even) yet ſomething ſtill were od; That after all Exits might begin Still more freſh Intrats to come in. The whole frame ſo divine is, Nought vexes me but FINIS. N. C.

To my ingenious Friend, Mr. Thomas Forde, on His LOVES LABYRINTH. WHo truly will thy Labyrinth commend, Shall find it hard, both to begin, and end: Yet thou haſt ſpun a thred, with which t'untwine The wandring Lover, though all things combine To ſtop his paſſage: Such a flowing Style Thou uſeſt too, as did my ſenſe beguile: For whileſt I read, I neither Scaene nor Stage, "Could think were feign'd: I ſaw an Active Rage "Appear in Damocles, which to my eye "Not Acted ſeem'd, but real Tyranny. "Sepheſtia's love and doom; the better fate "Of Pleuſidippus, not more fortunate: "For he Loves Labyrinth did alſo tread, "And Court inceſtuouſly his Mothers Bed. "And ſo her father, husband too (none known) "Yet he by ſympathy did claim his own, "And had a grant, which mov'd the Tyrants ſpleen, "(Since he could not enjoy her for his Queen) "To kill e'm both; their deſtinies prevent, "As loth to have deſtroy'd the innocent. "Yet at the laſt each thing ſucceeds with good: "Though the foundation ſeem'd t'be laid in blood. "And then the harmleſs ſhepherds rural ſport, "Whoſe innocence makes every place a Court. And all things in ſo conſonanat a dreſs, Makes more the ſeeming, not the being leſs. That (credit me) there is not in't a line, ('Tis all ſo rare) but I could wiſh were mine. And as before, ſo I ſay now of this, Thou haſt thy skill by Metempſychoſi • ▪ Proceed then Worthy Friend, and may thy Fame, Like Laureat Johnſon, ever ſpeak thy Name. Edw. Barwick▪

Perſons Perſonated.

DAmocles, King of Arcadia. Father of Sepheſtia. Agenor, King of Theſſaly. Father of Euriphyla. Maximus or Melecertus, Prince of Cyprus, who married Sepheſtia. Pluſidippus, Son of Sepheſtia and Maximus. Menaphon, the Kings Shepherd. Doron, a ſilly Shepherd. Lamedon, Brother to King Damocles. 2 Lords of Arcadia. Romanio, Eurilochus, 2 Pyrats of Theſſaly, who found Pluſidippus. Artaxia, Queen of Arcadia, mother of Sepheſtia. Sepheſtia, or Samela, wife to Maximus, and mother of Pluſidippus. Euriphyla, daughter to Agenor, who loved Pluſidippus. Peſana, ſiſter to Doron, in love with Menaphon. Carmila, ſiſter to Menaphon, in love with Doron.

The Scaene Arcadia▪

Loves Labyrinth.

Act. 1.

Scaene 1▪ Enter King Damocles with two Lords, and Lamedon. King.

CAn this be true?

1 Lo.

My Liege, as truth it ſelf.

King. And will neither the power of a King, Nor precepts of a father over-ſway Her fond affections; but that thus ſhe will Run head-long to her ruine? Let her go. 1 Lo. Yet ſhot ſhe not at rovers, but a Prince He is, young and deſerving; therefore ſince Sh'has hit the mark, it will now be in vain To give her aym, or make her ſhoot again. Kin. Was ſhe ſo haſty, that ſhe could not ſtay To take our Fatherly advice with her? No wonder if ſhe wander in the Labyrinth Of love, without the clew of our counſel. La. Come brother▪ come, ſhe's not the firſt has done A miſs; her own affections were the ſureſt guide Unto her own content: ſhe choſe to pleaſe Her ſelf, not you, come, let this anger ceaſe. 1 Lo. 'Tis now too late for to recal what's paſt, The match is made, and that ſo ſurely faſt, 'Tis paſt diſſolving now; a Grandfather You are alreay: From their conjunction hath This in ••• ence proceeded, a fair boy Hath given them earneſt of ſucceeding joy. Kin. How! a boy! and ſhall that baſe brat enjoy My crown? no, no, I'll take a courſe for that. La. Why brother, 'tis a Prince by birth, & why Not born to Reign? Kin. Ay, miſchief's on my head, But I'll prevent the plot and ſtorm, we'l ſend Them far enough▪ from troubling of our ſtate: Diſtance and danger ſhall they firſt ſubdue, Before they gain our Crown; the ſlaviſh waves Shall be their ſubjects: l • t them go and and win The trydent of great Neptune, waters King. I mean to ſet them forth. 1 Lo.

What means my Liege?

Kin. Nay, I'm reſolv'd, ſince that they do no more Regard my favour, they ſhall feel my frowns. O ye Coeleſtial Deities! where are Your power and wonted juſtice now become? All things run head-long, and the feet forget Their duty to their Head, and traitors turn, Breaking the bonds of government; that now A Princes power, or Fathers care's contemn'd, And only recompenc'd with ſlight and ſcorn. La • But▪ Sir, though ſhe her duty do forget To you, yet is ſhe ſtill your child, and may Be eaſily reclaimed. Shall one miſdeed Forfeit all former loyalty? She us'd To be more ready to give, than you Could be to ask. Come, let the weight of that O're-poize your anger, and this light offence. Kin. I'll hear no more, all pity now is gone, And anger hath the caſtle of my breaſt So ſtrongly fortified, whole valleys of Requeſts can never move: ceaſe then your ſuit, To which my ears are deaf, and tongue is mute. 1 Lo. Heaven is not ſo impregnable, but that Entreaties may both ſiege and conquer it: If that your daughter hath run on the ſcore Of one offence, will nothing cancel it? Kin.

My reſolution's writ in Adamant.

1 Lo.

Dread Sir, and may not tears then blot it out?

Kin. Nor all the liquid drop the ſea contains Shall quench my rage; for now I have forgot All pitie of a father, and that wretch Shall feel what 'tis to loſe a fathers love.— Since ſhe will needs ſlight and contemn our care, I'll have a Bark provided, without oar, Or ſail, or pilot, but the wilful wind, And waves, true emblemes of their giddy act, And therein with her brat, and mate imbarqu'd, Shall ſeek their fortunes: And ſee you it done Without delay, our Will admits no time, T'expoſtulate no more than alteration▪ 1 Lo. O good my Lord command my ſervice in Some nobler act than this and do not try My faith in that, for which • 'de rather die, Than do't. What heir ſhall ſucc • ed your ſelf In the Arcadian Diadem, if thus you drown The Sun of all our hopes, which muſt Supply your place, when as your Sun ſhall ſet In darkeſt clouds of death, muſt night enſue, And ſeize upon our Horizon?—O let Some pity of our drooping ſtate prevail. Kin. All will not do. I'll have it done; then go Or ſtay and pull my vengeance on thy head. Will you turn traytor too, to our commands? As you tender our favour, or your ſafety, Go execute my will without delay. 1 Lo. And muſt my ſafety prove their ruin? can They not live, but I muſt die? I'll do't. Perhaps the tyrant-waves may prove more kind Than is their King My Liege I'l eaſe your mind. Lam. And muſt they, & they only prove (poor hearts) A ſacrifice to fury for their love? I'll be companion of their fortune. We Will leave this curſed land, which is nought elſe But a dry ſea of miſeries, in which We dayly float; the ſea can never be More mercileſs. O what a maze of woe Do lovers tread (dire fate) that for their love, Are recompenc'd with hatred. Farewel world, Thou ball of fortune banded to and fro, And never quiet; we will try what fate Awaits us in the ſea, it can't be worſe Than here we ſuffer by our deareſt friends. Kin. Well brother, ſince you are ſo weary of The world, pray take your ſhare with them, and care Of her: I leave her unto you, and to The mercies of the waves, and ſo adieu. Exit.

Scaen. 2. 2 Lo. Was ever man ſo reſolute to undo, What an whole age can't recompence again? To caſt away a Lady of that worth, That bankrupt nature cannot furniſh forth Her Parallel: A beauty that would tempt The gods to luſt: But guarded with an eye So modeſtly ſevere, it would ſtrike dead All luſtful hopes of the hot raviſher. See where ſhe comes, like Phoebus newly roſe From Thetis bed: Little doth ſhe ſuppoſe The cruelty of her once happy Father, In having ſuch a daughter, now no • fit T'enjoy a bleſſing which he values not. Seph. What news my Lord? Is the ice of my fathers Anger broken? Hath the ſun of counſel Thaw'd his frozen breaſt? 1 Lo.

Ay, into a flood—

Seph. What meanes this paſſion? Speak man, for I am Prepar'd; it can't be worſe than I expect. 1 Lo. Why then it is— Let me firſt drown my ſelf In mine own tears, and vent my mind in ſighs: Madam, you may gueſs ſooner than I can tell. Seph. Prethee torment me not thus with delays, More tedious than the thing can be, what e're It is. Come, I am armed with the ſhield Of patience, my breaſt is miſchief-proof. 1 Lo. 'Tis eaſier far to tell than execute: I wiſh my task were done with telling it. Madam, He hath made me the ſad Over-ſeer Of that dire act, which he ſo fears to ſpeak. Silence will not relieve, it may protract The doing of that horrid fact, which who Shall hear, will loath the name of father, for Your fathers ſake, who when perhaps y'are gone By's want will prize your worth the more, and, love You better than he ever did before. Thus are we taught to value of the light, By the dull ſilence of the darker night. Sep. But to your ſtory, and my doom, which ſure Muſt needs be great, that it can find no vent. Come eaſe your ſhoulders of this burthen, lay It on mine, who have deſerved it. 1 Lo. Lady, wonder not at our unwillingneſs To tell what we had rather wiſh our tongues Out, than to be th'unhappy meſſengers Of ſuch ſad news, the truth whereof muſt rob Arcadia of it's richeſt, choiſeſt Gem, That doth adorn her Princely Diadem: By venturing all our hopes to the mercy Of the cruel waves, He hath preſt to be Your only Pilot; being ſhip't alone, With your dear babe and husband, without ſail, Or oar, to contradict the lawleſs ſeas, In their unbounded raging tyranny: Whoſe heedleſs rigour yet may hap to prove More kind unto you than your fathers love. Sep. Heavens will be done: But had another hand Inflicted this, it would have lighter ſeem'd:— Yet is there comfort in his cruelty, That hath not parted me from him, for whom All this will be but light; his company Will ſweeten all my ſorrows, and convert My mourning into mirth: Can I be ſad, Enjoying him will only make me glad? Enter Lamedon. Lam. I cannot win my brother to reverſe His cruel ſentence, but it muſt be done.— Dear Neece, I'm thy companion; miſery Shall never make my friendſhip to turn edge, But at the loweſt ebb of fortune ſhall My love ſtill flow: the ſea ſhall never quench That flame which virtue once hath kindled in My breaſt, nor ſhall it meet, or be put out With any cold extinguiſher but death. If many ſhoulders make griefs burthen light, Then ſo ſhall ours: and may mine ceaſe to be, When they ſhall ceaſe to bear their equal part, And ſympathize with thee, as doth my heart. Seph. Uncle, my thanks. How rare it is to find A friend in miſery! Men run from ſuch, Like Deer from him is hunted with the dogs, As if that miſery infectious were. Men fly with Eagles wings away, But creep like ſnails, when they ſhould ſuccour lend. I cannot therefore chuſe but prize your love, Who dare be true unto your friend; a name Nearer than that of kindred, or of blood: This is th'effect of nobleſt virtue, which Ties firmer knots than age can e're undo: Such is the knot my Maximus and I Have tied, ſpight of my fathers anger, it Shall hold, when envy's tired to invent Miſchiefs, in vain, to cut the knot in two, Which heaven hath knit too faſt to looſe again. Alas fond man! who thinks to unravel what The gods have wove together.—'Tis in vain.

Scaen. 3. 1 Lo. Lady, time cals upon you not to ſtay, Leſt by a fond delay you call upon His fury to convert into ſome worſe, And ſudden puniſhment, which may deny All hopes of future ſafety; of all ills The leaſt is always wiſely to be choſen. Seph. Go and prepare that floting grave, which muſt Devour's alive, I will attend you here. Before when will my deareſt find his grief, In finding me thus loſt without relief. Exeunt. Manet Sepheſtia. Why doth my Love thus tarry? ſurely he Forgotten hath the place, or time, or elſe He would not ſtay thus long; but can I blame Him, to be ſlow to meet his ruine? I Could wiſh he would not come at all, that ſo He yet might live, although I periſh; but How fondly do I wiſh to be without Him, without whom alas! I cannot live. 'Twere as impoſſible as without air: He 'tis for whom I ſuffer, and with him, All places are alike to me.—See where He comes, who is ſole keeper of my heart. Enter Maximus. Max.

My dear!

Seph. Ah, dear indeed, for whom thy life Muſt pay the ſhot of cruelty enrag'd.— Max. What meanes my love? is't ſhe, or do I dream? Sure this cannot be ſhe, whoſe words were wont To be more ſweet than honey, ſoft as oil: Theſe words, more ſharp than daggers points, n • 're came From her I know—What ſayſt thou my ſweet? Seph. The ſame—truth will not ſuffer me to ſpeak Other, leſt I ſhould injure her▪—O that 'Twere poſſible ſo to diſpenſe with truth, Not to betray our ſelves—I know not what to ſay.— Max. Heavens bleſs us, what a ſudden change is here! Love, who hath wrong'd thee? tell me, that I may Thrid their lives upon my ſword, & make their Dead trunks float in their own blood, till they bluſh At their own ſhame: Tell me my heart, who is't? Seph. Alas poor ſoul! thou little dreamſt what ſad News do's await thine ears; my tongue doth fail, Not daring once to name the thing muſt be Our loves ſad end, and dire Cataſtrophe. My fathers fury—Oh that that name I once delighted in, ſhould odious be To mine affrighted ſenſes!—But for thee Alone, it is I grieve, not for my ſelf.— Max. Be't what it will, ſo that it be but in Relation to thy love, I will embrace, And hug, and thank that malice too, that ſo Invented hath a means whereby I may But teſtifie my loyalty to thee: For whoſe ſweet ſake I would encounter with Legions of armed furies; ſacrifice My deareſt blood unto thy ſervice, which I more eſteem, than all the wealth the world Can boaſt of: 'Tis thee alone I value, Above whatever mens ambitious thoughts Can fathom with their boundleſs appetites. Seph. This flame of love muſt now be quenched in T •• foaming ſea; we are deſign'd a prey Unto the fury of winds and waves.— The deadly Barque's providing, which muſt be Our moving habitation; the ſea Muſt be our Kingdom, and the ſcaly frie Our ſubjects:—This, this, the portion is Of fortunes frowns, and fathers fiercer hate. Fly, fly, my deareſt Maximus, and ſave My life in thine; oh ſtay no longer here. weeps Max. Why doſt thou torment thy ſelf before Thy time? wilt thou anticipate the ſea? And drown thy ſelf in • ears? Deny me not To ſhare with thee in ſuffering, as well As I have done in pleaſure; 'tis for me This ſtorm is rais'd, were I once caſt away, His rage would ceaſe. I, I have wrong'd thee, And I'll be juſt to thee and to my word. draws I'll ope the ſluces of my fulleſt veins, And ſet them running, till they make a flood, Wherein I'll drown my ſelf— He offers to kill himſelf. She ſtays his hand. Seph. Thine heart lies here; 'Tis here, lock't up ſecurely in my breſt: Firſt open that, and take it out; for death Shall ne're divorce me from thy company: I will attend thee through thoſe ſhady vaults Of death, or thou ſhalt live with me.—Doſt think This body poſſible to live without A ſoul? or without thee? Have pitie on Thy tender babe, whoſe life depends on thine, And make not me widow, and him orphan, With unadviſed raſhneſs—Sheath thy ſword. Max. Mine eyes will ne're endure it, to behold, Thee miſerable, no, no, death firſt ſhall draw A ſable veil of darkneſs over them—— Pardon my raſhueſs, I will live with thee, And tire thy fathers rage with ſuffering, So he'l but ſuffer thee to live in mirth, The greateſt ſorrow ſhall not make me ſad. Seph. Here comes my father, cerainly his rage Will know no bounds: I fear it will Break forth into ſome deſperate act on me. Max. Although he be a King, which ſacred name I reverence, and as a mortal god Adore; he ſhall not dare to injure you Before my face: firſt ſhall he wear my life Upon his ſword, if he but dare to touch Thy ſacred ſelf.——

S •• n. 4. Enter Damocles. Kin. How now light-skirts? have you got your Champion To ſhield you from our anger? know I have Not yet forgot the name of father, though You thus have ſlighted it; but as a King, We muſt be juſt to puniſh your contempt. Did you ſo well know your beauty to be Proud of it, and yet ſo little value it, As thus to throw it all away at once? Well, get you gone.—Since that you have eſteem'd A ſtrangers love before your lovalty To me, or my care to you, a ſtranger ſhall Inherit what you were born to, had not Your fond affections forc'd this vile exchange. Max. Sir—for your fury will not ſuffer me To call you father; think not your daughter Undervalued by her love to me: Her love ran not ſo low, as to be ſto • p'd To meet with crime, who am a Prince n • leſs Than is your ſelf: Cyprus my Kingdome is. Kin. What drew you hither then? you muſt needs know It is no leſs than treaſon for to ſteal An heir to our crown: what drew you hither? Max. Hither I came, drawn by that forcible Attractive, for to offer up my ſelf A ſacrifice at th'altar of her love. Toſt with a ſea of miſeries, I came To anchor in the haven of her heart: And if this be treaſon, I ſhall not bluſh To be eſteem'd a traytor. But if not, Then pardon me, if bolder innocence Doth force me tell you, 'tis not juſt in you Thus to oppoſe what Heavens have decreed. Believe me, Sir, it's neither ſafe nor juſt, For you to violate the lawes of fate. Kin. Let not your pride ſo far tranſport you, that You tax our juſtice. I ſhall ſcourge your haſte th'wind Into a leiſurely repentance, when The ſea ſhall teach you that your teares, and That ſighs become your headlong raſh attempts. Max. Great Sir, lay what you will on me, I ſcorn To crave your favour for my ſelf; but yet Let Nature prompt you to be merciful To her who is a chief part of your ſelf. Kin. No, as ye have joyn'd your ſelves in mirth, ſo Will I joyn ye too in mourning; and becauſe Two no good conſort make, my brother ſhall Bear a third part in your grave harmonie. Seph. Father, let me the heavy burthen bear Of this ſad ſong alone: let all your fierce Juſtice center in my breaſt.—— Kin. No more, Our ſentence is irrevocable, nought Shall ſatisfie me elſe: I'll have it done. 1 Lo. My Liege, the barque is ready, and attends Your pleaſure; the commands of Kings are not To be gain-ſaid, or broken; for the will Of heaven is obey'd in doing them. Seph. We do obey it then, and willingly, Father, for yet I can't forget that name, Although theſe injuries would raze it out My memorie; I will not now diſpute, But readily obey your will: and know The pleaſures of your Court ſhould not entice Me ſhun this comming terrour, which will be, More welcome to me by my companie. And thus I take my leave. Here may you find She kneels. That happineſs you wiſh, and we ſhall want Whileſt that we prove our ſelves loves Confeſſors, If not his Martyrs.—— Kin. I will hear no more. Away with them, my Lord, you know the place, Our ſentence and the time, I long to ſee Me, and my Kingdom from theſe monſters free. Max. Arcadia adieu! Thou haſt before Been famous for the happineſs of loves: Now miſchief hath uſurp't the ſeat, and may It be the object of the gods hatred, Since Love's the ſubject of their crueltie. Come deareſt, let us winde our ſelves ſo cloſe, That envie may admire, and ſo deſpair To enter here, where love poſſeſſion keeps. Exe • nt.

Scaen. 5. Kin. Now ſhall I live ſecure, for now there is None left, whoſe nearneſs to our blood might edge Their hopes, by killing us to gain our Crown. Kings lives are never ſafe from thoſe that wiſh Their ends, which muſt initiate them into Th'enjoyment of a Kingdom; this ſame crown Is ſuch a bait unto ambitious ſpirits, 'Tis never ſafe upon the wearers head. Enter Artaxia weeping. Why weeps my dear? Art. Ask why I do not weep. (Poor Artaxia) are my tears denied me! Ask why I do not rave, tear my hair thus, Why ſuch a weight of ſorrow doth not rob So much of woman from me, as complaints! Or rather, why do I not cloud the skie With ſighs; till at the laſt with one bold ſtab My own hand take from inſulting fortune, This miſerable object of her ſport. Ask why I do not this, not why I weep! Kin. Or ſtint thy teares, or mingle mine with them, By a relation of their cauſe; theſe eyes Truſt me Artaxia, are not yet drawn dry, Nor hath ſtrong ſorrow e're exhauſted them, To make them bankrupt of a friendly tear, But not a fond one. Why Artaxia! Why doſt thou haſten thoſe that come too faſt, Sorrow and age, clear up thy clouded brow. Art. Ah Damocles! how haſt thou loſt thy ſelf! And art become a monſter, not a man, Thus to deprive me of my onely joy, The onely ſtay and comfort of mine age, Which now muſt fall. Break heart, and give My ſorrows vent. Ah! my Sepheſtia's gone, For ever loſt unto the world and me. Kin. Content thy ſelf, not I, but juſtice hath Depriv'd us of her: Juſtice, that is blind To all relations, and deaf to intreats Of fond nature, or fonder affection. Art. Ah cruel juſtice! Juſtice! no tyranny, This is: Death, be my friend, & joyn once more My dear Sepheſtia and me—I come Stabs her ſelf! Sepheſtia I come; curs'd world farewel. Kin. Help, help, Artaxia, my dear, help, help, Sepheſtia doth live, ſhe is not dead. Art.

Oh, 'tis too late—oh-oh-oh—

She dies. Enter 2 Lords. 2 Lor. Heavens! what a ſight is here? The Queen, ſhe's dead, ſtark dead, what ſhal we do? This wretched land is fruitful grown of late, Of nothing elſe but miſeries and wo • s▪ Jove ſends his darts like hail-ſhot, no place free: Kin. Ah miſerable man I am, a wretch, Who thus have loſt two jewels that the world Can't recompence: I know not what to do.— Now could I tear my ſelf in pieces, that I have Thus parted friends, & left my ſelf alone. Offers to kill himſelf I am reſolv'd, I will no longer live. 2 Lo. Stay, good my Liege, live, & repent of what Y'have done, you have killd enough already. Kin. If I ſhould kill my ſelf, and loſe my crown, I were better live.—Call us a Council quickly. But my wife, my deareſt Artaxia! That I could breath life into thee again, Or elſe were with thee! 2 Lo.

He's not yet ſo mad.

Kin. O ye powers above! what mean ye thus To wrack us mortals with ſuch blacker deeds Than hell it ſelf! or remove them, or take All ſenſes from us. Bear the bodie in, And ſummon all our Lords with ſpeed t'attend Upon us, that we may find out from whence It is we ſuffer this ſad influence. Exit. 2 Lo. Unhappy King! he hath undone himſelf, And all the Land. His ſublimated rage Hath ſowne a crop of miſchiefs, which no age Can parallel; great-belly'd time is big With ſorrows; and our next ſucceeding times, Muſt reap the harveſt of his bloody crimes. Exit.

Finis Actus primi.

Act. 2.

Scaen. 1. Enter Menaphon, and Doron. Men▪ HOw mad a thing is Love? It makes us loſe Our ſenſes; whileſt we wander in a maze O • endleſs torments: ſometime with his ſmiles The cunning thief doth flatter us with hopes And tantalize our expectations, when Strait our winged joyes are gone, and we Do wrack our ſelves with future coming fears: A miſtris frowns doth cloud our clearer skie. 1. Fond love no more, Will I adore Thy feigned Deity. Go throw thy darts, At ſimple hearts, And prove thy victory. 2. Whilſt I do keep My harmleſs ſheep, Love hath no power on me: 'Tis idle ſoules, Which he controules, The buſie man is free. Enter Doron. Dor. Ah Menaphon, my Siſter Peſana, a pies On her, I had almoſt forgot her name, with come. Thinking on her buſineſs. Men.

VVhy what's thy buſineſs, Doron? tell me,

Dor. My buſineſs, 'tis none of my buſineſſe, I tell you, 'Tis my ſiſter Peſana's buſineſs. Men.

VVell, what's her buſineſs then? I prethee tell.

Dor.

Ah Sir! ſhe's ſick.

Men.

VVhat is ſhe ſick of Doron? let me know.

Dor.

VVhy▪ truly Sir, ſhe's ſick of you.

Men.

She ſick of me? why, am I a diſeaſe?

Dor.

I mean—I mean—ſhe is ſick for you.

Men. That's kindly done of her, Doron, that ſhe Will be ſick for me: I'll make her amends. Dor. Will you make her amend, ſaid you? I am Afraid you'l make her end firſt; but truly Menaphon I have a ſuit for you. Men.

Haſt thou a ſuit for me? Is it a new one?

Dor.

I ſay I have a ſuit to you.

Men.

To me? well, and what is your ſuit made of?

Dor. In good ſooth, Sir, I muſt intreat you will Love my ſiſter as well as you have done. Men. No, Doron, love and I are faln out, and he Will not let me love thy ſiſter or thee either. Dor. No • my ſiſter, nor me neither. Out thou Caterpiller, thou weaſel, thou hedg-hog, I will make you love me, and my ſiſter too. Men, You are out of your ſuit now Doron, and I fear you will catch cold, now you are hot. Exeunt.

Scaen. 2. Enter Maximus ſhipwrack't. Max. Where am I now? Sure 'tis Arcadia. A land happy in giving birth to my Sepheſtia▪ Ah my Sepheſtia!— But now no • my Sepheſtia, ſince the waves Have raviſh'd her from me, and all my hopes Are prov'd abortive; why do I now live! Since ſhe is gone, whoſe life & mine were both Twiſted on one thred! Ye fatal Siſters! Why did not your cruel knife cut my life In twain, when hers was broken off by the Rude waves & bluſtring wind, who ſtrove which ſhould Gain her from each? But both from me have robd Her▪ • now may the ſea well boaſt, and out-vie The begger'd earth; ſince it hath her who was The earth's whole ſum of riches. O ye gods • Why did ye once make me ſo happy To enjoy her, and now ſnatch'd her again To make me thereby the more miſerable? Yet is ſhe not quite drowned; for her heart Is here: 'tis mine the ſea doth prey upon. Well, my Sepheſtia, oh that name doth raviſh Me: This body ſhall a monument be, And my whole life a continued Elegie, Both conſecrated to thy memorie. I'll drown thee once more in my tears, Which I will daily pay, as tribute to thee. Cyprus adieu, greatneſs alſo farewel. I ſee, thoſe who are lifted higheſt on The hill of honour, are neareſt to the Blaſts of envious fortune, whilſt the low And valley fortunes are far more ſecure. Humble valleys thrive with their boſoms full Of flowers, when hills melt with lightning, and rough Anger of the clouds. I will retire from The front of honour, to the rear of a Shepherds life: where whilſt I do daily tend The harmleſs ſheep, will I ſing forth ſad notes Of their bleſt happineſs, and my misfortune. I will no longer keep this miſerable name Of Maximus▪ but clad in ſorrows weeds, Will I wear the name of Melecertus. No more Maximus Prince of Cyprus, but A poor ſhepherd will I be: when you ſee Thoſe weeds, and hear Melecertus name, I am that wretched he, who, like the ſnake, Have caſt my former coat by creeping through The hole of miſerie, and got a new. Exit.

Scaen. 3. Enter Doron. Dor. My Carmela is comming, and I'm provided to caſt A ſheeps eye at her. He flings at her. Enter Carmela. Car. Now I ſee how Love came blind, he flung His eyes at me in ſtead of a love-dart. Dor.

Ha, my Carmela, let me kiſs thy honyſuckle lips▪

Car.

You kiſs ſo hard, you'l leave your beard behind.

Dor. By my troth, Carmela, ſwains cannot ſwear, But—I do love thee—by our great god Pan I love thee. Car.

You ſaid you could not ſwear, and yet you Swear you love me.

Dor.

Love, I have ſtared ſo long at thee, that I Am now grown blind.

Car. Then ſhall you be led, like blind beggars With a dog and a bell, or elſe be beholding To the glaſier for a new pair of eyes. Dor. I know not what you mean eyes, but I am Sure that I am off the hooks. You tell me of Eyes, eyes, but 'tis your no's that torments me. This blind god, that the Poets call Cupid, has ſeen To hit me with his dart, I know not how, But as the blind man kil'd the crow. Car. Then you are one of the wanderers in Loves Labyrinth, I prethee let me lead thee. Dor. Ay, ſo we may both fall; but no matter, For if you fall firſt, I'll fall on thee. Car.

Fie, Doron, fie, are you not aſham'd?

Dor. Aſham'd? of what? marry better falling Falling out. Car.

You'r very merry Doron, where's your in, than muſick?

Dor. Let me play on thee, my pretty bag-pipe, And I know thou wilt ſing, loth to depart.— Car.

And I'll try that, now follow me.

Ex •• ▪ Dor. Nay, when you came to the ſnuff once, I thought You would quickly go out.

Scaen. 4. Enter Menaphon. Oh Menaphon, hark, I am undone, as a man Should undo an oyſter. Men.

Why Doron, what's to do with thee now▪

Dor. Why man, thy ſiſter Carmela is grown proud, And is juſt ſuch another as thy ſelf, ſhe ſlights And ſcorns poor Doron; and yet becauſe I love her▪ As my ſiſter doth thee, ſhe laughs at me. Well, I will be even with her▪ for if ſhe won't love Me with a good will▪ I'll love her againſt her Will; and I think I ſhall be even with her there▪ Men. Come, Doron, come, count love a toy, As I do, who take far more joy to view My flocks; here's my content; when heavens frown, I think upon my faults; and a clear skie Puts me in mind of the gods gracious love: Envie o're-looketh me, nor do I gaze So high as tall ambition; and for love, I feed my ſelf with fancies, ſuch as theſe. Venus (the Poets ſay) ſprang from the ſea, Which notes to me th' inconſtancie of love, Changing each day with various ebbs & tides▪ Sometimes o're-flowing the banks of fortune With a gracious look from a lovers eyes, Ebbing at other times to th' dangerous ſhelf Of cold deſpair, from a Miſtris frowns. Your Cupid muſt be young▪ to ſhew He is a boy, his wings inconſtance tell▪ He's blind, to note his aym is without rule, Or reaſons guide; ſuch is the god ye ſerve. Dor. Treaſon, treaſon againſt the god of love▪ Menaphon, though you be my friend, I will Have you articl'd againſt at the next meeting well Of the Shepherds. Men. Lovers ſorrows be like to the reſtleſs Labours of Siſyphus. Dor.

Like thy tongue then.

Men. Your Miſtris favour's honey mixt with gall A bitter ſweet, a folly worſt of all, That forceth reaſon to be fancies thrall. Then love who liſt for me, if beauty be So ſowr, then give me labour ſtill. Exit. Dor. How I would laugh to ſee Menaphon once Manacl'd with loves fetters, that he might repent His blaſphemy againſt the ſhepherds deitie. Exit.

Scaen. 3. Enter Sepheſtia ſhipwrack't, with her Ʋncle Lamedon. Seph. Ah cruel fortune, but more cruel father, Moſt wretched I, who thus am rob'd of all My pregnant hopes, my ſpringing joyes blaſted With winter frowns. Jove ſend a flaming dart Into my breaſt, to melt my frozen heart Into a flood of tears, that I may drown My ſelf in them▪ ſince that the waves have prov'd Unkindly courteous to preſerve my life, But to prolong my miſerie, and he Is drownd who was my lifes preſerver. Ah ye enraged deities! could ye Be ſo unkind to draw my life's thred out Thus long, to ſurvive him who was my life? Why did ye not, or ſave his life with mine, Or deſtroy mine with his, that ſo I might Enjoy his companie in life or death? Lam.

Ay, in the gods time, Neece, but not before.

Seph. And oh▪ my deareſt Pluſidippus! could The waves be ſo hard-hearted, as to crop Thy blooming youth, to ſend thee to thy grave Before thou wert a man? Had they but left Me thee, it would have eas'd thy fathers loſs, If I had had his tranſcript to have view'd In thee, who wert his perfect Image. Now In ſtead of heir to the Cyprus crown, The cypreſs grove ſhall be Joynter, where I'll ſadly ſpend the remnant of my life, To weep my loſſes, and my own ſad fate, Which thus I will revenge; my Maximus Shall live ſtill freſh within my memorie, There fixt too ſure for all the briny waves To waſh away. Nor ſhall I e're forget My ſon, my Pluſidippus. I could feed, My ſelf unto eternitie with theſe Sweet names, which do as far out-vie The Nectar and Ambroſia of the gods, As pearls do pebbles. I can hold no more▪ My heart's ſo full, 'twill break, or over-run The ſluces of mine eyes.— • 'll weep the reſt. Lam. Why doſt thou thus torment thy ſelf in vain? Thy tears wil not recover them again. Fates dart is ſhot, and cannot be recall'd, Nor is there any ſalve for fortunes wounds, But patience; therefore ſeeing me Partaker of thy ſorrows, now lean all Thy cares on me, it is ſome relief, In ſorrow to have fellows of our grief. Seph. My husband and my ſon are gone, and I Survive alone un • o their miſerie. Lam. Chance is like Janus, double-fac'd; ſometimes With ſmiles ſhe comforts us, ſometimes With frowns ſhe caſts us down again: A calm Succeeds a ſtorm, and a ſharp winter doth Precede a pleaſant ſpring. Seph. Oft turnings tire The weary traveller; and love doth loſe His followers, in a wild Labyrinth Of woes. How am I faln from all my hopes! (An exile in my native Country:) and The crown hope ſeem'd to place upon my head: Baniſhed from the pleaſures of the Court, Parted for love from him I could not chuſe But love, from Maximus, who hath for me Suffer'd as many miſchiefs as malice Could invent, and now all ſum'd up in death. Lam. What of all this? after the ſtorm that rent Our ſhip, we found a calm that brought us ſafe To th' ſhore, whilſt Neptunes mercie was beyond The envious blaſts of Aeolus; and thus The gods do recompenſe us with their favour, For the diſ-courteſies of your father. Seph. Sweet Lamedon, once partner of my joyes, Though now partaker of my wants; I ſee You are as conſtant in my ſad diſtreſs, As you were faithful in my richer fortunes: Though friends ſeldom prove friends in poverty Misfortune hath not chang'd your mind, but you Temper my exile with your baniſhment: Your aged years ſhall be my ſole directors, Your will the ruler of my actions. If you perſwade me to content, Portia Shall not exceed Sepheſtia's patience: If you will have me ſtrike my ſails, I will, And ſteer my courſe by th'compaſs of your care. Lam. Since hope is all the portion we have left, Let's thank the gods that ſav'd our lives, and reſt Our cares on them, they can return us more Than we have loſt, or fit our minds to bear Our preſent ſtate. Contentment gives a crown, Where fortune hath denied it: patience Makes all things eaſie to an humble mind. Cares are companions of the Crown, the Court Is full of buſie thoughts, and envious ſtrife, Whilſt peaceful ſleeps attend a Countrey life. Seph. Then Lamedon will I diſguiſe my ſelf, And with my cloaths will change my former thoughts, Meaſure my actions by my preſent ſtate, Not by my former fortunes. Sepheſtia No more: Alas! I know not where, or how VVe ſhall beſtow our ſelves: Surely this is Some un-frequented place, no harmleſs ſheep Do feed, nor ſhepherds tend their thriving flocks. Enter to th ••• Menaphon

Scaen. 6. Sepheſtia, Lamedon, Menaphon. Men. Heavens! what a ſight is here! Such ſtars appear But rarely in our Country Hemiſphere, I am ſo Planet-ſtruck with one ſhort glance, I neither can retire nor yet advance. VVhat reſolution is of proof againſt Such charms as theſe! Some goddeſs hath aſſum'd An humane ſhape to tempt us weaker mortals. Cupid, I cry thee mercie now, although I were an Atheiſt unto thee before, Thou art the Deitie I will adore.▪ Sure they are in diſtreſs, thoſe pearly tears Furrow her cheeks with cruel ſtrife Which ſhall run faſteſt, are no ſooner dried, New ſighs, like the warm ſouthern wind proclame A freſh approaching ſhowre. I fear they are Some paſſengers late ſhipwrack't, for I ſaw, (When walking by the ſhore) ſome floting parts Of a torn ſhip, contending with the waves. Lam. Courteous ſhepherd, if diſtreſſed perſons Fortune hath rob'd, and the ſea favoured (If it be a favour to live and want) May crave your aid ſo far, as to direct Us to ſome place may reſt our wearied bones, Our charges ſhall be paid, and you ſhall have For recompence, ſuch bleſſings as the gods Uſe to beſtow on hoſpitable men. Men. Strangers, your qualitie I know not, nor Shall now diſpute; but if a country cell May not too diſparage you, here is Hard by my cottage, and your home. Seph. Kind Sir, your courteſie is much beyond Our merit, and our preſent hopes below A ſuitable return; pleaſe you accept Our thanks, as earneſt of that larger debt Future abilitie may ſee diſcharg'd. Men. Lady, I have no curious hangings to Adorn my walls, nor plate to ſhew my wealth: Yet do I live content; and you ſhall find Such welcome as a cottage can afford. Lam. Sir, blame not our wills, but preſent want, which now Makes us thus plentiful only in thanks. Exeunt.

Scaen. 7. Enter Doron, Carmela. Dor. Carmela, by my great bel-weather, Carmela, I'm over the tops of my high-ſhooes in love, And there ſhall I ſtick and ſtarve, if thou doſt Not pull me out.—Where haſt thou been This live-long hour? Car.

What, does the mouth of your affections water?

Dor. Water? No, it fires. I'm ſo all a-fire, that I dare Not go amongſt my flocks for fear, leſt I ſhould burn up all their paſture, if thou Doſt not ſhowre down ſome dew of Comfort to cool me. Car. I ſhall ſoon cool your courage▪ Doron; for I cannot, may not, will not love thee. Dor. Out you goſſip, not love me? go, get You ſpin on Ixions wheel. Car.

No, Lovers ſpin on that, and ſo muſt you.

Exeunt.

Scaen. 8. Enter Menaphon. Men. How fond was I, when I as vainly ſtrove To keep my heart againſt the god of Love! I little thought his power; when I reſolv'd To live, and not to love: Nature I ſee Cannot ſubſiſt without loves harmonie. In vain I ſhut the door, and bolted it With reſolution; ſtrait the thief, Thorough the caſements of mine eyes got in, And ſtole away my heart; as once of old He ſerv'd the merry Greek Anacreon; Whoſe fancie fits my fortune: Here it is▪ Loves Duel. Cupid all his Arts did prove, To invite my heart to love; But I alwayes did delay, His mild ſummons to obey; Being deaf to all his charms. Strait the god aſſumes his Ar •• . With his how and quiver, he Takes the field to Duel me. Armed like Achilles, I, With my ſhield alone defie His bold challenge, as he caſt His golden darts, I as faſt Catch'd his Arrows in my ſhield, Till I made him leave the field. Fretting, and diſarmed then, The angry god returns agen, All in flames; ▪ſtead of a dart, Throws himſelf into my heart. Uſeleſs, I my ſhield require, When the Fort is all on fire. I in v ••• the field did win, Now the Enemy's within. Thus betray'd, at laſt I cry, Love thou haſt the victory. Alas! what heart's ſo fortify'd, to prove The ſev'ral batteries of the god of love! What ear's not charm'd with th'rethorick of a voice, Whoſe ſingle note would ſilence all the Quire Of the Aërial feather'd Choriſters! What eye would not be blinded to behold Thoſe eyes which caſt a cloud upon the Sun, And bring his light under diſparagement. Enter Sepheſtia. Witneſs that face, whoſe Shrine hath made me blind. How fares my faireſt gueſt? Seph. The better for Your courteous entertainment, may the gods Be favourable to your flocks, as you Have friendly been to us. Men. May I preſume To crave your name, and to enquire how Hard-hearted fortune could be ſo unjuſt, To injure innocence? Signe ſhe is blind. Seph. My name is Samela, my parentage But mean, the wife of a poor Gentleman Of Cyprus, now deceas'd: How arriv'd here▪ Pray do not now enquire; time may reveal, What preſent ſorrows force me to conceal. Men. I will not preſs your yet freſh bleeding wounds, With a rude hand; 'tis time and patience Muſt work the cure; the gods allow a ſalve For ev'ry ſore, but we muſt wait on them: Their time is beſt; for when we ſtrive to heal Our wounds too faſt, they do but feſter more. Reſt here content; a Country life is ſafe, Fortune o're-looks our humble cottages We are not pain'd with wealth, nor pin'd with want, Our ſheep do yield us milk for food, and wooll To make us cloaths; hunger & cold we ſlight: Envie hath here no place, we'l friendſhip keep, Free from all jars, and harmleſs as our ſheep. Sam. O happy life! would I had never known Other than this, which by compariſon, Renders mine odious to my memorie. Exit weeping. Men. Sorrow ſits heavy on her heart, but ſhews More lovely in her face; thoſe tears appear Like chryſtal dew upon the bluſhing roſe. Beauty thus veil'd, is more inviting, than Shining out in it's unclouded ſplendor. Fortune, I hate thee, for thy ſpight to her, But thank thee for thy courteſie to me, In ſending her for ſhelter to my houſe. Kind love aſſiſt me now, and I will be Her conſtant ſervant, and thy votarie. Exit.

Finis Act. 2.

Act. 3.

Scaen. 1. Romanio and Eurilochus, with Pluſidippus. Rom. THis preſent to the King of Theſſaly Will gain us both reward and pardon too For all our former Pyracies upon His ſeas and ſhips. Eur. Ay, he hath ne're a ſon, For to inherit the Theſſalian Crown: Hereby this lad may gain a Kingdom, whilſt We ſeek but our liberties and lives, For time to come, and pardon for what's paſt. This is the place the King doth oft frequent, When publick cares oppreſs his Royal head, Here he unloads the burthen of his thoughts, And changes cares for recreation.— See where he comes! God ſave your Majeſtie. Rom.

Long live Agenor, King of Theſſaly.

Enter King. Kin. What meanes this bold intruſion? who are ye? That dare preſume into our private walks? Eur. Pardon, great Sir, we come not to offend Your ſacred Majeſtie, but to preſent Shews Pluſidippus to the King. You with this living gift. Kin. This is a gift Indeed; where had ye him, or what's his birth? Rom. Pleaſe you, dread Sir, grant us your pardon then, We ſhall declare unto you what we know. Kin.

Take it, we freely pardon ye. Now ſpeak.

Eur. Then be it known unto your Majeſtie, VVe the two famous Pyrats are, you have So long laid wait to take, but all in vain. Roving upon the coaſts of Arcady, VVe found this beauteous youth upon the ſhore, VVhom (we ſuppoſe) the ſeas had wrack't, but ſav'd His life, which we have nouriſh'd ever ſince, And now bequeath unto your Majeſtie: For which we beg no recompence, but this, To ſeal our pardons for our former faults. Kin. Look that for time to come ye honeſt be, And for what's paſt we freely pardon ye. Rom. Thanks, Royal Sir, the remnant of our lives VVill we ſpend in your ſervice, and ſo give Again, our lives which you have given us, VVhen they were forfeit to your laws and you. Exeunt. Kin. This is a welcome gift. VVhat a divine Beautie doth ſparkle in his countenance! Surely he cannot be of mortal race Deſcended, but Jove himſelf hath ſent him, To be the happy heir of my Kingdom. Immortal Jove! I thank thee for this gift. Thou couldeſt not have ſent a welcomer. My pretty lad, where wer't thou born? canſt tell? Plu.

I know not, Sir,—my name is Pluſidippus.

Kin. Come, follow me, now have I found at once An husband for my daughter, & an heir For the Theſſalian Crown. Thrones are ſupplied forth, By Jove, who, when the root is withered, Can make more heav'nly branches to ſprout Which may in time grow mighty trees to ſhade, And ſhelter all their liege-ſubjects under. Exeunt.

Scaen. 2. Menaphon ſolus. Strike home, great Cupid, with thy flaming dart, As yet thou doſt but dally with my heart: 'Tis rather ſcratch'd than wounded; I do hate A luke-warm love: give me a love flames high, As it would reach the element of fire, From whence it came; a low and creeping flame Befits • chimney, not a lovers breaſt. Give me a love dare undertake a task VVould fright an Hercules into an ague. A love dare tempt the boldeſt fate, and die An honour'd captive, or bold conquerour. Give me a daring, not a whining love, A love grows great with oppoſition: A love that ſcorns an eaſie task, things great And noble always are moſt difficult▪ This is the love (blind Cupid) I would have, A love that brings home trophies, or a grave. I'll tempt his god-ſhip with a ſong, and ſee If verſe, not ſighs, will gain the victorie. 1. No more, no more, Fond Love give • 're, Dally no more with me; Strike home and bold, Be hot, or cold, Or leave thy deitie. 2. In love, luke-warm, Will do more harm, Than can feavers heat: Cold cannot kill So ſoon as will A fainting, dying ſweat. 3. I cannot tell, When ſick, or well, Phyſick, or poyſon give; Still in anguiſh, I do languiſh, Or let me die, or live. 4. If I muſt be, Thy Votarie, Be thou my friend or foe: If thou wilt have Me be thy ſlave, Hold faſt, or let me goe. Sure Cupid hath reſign'd his place, and giv'n His god-head unto Carmela, whoſe eyes Wound more than ever did his darts. But what is that, if ſhe have power to hurt, And wanteth mercie for to heal thoſe hurts. I fear whilſt I make her my deitie, I do but thereby make her proud, And with my own hands place her out of reach. Yet ſhe is in diſtreſs, and that ſhould make Enter Doron. Liſtens and laughs. Her humble: I relieve her, therefore ſhe Hath the more reaſon thus to relieve me; And certain, ſhe will rather love than want. Dor. Ha ha, ha, &c. are you catch'd, Menaphon? I'faith, I think y'are fetter'd now, you'r hang'd Ith' brambles of love, as well as I. You laugh'd At me before, but now I'll laugh at you. Men. Ah Doron! now I crave thy pitie, for I never thought an earthly beautie could So ſoon have fetter'd me; what did I ſay? An earthly? No, Doron, ſhe is heavenly, Brighter than Phoebus in his glittring pride: Venus her ſelf was not ſo fair a Bride. Do. How now Menaphon! I'm afraid thou wilt Be a beggar ſhortly, thou art a Poet already. One of the thred-bare crew, that ragged regiment. Enter Samela. Men. See Doron, ſee, ſee where ſhe comes, who with Her brighter luſtre can create a day At mid-night, when the Sun is gone to ſleep; Eclipſe his noon-tide glory with her light: Her abſence would benight the world▪ & cloath't In blackeſt darkneſs, for to mourn it's loſs. Sam.

Good-morrow Hoſt, how thrive your well-fed flocks?

Men. My flocks do thrive (Lady) and can't do leſs, Bleſt with the auſpicious ſun-ſhine of your eyes; And I were too ingrateful, if I ſhould Deny to give you back again, what I Enjoy but by your beauteous influence. Sam. Y'are merry, Menaphon, if not prophane, To rob the gods of what is due to them, To give it to the object of their ſcorn. Could I diſpenſe good fortunes, I ſhould not Forget my ſelf, & chuſe the meaneſt lot. Exeunt. Menaphon Dor. This 'tis to be in love, how ſpruce is Become of late, as he were always going To a feaſt? and talks as if he were ſome Citie Orator. Why can I not do ſo? I'm Sure I am in love as well as he. But I'll go hire ſome journey-man Poet, or other, And he ſhall make me ſome verſes For my Carmela: And that will do as Well, as if I made them my ſelf; I'll Set my brand upon them, and then no Body will queſtion them to be mine, no More than they do my ſheep that are mark'd. Enter Melecertus.

Scaen. 3. Ay, ay, it ſhall be ſo. Oh Melecertus, Yonder is the fineſt ſhepherdeſs that ever The moon held the candle of her light to; the Shepherd Menaphon has got her to him, as If becauſe he is the Kings ſhepherd, he Muſt have the Queen of Shepherdeſſes. Mel.

Haſt ſeen her, Doron? and doſt know her name?

Dor. Seen her? ay, and ſigh to ſee her too; her name, I Think, is Stamela—no, no,—Samela, Samela, Ay, ay, that's her name, I have it now, I would I had her too. Mel.

What kind of woman is ſhe, canſt thou tell?

Dor.

Ay, or elſe I were naught to keep ſheep.

Mel.

Can thy tongue paint her forth to mine • ar?

Dor. Ay, ay, legible, I warrant you. Her eyes are like two diamonds, I think, for I never ſaw any before; and her locks are All gold, like the golden fleece our ſhepherds Tell of. Mel. It were good vent'ring for that golden fleece, Doron, as Jaſon long ſince did for his. Dor. Her hands are all ivory, like the bone-haft Of my beſt knife, her alablaſter, and her Eyes black as my blackeſt lamb, her cheeks Like roſes red and white that grow together. What think you of her now? have I not made A fair picture on her? Mel. Ay Doron, were this picture painted to The life, as thou haſt here deſcribed it, It could not chuſe but make an abſolute, Rare, and compleat piece of deformitie. Dor. Nay, nay, if you don't like it, I don't Care, but I had it out of an old book of My brother Mor •• 's, they call 'm Rogue-mances, I think: my brother Ha's a whole tumbrel full on 'm, he's Such a Bookiſh block-head— Mel. Nay, be not angry, Doron, I believe Thou mean'ſt a beautie beyond expreſſion▪ And ſuch an one I had, till envious fate Rob'd me of her, and all my joyes at once, Heavens envying at my happineſs, Sent death to fetch her from me, and ſhe's dead, Dead, Doron, dead,—ſhe's dead to me, and to The world, and all but to my memorie. weeps. Dor. Fie, Melecertus, what doſt mean to Weep? what, wilt thou make dirt of Her aſhes with thy teares? Mel. Well, Doron, we forget our flocks, and we Shall miſs the ſhepherds merry meeting. Dor. That's true, and there will be the ſhepherdeſſes Too, and Menaphon will bring his fine Miſtris thither; there ſhalt thou ſee her, But firſt mask thine eyes, leſt thou loſe Them, and become love-blind, as I am. Good Melecertus take the pains to lead me. Exeunt.

Sc • n. 4. Enter King Damocles melancholy, 2 Lords. Kin. How wretched am I grown, I hate my ſelf, And care not now for my own company: I loath thee light, and fain would hide my ſelf From mine own eyes; I'm wearie of my life.— Where ſhall I hide my ſelf, that there I may▪ Deceive th'approaches of diſcov'ring day? I'll ſeek ſome gloomy cave, where I may lie, Entomb'd alive in ſhades of ſecrecie. Exit. 1 Lo. His thoughts are much perplex't, & black deſpair, May puſh him on unto ſome deſp'rate act, If not prevented by our vigilance. 2 Lo▪ This is th'effect of raſh reſolves, when haſt And paſſion hurry men to do thoſe things Reaſon would wiſh undone, at leaſt delay'd. Our wills ſpur'd on by rage, ne're ſtop, till we (Blinded with anger) headlong throw our ſelves From dangers praecipice, into a gulf Of black deſpairing thoughts; and then too late Repentance lends us ſo much light as may Shew us our madneſs, and our miſerie. 1 Lo. Ill actions never go unpuniſhed; They are their own tormentors, and do prove At laſt, furies to laſh the guilty ſoul. 2 Lo. When reaſon is depos'd, & paſſion reigns, Nothing but lawleſs actions do appear: When paſſion hath uſurp't the helm, And ſteers a wild uncertain courſe, not by The card and compaſs of advice, the ſhip Will never make good voyage, but be toſt Upon the waves, and all her lading loſt. He by his wilful rage hath caſt away Himſelf, and floats upon the waves of ruine: Let's try if we can waft him ſafe to ſhore, Lend him our helping hands, leſt he do ſink Into that deep and black gulf of deſpair. 1 Lo. Let's after him, and try what we can do, In ſaving him, we ſave our Kingdom too. Exeunt.

Scaen. 5. Enter Menaphon, with Samela, and Peſana after them, Melecertus leading Doron. Peſ.

Hey day, what's here, my brother Doron?

Mel.

Doron conceits himſelf that he is blind.

Dor. Ay, Doron's as blind as any door: what Creep I here upon? Carmila, oh Carmila, The very ſight of thee hath recovered mine Eyes again. He ſtumbles on Samela in Carmila's cloaths. Men. Nay, now I ſee, Doron, th'art blind indeed, That doſt not know Carmila from her cloaths. No, no, 'tis Samela, not Carmila. Dor. Which is my Carmila? good Melecertus. Shew me where ſhe is. Mel.

It ſeems, Doron, Carmila is not here.

Dor. Why, what do I do here then? I thought It was ſomething I miſs'd, onely I Miſtook; for I had thought it had Been my eyes were loſt, but now I See it is my Carmila is miſſing, whom I had rather ſee than my own eyes. Peſ.

This is my corrival in Menaphon's love.

Mel. She is a beautie indeed; and ſince my Sepheſtia is drown'd, without compare. I cannot blame Menaphon, but envie Him rather, for his ſo happy choiſe. O happy! yet to me unhappy beautie! That doth (as in a glaſs) preſent unto My frighted ſenſes the remembrance of My loſs, which, unleſs by this fair piece, Cannot be recompenced by the world.— Miſtris, y'are welcome to our company. Dor. By my troth, Miſtris, you are very welcome, As I may ſay, unto our meeting. Sam. Thanks ſhepherds: I am a bold intruder Into your company; but that I am Brought by your friend, and my hoſt Menaphon. Mel. Miſtris, your preſence is Apologie Sufficient; yet do we owe him thanks, That by his means we have the happineſs T'enjoy your ſweet ſocietie in this Our rural meeting, when ſhepherds uſe To cheer themſelves with mirth & pleaſant tales. Sam. I hope my company ſhall not forbid The Banes between your meeting & your mirth. Mel. Then by your leave, fair ſhepherdeſs, I will Begin with you. If the gods ſhould decree To change your form, what ſhape would you deſire? Sam. I would be careful how to ſail between The two rocks, of immodeſt boldneſs, or Of peeviſh coyneſs; therefore to anſwer Unto your queſtion, I would be a ſheep. Men.

A ſheep? Miſtris, why would you be a ſheep?

Sam. Becauſe that then my life ſhould harmleſs be, My food the pleaſant Plains of Arcadie, My drink the curious ſtreams, my walks Spacious, and my thoughts as free as innocent. Dor.

I would I were your Keeper.

Mel. But many times the faireſt ſheep are drawn Sooneſt unto the ſhambles to be kill'd. Sam. And ſure a ſheep would not repine at that, To feed them then, who fed her long before. Peſ. Then there's more love in beaſts, than conſtancie In men, for they will die for love, but when? When they can live no longer, not before. Men. If they'r ſo wiſe, it is their mother-wit, For men have their inconſtancies but from You women, as the ſea it's ebbs and tides Hath from the moon.—Your embleme to an hair. Dor. Menaphon, if you hate my ſiſter, I'll— Love yours for't in ſpight of your teeth▪ Peſ. Your mother ſurely was a weather▪ cock, That brought forth ſuch a changeling; for your love Is like the lightning, vaniſhed as ſoon As it appears; a minute is an age In your affections. You once loved me▪— Dor.

Ay, I would you lov'd him no better.

Men. If that I be ſo changing in my love, It is becauſe mine eye's ſo weak a Judge, It cannot pleaſe my heart upon trial. Peſ. If that your eye's ſo weak, then let your eares Be open to your loves appeals and plaints, Sam. Come, for to end this ſtrife, pray let us hear Th' opinion of good Doren, who's ſo mute, As if h' had loſt his tongue too, with his eyes. Dor. By my • ay, fair Miſtris, I was thinking All this while with my ſelf, whether in being A ſheep, you would be a ram, or an ewe? Sam. An ewe, no doubt; if I ſhould change my, ſhape I would not change my Sex; and horns are held The heavieſt burthen that the head can bear. Dor. I think then I were beſt be an ewe too, So I might be ſure to have no horns: But I would not greatly care to wear horns, Were I a ram, were it but where you were and gives An ewe.— Men. VVell, ſhepherds, come, the day declines, Us timely warning for to fold our flocks. Exeunt.

Scaen. 6. Manet Melecertus. VVere my Sepheſtia living, I ſhould think This ſheperdeſs were ſhe: Such was her ſhape, Such was her countenance; her very voice Doth ſpeak her my Sepheſtia. But alas! How fondly do I dream! I do embrace A cloud in ſtead of Juno. Yet I love, And like her, 'cauſe ſhe is ſo like my Love. VVe love the pictures of our abſent friends: And ſhe's the living picture of my dear, My dear Sepheſtia. Me thinks I feel A kind of ſympathy within my breſt▪ To like and love her of all women beſt. Forgive me, my Sepheſtia, if thou liveſt, If I do love another for thy ſake: Thy likeneſs is the loadſtone which doth draw My heart to her, that nothing elſe could move. Exit.

Scaen. 7. Enter Peſana. Thou moſt impartial deitie of Love! Can there be two Suns in Loves Hemiſphere? Or more loves in one heart than one that's true▪ Or can the ſtream of true love run in more Channels than one? Shall I be thus paid For my love to falſe Menaphon? Hereafter, Venus, never will I adore thee, nor Will I offer up ſo many Evening Prayers unto Cupid, as I have done.— Was ever poor maid ſo rewarded with An inconſtant lover, as I daily am With this ſame fickle-headed Menaphon! Enter Doron. How now Peſana! what's the newes with thee? Peſ. News! marry 'tis the news I complain of; Were Menaphon the old Menaphon, that He was wont to be, I ſhould not complain▪ Dor. Come—plain Peſana muſt not grutch to give Way unto fine Samela▪ that hath turn'd his▪ Heart, and if he do not turn again Quickly, he'l be burnt on that ſide; well, Be content a while, by that time he hath loved Her, as long as he did thee, he'l be as Weary of her, as he is now of thee. Peſ. But in the mean time▪ Doron, I muſt be A ſtale to her uſurps my right in him. Dor. Ay, that's the reaſon he doth not care For thee, becauſe thou art ſtale. Thus do poor lovers run through The briars and the brambles of difficulties, And ſometimes fall into the ditch of undoing. Peſ. Good Doren, be my friend to Menaphon. And mind him of his former love to me, Or I ſhall learn at laſt to ſlight him too. Dor. Ay, ay, he has a ſiſter, juſt ſuch another As himſelf, I'm zure ſhe has e'en broken My poor heart in twain; and if it be Piec'd again, it will never be handſom. Exeunt.

Scaen. 8. Enter Lamedon. How happy are theſe ſhepherds! here they live Content, and know no other cares, but how To tend their flocks, and pleaſe their Miſtris beſt. They know no ſtrife, but that of love, they ſpend Their days in mirth; and when they end, ſweet ſleeps Repay, and eaſe the labours of the day▪ They need no Lawyers to decide their jars, Good herbs, and wholſom diet, is to them The onely Aeſculapius; their skill Is how to ſave, not how with art to kill. Pride and ambition are ſuch ſtrangers here, They are not known ſo much as by their names▪ Their ſheep and they contend in innocence, Which ſhall excell, the Maſter or his flocks. With honeſt mirth, and merry tales, they paſs Their time, and ſweeten all their cares: Whilſt Courts are fill'd with waking thoughtful ſtrife, Peace and content do crown the ſhepherds life.

Finis Act. 3.

Act. 4.

Scaene 1. Enter King of Theſſaly, and his daughter Euriphila. Kin. DAughter, it is enough, we will it, ſee You ſhew your dutie in obeying us; Since I have made choiſe of him for my Son, Accept him for your husband: He's a man Ancient in virtues, although young in yeares: He's one whoſe worth is far beyond his age. Eur. Father, it grieves me that the croſs Fates have Forc'd me to hate the man you ſo much love▪ Cupid hath ſtruck me with his leaden dart, I cannot force my own affections. Kin. How's this? you hate him whom I love! can he Be th'object of your hate, who is alone The ſubject of my love and reverence? He whom the gods in mercie have deſign'd The happy Succeſſor unto my crown, And to your love? Bethink your ſelf again. Eur. Great Sir, the gods themſelves are ſubject to That little deitie of love▪ can I Withſtand his power, or love againſt his will? Force cannot work on love, which muſt be free, And uncompell'd, elſe can it not be true, Nor laſting. Sir, urge me no more in vain. Kin. What a ſtrange change is here! Your will was wont Freely to ſtoop to all my juſt deſires; Is it now grown ſo ſtiff▪ 'twill not be bent By my commands? I know thou doſt but feign. Eur.

I would obey your will, could I command Mine own affections, or chuſe my love.

Kin, Do it, or elſe by Jove, whom I preſent▪ ▪ll puniſh thy neglect.—I cannot think Thy words and thoughts agree. Surely to love, Is natural, why then not to love him, Whom nature made to be belov'd? He hath Artillery enough about him to take in The ſtouteſt heart at the firſt ſummons.—Well, Think on't Euriphila, when I am gone, I'll leave thee here, Lovers are beſt alone. Exit.

Scaen. 2. Eur. How rarely have I play'd this part, & hid My love under a mask of hate!—but now, Me thinks, I feel the fi • e of love to rage More fiercely in my breaſt; for being kept So cloſe, it will break out too ſoon: I muſt Invert the courſe of love, and woo him firſt. Enter Pluſidippus. He comes, and fitly: Cupid, inſtruct me now, To war and conquer in this bloodleſs fight, That wins the field by flight, and not by force. Yet muſt I veil my love ſtill, and ſeem coy, Till by a falſe retreat I make him fall Into thoſe ſnares I ſet, and wiſh him in.— What means this bold intruſion? do'ſt befit▪ You to intrude into my privacies? Plu. Lady, the fault's not mine, fortune hath led Me to this place: mine ignorance (I hope) Will plead mine innocence. As I have found Your Royal Fathers noble favours far Exceed my hopes, or my requital, let Not your frownes ſtrike dead whom he hath rais'd To life; crueltie cannot lodge within That tender breaſt was onely made for Love. Eur. Dare you preſume to talk of love to me? Am I a mate▪ fit for your choice? Be gone, And ſeek ſome ſhrub may fit your lowneſs beſt. Plu. Madam, this ſtorm becomes you not. It is Degenerate from your noble Fathers ſtrain. I cannot think this ſhould proceed from one, That is the Heir to his name and worth. Eur. My fathers ears ſhall ring with this, that he Hath warm'd a viper, which would bite him now, And entertain'd a gueſt would rob his hoſt. Plu. Lady, my ſpirit tels me that my birth Is not ſo baſe as you conceit. I mean To try my ſpirit, and my fortunes in Mars his Camp, but not in Venus Courts. Since nature's ſo unkind, as not to let Me know▪ what honour I was born unto, I'll win ſome to my name, by actions, which Shal ſpeak me noble; I had thought t'have made You the fair goddeſs at whoſe ſhrine I meant T'have offer'd up, and ſacrific'd my ſelf, And all my ſervices; but cauſe you prove So rough, I will not harbour here▪ but ſeek The world through, for an altar worthy of My labours. So, fair proud, farewel. Exit. Eur. Art gone! I did not well to tempt a part I knew not how to act, to hide a flame I could not well conceal: for hereby have I drove him quite away.—Euriphila, Thou wer't too blame.—Well, I will after him, And try if I can fetter him with gifts, Whom love cannot entangle: Mars is his god, Not Venus; once more will I try, and ſhew Him plainly how I love him: Juno help, And thou, O little deitie of Love▪ Beſiege the caſtle of his ſtubborn breaſt, Bend all thy batteries unto his heart, Make it the mark of all thy golden darts. Let him no more reſiſt, but know thy power, That Mars with all his armour, nor his forts, Caſtles, or coats of mail, can fence him from Thy little piercing ſhafts, which wound unſeen. And I will try what work a womans arts Can make againſt theſe ſtubborn warriors hearts. Exit▪

Scaen. 3. Enter Samela. I have but one heart to beſtow, and that Muſt not be Menaphon's; mine eyes do fix On Melecertus, the beſt counterfeit Of my loſt Maximus: I cannot yet Think on that name, but it doth ſeem to chide My haſty choiſe, and drown my love in tears. She weeps▪ Enter Menaphon. Men. What mean theſe ſudden paſſions, Samela? Haſt thou not here all thou canſt wiſh? what doſt Thou want can make one happy, but content? Sam. 'Tis true, I nothing want, that a poor wretch Can wiſh for; but this happineſs doth mind Me of my fore-paſt happineſs that's loſt. Is't poſſible the vein of true love can Be broken, and the wound not bleed afreſh At every thought! Alas! my heart's ſo full Of tears and grief, that ſome will over-flow. Men. Had thy tears power to raiſe the dead again, Then were they lawful and commendable: But ſince that tears are fruitleſs, and your friends (Like water ſpilt) now paſt recoverie, It is but folly to weep for the dead. Purſue no more fled joyes, turn and receive Thoſe comming pleaſures which do court your hand To take them. If thou wilt liſten to my love— Sam.

I like my grief much better than thy love.

Men. Why ſo nice and coy fair Lady Prethee why ſo coy? If you deny your hand and lip Can I your heart enjoy? Prethee why ſo coy? For thy flitting joyes are paſt, I will give thee joyes at laſt. Joyes that ſhall create each other, Make thee both a wife and mother. Sam. Y're merry, Menaphon, but I can't joyn In conſort with you. Seek ſome other mate; I have no heart to give, nor hand to take Your gift. Another reaps what you have ſown, And like t'enjoy what you have hop'd in vain. Men. Another reap what I have ſown! Is this Your gratitude you ſo much boaſted of? Have I ſupplied your wants with plenty, and With ſcorn do you repay my charitie? Did I relieve you in diſtreſs for this?— By Pan, the god of ſhepherds, or return Love for my love, or be turn'd out of doors. Sa. My heart ne're knew what baſeneſs meant, Of thankful thoughts for your civilities; (it's full If thoſe will ſatisfie, I'll employ all Th'exchequer of my breaſt; bu • as for love, Alas! that is not in my power to give▪ Men. I ſaw your looſe eyes at the ſhepherds feaſt, Rov'd every where, but Melecertus was The mark they aym'd at moſt. Well, get you gone, Expect no more from me, but ſlight and ſcorn. Exit. Sam. My grief was ominous, and did preſage This ſad miſhaps was I not croſs'd enough Before? when will my ſuff'rings have an end! Well, I'll go ſeek my uncle Lamedon, The comfort and companion of my woes. Exit.

Scaen. 4. Enter Euriphila. Love bids me go, but reaſon bids me ſtay; Reaſon! thou haſt no ſhare in love; I'll on▪ Love is a paſſion▪ paſſions know no lawes, The gods themſelves cannot be wiſe and love. Enter Pluſidippus paſſing by. Friend Pluſidippus, hark, who would have thought You ſo faint-hearted, that a maidens frowns, Could turn the edge of your affections? Plu. No, madam, but your ſcorn hath whet the edge Of my reſolves, to ſeek ſome other clime May prove more temperate: Arcadia is The place I aym at, where, I'm told, there dwels A Lady of that beautie, that the world Can't ſhew her ſecond; thither am I bound. Eur. You do but jeſt, I hope, I'm ſure I did▪ No other; for I love thee with my heart, Offers him gifts. And may theſe ſigns confirm it that I do. Plu. I muſt not dwell at theſe ſigns, well I may Bait for a while, but cannot make a ſtay. Arcadia is the place I viſit muſt, That is the center whereunto I tend, And where my labours hope to find an end. Eur. What, muſt a Lady wooe you to accept Her favours? Come, what need haſt thou to ſeek Offers him her gifts again. Dangers, and love abroad, who haſt at home The onely daughter of a King, who courts Thee for thy love? what mean thoſe ſilent looks? Hear me, my Pluſidippus: what, ſtill mute? Plu. Th'attractive of that beautie I have ſeen But in a picture. will not let me reſt, Until I ſee that creature ſo divine, Arcadia is bleſt withal, to be The happy casket of ſo rich a jewel. Eur. By all the love thou ow'ſt my fathers care, I do adjure thee to ſtay here with me, And in mine arms I'll lodge thee until time▪ Shall make thee King of Theſſaly; mean-while Let me be happy in th'enjoyment of Thy companie, and ſeek not toils and care, When thou mayſt live more happy here, than Canſt wiſh, or find in any other place. Plu. My Genius prompts me, that I muſt not reſt thou Here, for the gods do ſeem to call me hence▪ And their decrees I may not break, nor will. Exit. Eur. This ſcorn tormenth me, yet can I not Repay his hate with hate; but I do love Him more. Love, this is tyrannie in thee. Enter Agenor King. Here comes my Father, may his newes be good. Kin. Now forward girle, did I for this provide An husband for you? do you thus reward My love to you, to ſlight him whom I love? Your ſcornes will force him from our Court to flie. And now I hear, he'l to Arcadia. Eur. Believe it, Sir, 'tis far from me to wiſh, Or be the cauſe of his departure hence. Kin. Yes, yes, your peeviſhneſs I hear's the cauſe, Nay, I my ſelf have heard, with ſhame to think You ſo much ſcorn'd a man, I ſo much lov'd. Did I grace him, that you ſhould diſgrace him? Eur. Great Sir, the greateſt loſs is mine; & none Can tell with what an heavy heart • ſhall Be forc'd to part with him. And therefore, if You pleaſe to uſe your power to ſtay him here, You may ſo be my father the ſecond Time▪ by preſerving the life you gave me, Which, without his preſence, is nothing worth. As you tender the life of a daughter, Or the welfare of a maid, endeavour His ſtay, or I ſhall follow him to death.— Kin. I'll find him out and try what power I have Upon him: I ſuppoſe my kindneſſes To him, may well deſerve his acceptance, They have not been ſuch as ſhould wearie him, Nor is a Crown a thing to be ſlighted, Nor eaſily obteined; yet his ſtay▪ May purchaſe mine, and 'tis an eaſie rate. Exeunt.

Scaen. 5. Enter Lamedon, Samela. Lam. What, Neece, ſtill weeping! cannot curing time Invent a plaiſter for thy wounds, but that They ſtill thus bleed afreſh? what is the cauſe? Sam. Deareſt Uncle! who hitherto have been The onely Partner and Phyſician Of all my griefs; unleſs your skill can fit A cure unto my preſent cares, I muſt Yeild to their ſtrength, for with continued Batteries they ſo aſſault me now, that I muſt be forc'd to ſink under their weight. Lam. Why, what new croſs hath hapned unto thee? That thus renews thy grief? Come, tell it me; And doubt not of my readineſs to trie All means for thy relief; but firſt 'tis fit I know the cauſe, the firſt ſtep to the cure. Unboſome then thy grief, and give it vent; Is Menaphon as kind as he was wont? Sam. That name it is that is my ſorrows ſpring From whence theſe tears do flow, 'tis he alone— Unkind and falſe, baſe-minded Menaphon.— Lam. Out with it all, and tell me how he hath Abuſed thee, and I will try to right Thee, and requite him for his injuries. Sam. When as he ſaw I would not ſatisfie His fooliſh fancie, for which cauſe alone He hitherto hath entertained us, And not for to relieve our wants; he ſees His hopes are fruſtrated, and I deſpiſe His clowniſh love, he turn'd me out of's doors: Where ſhall we lie? we are expos'd unto The mercie of the kinder elements; The heavens muſt be our canopie, and th'earth Our bed, the poor flocks our companions. Lam. Well, fear not, S ••• la, already I Have found a way to caſe thy mind; I have A little money left, and there withal Soon ſhall I purchaſe a ſmall flock for thee: Where thou ſhalt live ſecure, and free from fear, Enjoy thy little with content; there is A ſhepherd lately dead, whoſe flock I'll buy, And thou ſhalt be it's Miſtris, Samela. Sam. Uncle, my thanks ſhall ever ready be For you, as always is your care for me. But let your haſte prevent my comming griefs, For griefs have wings, wherewith they flie to us, Comforts are leaden heel'd, and move but ſlow. Lam. Fear not, I will diſpatch it ſuddenly, The ſhepherd Doron's brother's lately dead, And he hath the diſpoſal of the flock, As ſoon as I can find him, we will try If reaſonable price will make them ours, Enter Doron. See where he comes preventing me; Doron, The merry ſhepherd! whither away ſo faſt▪ Dor I'm running for my life, Sir, my brother's Lately dead, and I'm afraid death will catch Me too, if I don't make haſte. I'm ſure Carmela has half cut the thred of my Life in twain, with the hook of her crueltie: Beſides, Moron's ſheep are roving to find Their maſter, and they I go till they loſe Themſelves, if I find them not the ſooner. Lam.

Moron! what was he a kin to a fool?

Dor.

Why he was my own brother, Sir.

Lam.

I thought ſo. Dor. I muſt be gone.

Lam. Nay, ſtay Doron, what wil • thou take, and we Will eaſe thee of the trouble of thy ſheep. Dor. By my troth Sir, and you ſhall have them, but What will you give me, and you ſhall have His flock,—ay and me too, if you will, for I think Carmela won't. Gives him gold. Lam.

Will theſe content thee for thy ſheep?

Dor. Ay marry, this is ſomething lik—you Shall have them Sir, were there as many Of them as there are hairs on their Backs.—They talk of a golden fleece But I think I have made their fleeces Gold now. Come Sir, I'll deliver you the ſheep. Exeunt.

Scaen. 6. Enter Menaphon. Forlorn, forſaken, and the object made Of all the ſhepherds ſtorms! what ſhall I do▪ Love is no god, Fortune is blind, and can Not help; ſleep flies, and cares poſſeſs my head. Mirth makes me melancholy, company Yields me no comfort: when I am alone, A thouſand fancies do diſtract my thoughts: And when I try to drown my cares in wine, They ſwim aloft, and will be uppermoſt. I'll try if I can ſing my cares aſleep. Ye reſtleſs cares, companions of the night, That wrap my joyes in clouds of endleſs woes, Spare not my heart, but wound it with your •• ight, Since love and fortune prove my equal fo • s. Enter Peſana. Farewel my hopes, farewel my happy dayes, Welcom ſweet grief, the ſubject of my layes. Peſ. Now will I take time by the fore-lock, and Creep into Menaphon's breaſt, through the cracks His minion S ••• l • has made in it. Aſide. Friend Menaphon, what▪ is your courage cool'd? Men.

Cold entertainment hath my courage cool'd.

Peſ. You know where you might have been let in, long E're this, without aſſault or batterie. But you'r ſerv'd in your kind, for being coy: Now you have met with your mate (friend) I hope. Men. She ſet my heart on fire by her preſence, That will not be put out by her abſence. Peſ. Then I ſee you mean to follow her with Your ſuit and ſervice ſtill, for all her ſcorn. Men. No, ſhe hath wounded me too deep, to make Purſuit after her, therefore let her go. Peſ. Now then you know what 'tis to be ſlighted; So once you ſlighted me, now I'll ſlight you. Exit. Men. Ah cruel love! whoſe muſick is compos'd Of Lovers jars an diſcords, mixt with ſighs! If I turn traytor once more unto love, I'll rob him of his deitie, and pull His little Kingdom down; I'll pull his wings, And with the quils made into pens, and dipt In ſaddeſt lovers tears, in ſtead of ink, I'll Satyres write againſt his tyrannie. Exit.

Scaen. 7. Enter King Agenor, Pluſidippus, and Euriphila. Kin. Why then, my Pluſidippus, will you leave Us, and your fortunes? It is my reſolve To make you heir to my crown, my Son And Succeſſor. Plu. Great Sir, I would not be Fondly injurious to my ſelf, or you, Or ſo prophane unto the gods, to ſlight Their and your gifts, when proffer'd me ſo fair: I muſt obey their dictates, and my vowes, Which call me to Arcadia, till when, I cannot reſt. Give me your Royal leave To go, I will engage my hopes, and all My future happineſſes, to return In ſo ſhort a time as you ſhall limit me. Kin. Then daughter, ſince it muſt be ſo, I can Not tell how to denie his juſt requeſt: But ſee you part with him in friendſhip. And The like Sir, I require of you to her. Exit. Plu. Far b • it from me to denie ſo fair Requeſts▪ Lady, in ſigne hereof, I take This parting kiſs, and may it cancel all Miſcarriages▪ and ſeal Loves covenants. And thus I take my leave but for a while. Eur. Then take thee this my deareſt heart, and bear It with thee; may it be a charm to keep Thy chaſte affections from a Strangers love: May your return ſhorten my tedious hours, Since I neglect mine own content for yours. Exeunt.

Scaen. 8. Enter 2 Lords. 1 Lo. It ſeems our Kink hath pretty well outgrown His griefs; and now he meditates new Loves. 2 Lo. The fire of love hath thaw'd his frozen breaſt, And turn'd his cold December into May: His Scepter's chang'd into a ſheep-hook, He Is gone on pilgrimage to ſeek a wife Amongſt the ſhepherdeſſes; there is one Whom I have ſeen, and he is gone to ſee, May vie with Juno for precedencie: Who in the habit of a Country laſs, Carries a Prince-like countenance and grace. In th'Arcadian Plains ſhe keeps a flock Of ſheep, whoſe innocence and whiteneſs ſhe Surpaſſeth, whilſt the ſhepherds daily ſtrive VVho ſhall bid faireſt for this fairer prize. 1 Lo. And he'l out-bid them all, if that will do. But what a motley mixture will it be, To ſee his grey hairs joyned with her green And ſpringing youth? The ſtrange effects of love▪ VVell may ſhe be his nurſe, but not his wife: VVhat's love in young, is dotage in old men. 2 Lo. Love can create an Autumn Spring, in • u •• New ſpirits in the old, and make them young Beſides, Honour's a bait frail women know Not to reſiſt: who would not be a Queen? Exeunt.

Scaen. 9. Enter Samela. Once more doth Fortune flatter me, with hopes Of a contented life: now am I free From jealous Menaphon's ſuſpitions, And without fear enjoy my wiſhed love. Enter Melecertus. See where he comes, the picture drawn to th'life Of my dead Maximus, my former joy. Mel. All hail unto the faireſt Samela, And to her happy flock: I envie them She is their Miſtris, I her ſervant am. Long ſince my heart was hers, may ſhe but pleaſe To take that kindly, which I freely give. Sam. But, Melecertus, can I hope to find You real unto me, whoſe worth I know Cannot but be engag'd already to Some more deſerving creature than poor I. Mel. Lady, my ſervices were never due To any, but to one, which bond harſh death Hath cancelled to make me yours alone. Sam. You call death harſh for freeing you from them, And would you be in the like bonds again? Mel. Your heavenly likeneſs doth compel me to't You are the ſame, but in another dreſs. Let me no longer therefore ſtrive to win That fort, I ſo much covet to be in. Sam.

Then Melecertus take thy Samela.

Mel. Oh happy word! oh happy fate! the gods If they would change with me, ſhould give me odds.

Finis Act. 4.

Act. 5.

Scaen. 1. Enter King Damocles, like a Shepherd. THus▪ Jove chang'd ſhapes to ſatisfie his love, He laid his god-head by; my Kingdome I Have for a time forſaken, and exchang'd My royal robes for ſhepherds weeds. How light (Me thinks) I feel my ſelf! having laid by My crown, with its companions heavy cares! Enter Pluſidippus. But who comes here? His paces to me tend. Plu. Shepherd, well met, but why without a flock? What, hath the rot conſum'd thy ſheep? or are They gone aſtray? Kin. No, not my ſheep, but I, Aſide. So far, I almoſt know not where, or what I am▪—to ſeek, as yet I know▪ not whom. Plu. This old man dotes, and knows not what he ſayes; Where is thy bag-pipe, and thy merry layes, That ſhepherds uſe to have in readineſs? Surely thou art no ſhepherd, but ſome goat Crept lately into a ſheeps habit.—Doſt Thou know the field of the fair Samela? Kin. This boy will be my Rival, for that name Aſide. Sounds like the creatures that I ſeek for.—No, Go ſeek your Stamela, I know no ſuch. Plu. This is intolerable,—I will ſcourge Enter Samela paſſing by. Draws. Thee into better manners.—But that divine Appearance makes my ſpirits calm, and ſtrikes An awful reverence into my breaſt. This is the beautie of th'Arcadian Plains, Sh'has ſhot her rayes ſo home into my heart, But partial fame was niggardly and baſe, In giving but a glimpſe of this rare beautie. Sam.

D'you know me, Sir, or have you loſt your way?

Plu. I cannot likely loſe my way, where I Do find ſuch gliſtring goddeſſes as you. Indeed the force of ſuch a light, may rob Me of the office of mine eyes, and make Them dark with too much brightneſs; can I chuſe But gaze upon the Sun, when firſt I ſee't. Sam. I think you loſt your wits, or elſe your eys, That you miſtake a glo-worm for the ſun, And make a goddeſs of a ſhepherdeſs. Plu. Lady, if I have loſt my wits or eyes, It was with ſeeking you, whoſe beautie drew Me hither; for your ſake alone have I Shook hands with Theſſaly, and all my friends, Onely to joyn my hands and heart with you. Sam. I ſhould be loth to give my hand unto So ſudden a concluſion, and my heart Is neither in my power or poſſeſſion. Plu. Fair Shepherdeſs, my errand is in love, To yield my heart into your hands; 'tis yours, By gift and conqueſt; I'm at your command. Sam. If that you are at my command, be gone, I cannot, will not liſten to your words. Exit. Plu. And have I left my dear Euriphila For this! I ſee beautie makes women proud, I would I were at Theſſaly again, There ſhould I welcome be unto Euriphila, Whoſe heart I know's my fellow-traveller, Her ſalt rears, by this time, would make a ſea, Wherein I might ſwim back again with eaſe. Exit.

Scaen. 2. Kin. I ſee this youth's repul'ſt, and he is young And ſtout, and well deſerving, how ſhall I Hope to prevail with her? if lively youth She do deſpiſe, then much more cripling age: Nor do I know what arguments to uſe, Unleſs to tell her that I am a King, And lay my Crown and Scepter at her feet, Which ſhe will ſcarce believe: my ſhepherds hook Will not be taken for a ſcepter, nor This poor cap for th'uſurper of a crown.— I have a way whereby to work my will, And this young man ſhall be my inſtrument: There ſtands a caſtle hard by, whither he Perforce ſhall carry her. I'll work my will Upon her, when I have her there confin'd. Enter Pluſidippus. Plu. I will revenge this ſcorn, if force or wit Will do, I'll make her pride come down. Kin. Be wiſe, Young man, and valiant, and I will tell Thee how thou ſhalt obtein thy full deſire. Plu.

But tell me how, and then let me alone To act, what e're it be.

Kin. A Caſtle ſtands Near by, guarded with crows and negligence, Thither thou mayſt by force convey her, and Then force her unto what entreaties can't. Plu. Old man, if I do gain her by thy means, Thou ſhalt not want reward: I know the place Where ſhe doth tend her flock, and I'l watch her, As ſhe doth them; and when I ſee my time, I will convey her where you ſhall direct. Exit. Kin. I will attend you here.—Now muſt I plot To get her in my power, and then I ſhall Advance her to a crown againſt her will. But yet, I cannot think Honour ſhould need An Advocate; womens ambitious thoughts Do ſwim aloft, they love to be above Their neighbours, envying ev'ry one whoſe height Doth over-look, and ſeemeth to upbraid Their lowneſs by compariſon; their minds Are always climbing up to honours hill, And pride, and ſelf-conceit, are the two wings Which elevate their thoughs to flie aloft. Enter Pluſidippus, with Samela. Plu. Now, Miſtris Coy, y'are not in your own power, But mine. Old ſhepherd, take thee charge of her. Exit. Kin. Lady, you ſee what folly 'tis for you To denie men what they can take without Your leave. Now muſt you yield unto the Of Theſſaly.—But if you will be wiſe, And ſee a good when proffer'd, you may be Knight A Queen▪ by granting of my ſuit, who am King of Arcadia, although thus diſguis'd. Sam. My father Damocles! 'tis he now ſues aſide. To me his dauughter: He's inceſtuous grown. Kin. This is too woman-like, to turn away From your own happineſs.—And it is ſtrange, That honour doth not tempt her; thou ſhalt have A Crown and Kingdom at thy ſole command, And change theſe rural weeds for princely robes, If thou wilt be my wife, pleaſure for pain, And plenty for thy povertie. What ſayſt? Sam. Your potent batteries, and golden baits Might win (perhaps) on ſome ambitious ſoul: They nothing move me, to remove my love Already plac'd on Melecertus, He, He onely doth, and ſhall poſſeſs my heart. Kin. A ſhepherd. Shall a ſhepherds baſneſſe ſtand In competition, and out-weigh a King? A ſubject be before his Sovereign Prefer'd? Oh how prepoſtrous are the minds Of theſe fond women! Come, be well advis'd, And change that pettie pebble for a pearl. 'Tis in my power to make thee happy, or With one breath to blaſt the flower of thy hopes. And to repay thy folly with thy ſhame. Do not go on to kindle ſuch a fire Within my breaſt, as ſhall conſume both thee, And all that croſs the current of my will. Sam. I have already ſad experience of The wilde effects of his enraged will, aſide. Yet ſuch the croſneſs of my fortune is, I muſt again be made the ſubject of His furious tyrannie; but I'm reſolv'd. Know Sir, I value more my minds content, Than all the gawdie ſhows Courts can preſent: I am too well confirmed in the bliſs, And ſweet content attends a Country life, To leave it for the giddy-headed Court. Beſides, my true affections are ſo riveted Unto my Melecertus, that nor frowns, Nor flatteries ſhall part my heart from him. Ceaſe therefore farther to commence a ſuit Nature forbids me grant, and you to ask. Kin. And have I with my Kingly robes laid by My Kingly mind? No, it ſhall ne're be ſaid A womans will hath contradicted mine. But 'tis by policie that I muſt work, Since I have laid my Kingly power aſide, I'll ſet my brains o'th'tenterhooks, and ſtretch Them to their uttermoſt abilities, To win this ſcornful beautie to my wife, Or elſe revenge it with her deareſt life. Exit.

Scaen. 3. Sam. My life hath hitherto been chequer'd with Varietie of fortunes; ſometimes with A white of happineſs, and then a black Of miſerie; thus loves bright day of mirth, Is follow'd with a darker night of woe. How fair of late my fortune ſeem'd to be, And now, alas! o're-caſt with blackeſt clouds Of diſcontents, wherein I labour with Important ſuits, I cannot, may not grant. No, no, my Melecertus, I am firm To thee, nor ſhall the rain of tears, Or winds of threats remove me from thy love. Be thou but conſtant, nay, I know thou art, I will not wrong thee with ſo foul a thought, As once to doubt thou canſt be otherwiſe. Enter Pluſidippus. Plu. You're from your ſhepherds now, or their defence, Preſume not they can reſcue you, 'tis paſt Their skill or power, to force you from mine arms. Sam. Alas, fond boy! I ſcorn thy threats, as much As I hate thee, or ſlight thy boaſted ſtrength. Were but my Melecertus here, he would Whip thy rudeneſs into better manners. Plu. 'Tis well you are a woman (not a man,) And have no other weapon but your tongue, Which you are priviledg'd to uſe, and we To laugh at. But in ſhort, if you'l accept My love and ſervice, then ſhall you be ſafe, And happy: Souldiers cannot talk, but with Their ſwords, and then they ſtrike gain-ſayers dumb. Sam. All this is nothing; for your words, nor ſwords Shall not remove me from my deareſt friend, He hath my heart, and I have nothing left But hate, if you'l accept of that, 'tis all That I can give, or you receive from me. Plu. You muſt be dealt with as we uſe to do With ſullen birds, I'll ſhut you up, and then Perhaps you'l ſing another note, you are Not yet in tune, you are too high for me, But I will take you lower. I will plough Your heart with grief, and then (perhaps) it will Better receive the ſeed of my true love. Sam. Sooner the turtle ſhall forget her mate, Than I my Melecertus; and when I Can't ſee him with mine eys, my mind ſhall rove, Wing'd with deſire, throughout the ſpacious world, And find no reſt, until it meet with him. And though our bodies never meet, our ſouls Shall joyn, and love each other after death. Thus is true love immortal, and ſhall never Die, but with our ſouls ſhall live for ever. Plu. Shepherd, who e're thou art, I cannot chuſe But envie thee thy happineſs, who haſt So true a love: I cannot but admire This noble ſoul and love her, though ſhe hate Me for't; I'll treat her civilly, and if I can't obtain her for a wife, ſhe ſhall My goddeſs be, and I'll adore her name, Though at a diſtance. Lady, will you walk? Exeunt.

Scaen. 4. Enter King Damocles. It is an ill wind that blows no man good; Though the Theſſalian lad have got the prize In his poſſeſſion, it ſhall not be long, But I will have them both in mine, I have Diſpatch'd a letter to my Lords, to ſend Me ſuddenly ſome ſervants to aſſiſt Enter Menaphon. My plot. Now Menaphon, what is the newes? Men. Great Sir, the meſſenger's return'd, and brought The men you ſent for, they are here at hand. Kin. 'Tis well; direct them to the caſtle that I told you of, and give them charge to ſeize Upon the buzzard and his prey, and bring Them both to me: mean-time go you, and find Out Melecertus, that I may be ſure Of him, for he's my rival in my love. Men.

My Liege, all ſhall be done to your deſire.

Exit. Kin. Bleſt policie, thou far exceed'ſt dull ſtrength, That wanders in the dark of ignorance, Wanting the eye of wiſedome, both to guide, And to defend it from approaching harms. Thus art with eaſe doth move the pondrous load, Which ſtrength could never maſter, or remove. The Foxes tail muſt piece the Lions skin. Little Ulyſſes with his wit did more Againſt the foe, than Ajax with his ſtrength. Exit

Scaen. 5. Enter Samela. It is ſome comfort yet that I can change My priſon, though I am a pris'ner ſtill, Would I could change my companie as ſoon. But ah! moſt wretched Samela, who wert Born to misfortunes, and to nothing elſe: As if that I alone were fortunes mark, At which ſhe onely ayms her angry darts. The morning of mine age was clouded with Miſhaps, and now my noon is like to be The fatal night unto my miſerie.— My Gaoler is ſo kind, as if he meant To bribe my love; but theſe are gilded pills I cannot ſwallow. Should my Father get Me into his poſſeſſion once again, I were as bad, or worſe: I know too well His paſſion, to hope any help from him. I'll tell him plainly who I am, and trie If time have dull'd the edge of's crueltie: Perhaps the kinder gods may move his heart To pitie, and convert his rage to love. He is my father ſtill, and though unkind To me, yet can I not forget I am His child, and owe a dutie to his name. He is my King, and ſo I muſt obey His will; if I muſt ſuffer, let it be From his, rather than from a ſtrangers hands. Exit.

Scaen. 6. Enter Doron, reading. I think I am provided now, if Poetrie Will do't, my Carmila is mine; theſe Wittie knaves, what fine devices they Have got to fetter maidens hearts? The Poet Orpheus made the Thracian Dames dance after his pipe, and Ovid Charm'd the Emperours daughter with His Poetrie; there are ſome ſecret Enter Carmila. Charms in theſe ſame verſes ſure. Let me ſee here what I have got. Ha Carmila, look here, I think You'l love me now. Reads.

Carmila—A Miracle.

Car.

A miracle, for what, Doron?

Dor. Why, a miracle of beautie, and I think You'l be a miracle of folly, if you Don't love me now. Car. What ſmall Poet have you hired To make a miracle of my name. Dor. Nay, I have more yet, and better, That I found in the Nichodemus Of Complements, that's a ſweet book, 'Tis a very magazine of Poetrie, a Store-houſe of wit; do but hear Them Carmila. Car. Let's hear them, Doron, are they Worth a laughing at? Let's hear. Dor. Well, well, it is no laughing matter; but I'm Sure your laughing ha's made me crie. Now Carmila, you muſt imagine that 'tis I, and only I, ſay this to you, and none but you: For the unhappy wag ha's ſo fitted my Fancie, as if 'twere made for no bodie but me. Excellent Miſtris, brighter than the Moon, Than ſcowred pewter▪ or the ſilver ſpoon: Fairer than Phoebus, or the morning Star, Dainty fine Miſtris, by my troth you are. Thine eyes like Diamonds ſhine moſt clearly, As I'm an honeſt man, I love thee dearly. What think you now, Carmila, is not this Admirable? if theſe ſtrong lines will Not draw your love, I know not what will. Car. Had it been your own mother-wit, Doron, I could have like't it well: But for you to father the brat of Another's brain, is too ridiculous. I like your love much better than your Hackney lines: but bought wit's beſt. Dor. If you like not my lines, becauſe they are None of mine, you will not love my Heart neither, for that's not mine, but yours. Car. Yes, Doron, if you have given me your Heart, I will not die in your debt, but Give you mine in exchange for yours. Dor. Than welcome to me my new found heart, We'l live, and love, and never part. Exeunt.

Scaen. 7. Enter Melecertus. Revenge ſhall ſoon o're-take this proud boy, who Committed hath ſo bold a rape upon My Samela: He had been better to Have lodged ſnakes in his breaſt, than to ſteal This ſpark, that ſhall conſume him and his neſt. Samela! Samela! that name alone Infuſeth ſpirits into me, inflames My ſoul with vengeance, till I recover My deareſt love. Enter Menaphon. Men. Now ſhall I be reveng'd on Samela, And on her Melecertus both at once: I'll make her know neglected love may turn To hate, and vengeance take the place of ſcorn. Well met friend Melecertus, what, alone? Mel.

I'm ſolitarie ſince my mate is gone.

Men. Your mate has taken flight, ſhe's on the wing, But I can tell thee where ſhe neſts, and bring Thee guickly where thou ſhalt retrive the game. Mel. If thou wilt do this, Menaphon, I ſhall Be ſtudious to requite thy love with mine: I pay thee ſterling thanks and ſervices. Men. I will not ſell my favours to my friends, My work is all the wages I expect. Come, follow me, I'll lead thee to the place, Where the freſh gameſters have thy love in chaſe. Exeunt.

Scaen. 8. Enter King Damocles in his Royal robes, Pluſidippus and Samela, priſoners. Kin. Now Sir, you ſee the ſhepherd is become A King; and though you have deſerved death, Yet ſince you have but acted our commands, We here releaſe you, and not onely ſo, But entertain you with all due reſpect, At once belonging to our neighbour-Prince, And near Allie, the King of Theſſaly.— Some ſecret power doth force me love him ſo, That if I had a daughter to beſtow, I'de wiſh no other Son-in-law, but him. Now my Sepheſtia, what would I give, Thou wert alive, I had thee, and thou him. Sam. He little thinks I am ſo near, or that It is his daughter he would make his wife. Kin. Thus, Gentlewoman, you are once more faln Into my hands, I am th' Arcadian King: Be ſudden therefore to give me your love, Or elſe forſeit your life for your contempt; Think on't, and chuſe which you'l rather do. Sam. Sir, I am ſtill the ſame I was before: My love, like to a mighty rock, ſtands faſt, Diſdaining the proud billows of your threats. Crowns cannot tempt, nor Kings command my love, My love is free, and cannot be compell'd. True love admits no partners, is content With one, and Cupids ſtatute law forbids Pluralities of loves. Kin. Since y'are ſo ſtiff, You will not bow, I'll make you bend, or break. Enter Menaphon with Melecertus. Mel.

I am betray'd by this baſe Menaphon.

Kin. Here comes my Rival; when I have diſpatch'd Him to the other world, your plea is ſpoil'd: My ſword ſhall cut your gordian knot in two; Your ghoſts may wed, your bodies never ſhall. I'll be his Executioner my ſelf, I'll truſt no other eyes to ſee it done. Sam. Now is it time t'unmask, and let him know He wounds his daughter through her Lovers ſides. She kneels. Father, your furie once expos'd me to The greedie jaws of death, which yet more kind, In pitie ſav'd my life, you ſought to loſe. I'm your Sepheſtia, Father, know your child. Mel. And is it poſſible, Sepheſtia lives, Once more t'enjoy her trueſt Maximus? Sam. My Maximus, I'm thy Sepheſtia: Oh that our Pluſidippus too were here! Plu.

And I am he, my name is Pluſidippus.

Seph. My deareſt ſon! 'tis he; now were my joys Compleat indeed, were but my Uncle here. Mel. I am ſo wrapt with joy, I ſcarce can get Breath, to expreſs my thanks unto the gods. Men. What will become of me? I ſhall be hang'd, Or loſe my place at leaſt; I'll get me home, Amidſt their mirth they will not think on me. Exit. Kin. My onely daughter! Dear Sepheſtia, And you, kind Maximus, I ask Both of you pardon for your injuries, And for requital, thus I do create Thee King of Arcadie; and may the gods Requite your ſufferings, and forgive my crimes. Long may ye live, and happy; may your dayes Be ſun-ſhine all, and know no clouds nor night. Enter Lamedon. And that we may not leave one ſtring untun'd, My brother comes to make our conſort full; The beſt of brothers, and the beſt of friends, Thanks for your care of her, whom you have made Your daughter by a better claim than mine. Now let the whole land ſwim in mirth, and load The altars with their thankful ſacrifice Unto the kinder deities, who through A ſea of woes, have ſent us happineſs. Let's in, and hear the ſtrange adventures have Befaln your heaven-protected perſons; griefs Grow leſs by telling, joyes are multiplied. Although againſt them all things ſeem to ſtrive, At laſt juſt men and lovers alwayes thrive.

FINIS.

Fragmenta Poetica: OR, Poetical Diverſions. WITH A PANEGYRICK UPON HIS SACRED MAJESTIE'S Moſt happy Return, on the 29. May, 1660. By THO. FORDE, Philothal.

LONDON, Printed by R. and W. Leybourn, for William Grantham, and are to ſold at the Signe of the Black Bear in St. Pauls Church-yard. 1660.

Poetical Diverſions.

For Chriſtmaſs-day. 1 Shepherd. WHat, have we ſlept! or doth the haſtie Sun Bring back the day, before the night be done? 2 Shep. What melodie is this that charms our ears? Is it the muſick of th'harmonious Sphears? Angels. Peace ſhepherds, peace; glad tidings we ye bring, Your God hath got a Son, and ye a King: And he hath ſent us with this newes to tell, Who late was Ours, is your Immanuel. Up, up to B • thlehem, there ſhall you ſee An Human ſhape encloſe the Deitie. Behold, a cratch impriſons him, whoſe hands Have fram'd the earth, and curbs the ſea with bands. He now begins to be, that no beginning knew, He now begins to live, who being gave to you. Go ſee th'Eternal God a child's become, The ever-ſpeaking Word himſelf lies dumb, Who by his word feeds all is fed by meat, Th' Almighty King of Heaven hath left his ſeat, And now keeps Court on earth: haſte ye and ſee The cratch his throne, beaſts his attendance be. And all to be your Saviour, and to free Ye men from ſin, and Satans ſlaverie. Chorus of Angels. Glory to God on high, and peace on earth, Good will to men by this our God-mans birth. Shepherds. Come, let's go ſee theſe wonders which are told, Let what our ears have heard, our eyes behold. Soliloquie. Croud in, my ſoul, and ſee amongſt the reſt, And by thy ſight, oh be for ever bleſt! Hark how the Angels ſing, the heavens rebound, And earth with th'eccho of th'Angeli • k ſound. Never till now were the well-tuned Sphears Heard to make melodie to mortal ears. Now every pretty bird with's warbling throat, To's new-born Maker elevates a note. See how the earth, being big with pride to be Out-gone by heaven, puts on her liverie Of mirth, and laughs with joy to hear Her Maker now will pleaſe to dwell on her. The whole world was agreed to entertain The King of peace, who now began his reign: Mars ſhrunk for fear, Bellona hid her head, When peace was born, all diſcords lay for dead. Then why ſhould bloody characters deſcrie The bleſſed day of his Nativitie? O let the pureſt white note out that morn From all the reſt, when Innocence was born.

On the Nativitie. 1. Hail holy tide, Wherein a Bride, A Virgin, and a Mother, Brought forth a Son, The like was done, Except her, by no other. 2. A Virgin pure, She did endure After her Son, or rather. It may be ſaid, She was a maid, And this Son was her Father. 3. Here riddles vex, And do perplex The eye of humane reaſon; Heaven did combine, With earth to joyn, To conſecrate this ſeaſon. 4. Hail bleſſed Maid, For by thine aid, Eternal life is Ours, Thou didſt lie in, And without ſin, The ſon of God was yours. 5. Hail happy birth, Wonder of Earth And heaven; the Angels ſing Anthems to thee, As glad to ſee Their new-born heavenly King. 6. Though thou art poore, Kings thee adore, And precious preſents bring, They kneel to you, And humbly bow, As to ſome ſacred thing. 7. Thou that art able To turn a ſtable Into a Temple, come, Poſſeſs my heart, Cleanſe every part, And take it for thy home.

For Chriſtmaſs-day, LEnd me a pen pull'd from an Angels wing, That I the news of this bleſt day may ſing; Or reach a feather of that holy Dove, Wherewith to ſhew this miracle of love. Darkneſs is turn'd to light, mid-night to morn; Who can be ſilent when the Word is born! Hark how the Angels ſing, they bow, and more Than Perſians they this riſing Sun adore. The Court's remov'd, and the attendants flie To wait upon this humane Deitie. He, who was cloath'd with glorious Majeſty, Is veil'd with fleſh, the better to comply With mortal eyes; diſ-robes himſelf of light, Lays by his beams, ſtoops to our weaker ſight: And with his other favours this doth give That man may ſee the face of God, and live. The Son of God becomes the ſon of man, That men may be the ſons of God again! Here God is man, and man is God, he takes Our nature to him, not his own forſakes. A mortal God, Immortal man in one, Thus heaven and earth are in conjunction. See how the ſhepherds flock, and Kings (as proud To be his ſubjects) to his preſence croud. Haſte, haſte my ſoul, there's danger in delay, Since thou haſt nothing elſe to offer▪ lay Thy ſelf down at his feet; pray him to make His lodging in thee, as he deign'd to take Thy nature on himſelf.—But ſtay fond ſoul, He's puritie it ſelf, thou art too foul To lodge ſo bright a gueſt, in whoſe pure eyes, Heavens and Angels are deformities. Yet ſee, he ſmiles, and beckens thee to come, As if he meant to take thee for his home, To waſh thee with his blood; do not repine, The ſins are His, His righteouſneſs is thine. Hark, he invites himſelf to be thy gueſt, Whoſe preſence is thy phyſick and thy feaſt. Behold he bowes the heavens, and comes down, Takes up thy Croſs, that thou mayſt wear his Crown. And in exchange aſſumes thy povertie, Pays all thy debts, ſets thee at libertie. He ſues to ſerve thee, and expects no more, Thou ſhouldſt give him▪ than he gave thee before. His work is all his wages, and his will Is all his hire; be thou obedient ſtill: Love him▪ as he loves thee, and 'cauſe th'art poor, Give him thy ſelf, thy all, He asks no more. Lord 'tis not fitting thou ſhouldſt come Into ſo baſe a room Firſt, with thy ſpirit cleanſe my heart, And by thy powerful art, Thine and my enemies expel, Make an Heaven of my Hell, Then for ever in me dwell. But, Lord, if thou vouchſafe to dwell Within ſo dark a cell, Take thou charge of the familie, And let me dwell with thee. Thine is the coſt, be thine the care, That Satan have no ſhare, For thou wilt find no room to ſpare.

For Chriſtmas-day. Invocat. The Day, thy day is come, O thou moſt glorious Sun, When thou didſt veil thy ſelf, that we Mortals might thy glory ſee. Lend me a ray of light, That I may ſee to write, And Carol forth thy praiſe, In ever-living layes. Thyrſis. WHat made the Sun poſte hence away So faſt, and make ſo ſhort a day? Damon. Seeing a brighter Sun appear, He ran and hid himſelf for fear: Aſham'd to ſee himſelf out-ſhin'd, (Leaving us, and night behind) He ſneak'd away to take a nap, And hide himſelf in Thetis lap. When, loe, a brighter night ſucceeds, A night none of his luſtre needs: A night ſo ſplendent, we may ſay, The day was night, and night was day. Thyrſis. See, Damon, ſee, how he doth ſhroud His baffl'd glory in a cloud; From whence he peeps to ſee the Sun, That hath his luſters all out-done. Damon. But ventring on he ſpies a ſtar, More glorious than his Heſper far; Which with a fair and ſpeaking ray, Told plainly where his Maſter lay. Ambitious then to ſteal a ſight, He ſaw it was the God of light; Then ſtrait he whips away his team, The well loſt minutes to redeem; And flies through all the world, to tell The newes of this great miracle▪ It was not long before he came Unto the lofty houſe of fame, Where every whiſper, every ſound Is taken at the firſt rebound, And like an aiëry bubble blown By vainer breath, till it be grown Too big to be conceal'd, it flies About a while, gaz'd at, then dies, Something he tells, and haſts away▪ He could not, and fame would not ſtay, To near the reſt; for ſhe well knew, By mixing of falſe tales with true, To make it more. To Rome ſhe plyes, Her greateſt Mart of truths and lyes; The gods (ſays ſhe) will dwell on earth, And give themſelves a mortal birth. But they of fame had got the ods, For they themſelves made their own gods; And car'd not to encreaſe their ſtore, For they had gods enough before. To Solyma ſhe takes her flight, And puts the Citie in a fright: Unwelcome newes fills Herods ears, And then his head, with thoughts and fears. The King of whom the Sages told, And all the Prophecies of old, Is born, ſayes fame; a King who ſhall Deliver Judah out of thrall: Kings ſhall his ſubjects be, and lay Their ſcepters at his feet; his ſway Shall know no bounds, nor end, but he Beyond all time, ſo fates decree. By this the Sun had croſs'd the ſeas, And told the newes to th' Antipodes. The aiëry ſpirits pack'd hence away, Chas'd by the beams of this bright day. The fiends were in an uproar, hell Trembl'd with the diſmal yell. The Prince of darkneſs was in doubt The Lord of light would find him out; And that the word of truth being come, His oracles muſt all be dumb. Pale death foreſaw he was betray'd, That King of terrors was afraid. Glory be to God above, For this miracle of love: Ever bleſſed be the morn, When the God of Love was born. Love ſo charming that it can Contract a God into a Man. And by the magick of his birth, Make an Heaven of the Earth. Ever, ever ſing we thus, Till Angels come and joyn with us. They rejoyce with all their powers, Yet the Benefit is Ours. They with joy the tydings bring, Shall We be ſilint when They ſing?

The 25. Cap. of Job Paraphras'd. Then Bildad anſwers, dominion and fear (Which rule us mortals) loe his In-mates are. Can numbers ſhallow bounds confine his hoaſts? Or does his light baulk any unknown coaſts? Can man be Gods Corrival to be juſt? Can he be clean that is defiled duſt? The Moon in th'ocean of his light is drown'd, The ſtars impure in his bright eyes are found. Then what is man? (alas!) poor worthleſs ſpan, Or what's his ſon? a worm▪ leſs than a man.

35. Cap. of Job. Then 'gan Elihu ſpeak, vileneſs doſt dare Thy righteouſneſs with Gods thus to compare? Thou ſayſt, what gain will righteouſneſs bring in? Or ſhall I thrive by that more than by ſin? I'll anſwer thee. Behold, the clouds that ſtand His ſurer guard againſt thy ſinning hand. Legions of doubled ſins cannot aſſault Thy God, or pierce his ſtarry-guarded vault. Nor can thy ſtock of good encreaſe his ſtore, Thy hand may hurt, or help (like thee) the poor. &c.

On the Widows 2 Mites. How comes it that the widows mites are more Than the abundance the rich gave the poor? Whilſt they their worldly goods lib'rally hurl'd She gave her heart, more worth than all the▪ world.

On Chriſts Croſs. As from a Tree at firſt came all our woe, So on a tree our remedie did grow. One bare the fruit of death, the other life; This was a well of Salem, that of ſtrife.

On Chriſts Death and Reſurrection. What, can God die, or man live, being ſlain? He dy'd as man, as God he roſe again.

Gen. 2. 18. When man was made, God ſent an helper to him, And ſo ſhe prov'd, for ſhe help'd to undoe him.

On the miracle of the Loaves. This was a miracle indeed, when bread Was by ſubſtraction multiplied: Why wonder we at this ſtrange feaſt, When Gods's both giver, and a gueſt?

On Chriſt's Reſurrection. The Lord of life lay in a tomb, as in the womb, His Reſurrection was a ſecond birth, from th'womb of th'earth.

On M. M. weeping at Chriſts death. What, weep to ſee thy Saviour die, Whereby thou liv'ſt eternally? But now I know, 'twas cauſe thy ſins Were the ſharp ſpears that wounded him.

Mark 12. Give to God, &c. And to Caeſar, &c▪ Give God and Caeſar both, how ſhall I do? Give Gods receiver, and thou giv'ſt him too.

On the world. That the worlds goods are ſo inconſtant found, No wonder is, for that it ſelf is Round.

Similis ſimili gaudet. Wherefore doth Dives love his Money ſo? That's earth, So's Hee▪ Like will to like we know.

On Calvus. Calvus of late extream long locks doth wear: The reaſon is Calvus hath loſt his Hair.

On Mal • ido. Mal • ido on his neighbour looks ſo grim, Proximus is Poſtremus ſure with him.

On Will: who had run through all trades and was now a Cobler. I prethee Will whither wilt thou ſo faſt? Thou canſt not farther, for th'art at thy Laſt.

Better fortune. Whilſt that the Huntſman ſtared, he became Unto his dogs their banquet and their game: But from Acteons fortune I am free, Becauſe whilſt I ſaw her, ſhe could not me.

On Cornuto. Cornuto cries Hee's weary of his life, He cannot bear the Lightneſs of his wife, She wants ſo many Grains, ſhe'l go with loſs; Yet a Light Woman is an Heavie Croſs.

Mart. Ep. 24. lib. 2. If unjuſt fortune hale thee to the bar, In rags, paler than guilty priſoners are, I'll ſtick to thee; banîſhd thy native ſoyl, Through Seas and Rocks I will divide thy toyl.

On one who fell in love with Julia, throwing Snow-balls at him. I'me all on fire; ſtrange miracle of Love, Theſe Watry Snow-bals Hand-Granadoes prove? If from cold clouds thou doſt thy lightnings dart, Julia, what Element will • ence my heart?

J. Ceſaris Epigram. A Thracian lad on Ice-bound Heber playes, The glaſſie Pavement with his waight decayes. Whilſts with his lower parts the river fled, The meeting Ice cut off his tender head, Which having found, the Son-leſs mother urnd, Thoſe to be drownd were born, this to be burnd.

Henſii Epitaph. Trina mihi juncta eſt variis aetatibus vxor, Haec Juveni, illa viro, tertia nupta ſeni eſt: Prima eſt propter Opus, teneris ſociata ſub annis, Altera propter Opes, tertia propter Opem. Engliſhed. Three wives I had in ſeverall ages Paſt, A Youth, a Man, an old man had the laſt; The firſt was for the Work, a tender maid, The ſecond was for VVealth, the third for Ayd.

Out of Italian. My Miſtris hath my heart in hold, But yet 'tis under locks of gold, In which the wind doth freely play, But my poor heart doth priſoner ſtay: What happier priſon can there be? Confinement is my libertie.

H. Grotius, S. Pet • i Querela. Quae me recondet, recondet regio? quâ moeſtum diem Fallam latebrâ? quaero nigrantem ſpecum Quâ me ſepeliem vivus: ubi nullum videns Nulli videndus, lachrymas foveam meas. Engliſhed. What place will hide my guilt? that there I may Deceive th'approaches of diſcovering day. I'll ſeek ſome gloomy cave, where I may lie Entomb'd alive in ſhades of ſecrecie: There ſeeing none, nor any ſeeing me, I will indulge my tears with libertie.

Out of Italian. I am a child, and cannot love, Ah me! that I my death muſt prove. Wilt thou that I thee adore, Cruel thou muſt be no more. Torments my heart cannot bear, Nor muſt any grief come there.

To Henry the 4th. out of Bahuſius. O mighty King! glory of Princely race, Thy Kingdoms ſafety, and it's chiefeſt grace: We wiſh our Muſe worthy thy worth t'adorn, She nothing more deſires, can nothing leſs perform. Thou grace of arms, mak'ſt war a ſport to be, To labour's reſt, to wake is ſleep to thee▪ Thy call makes ſouldiers, whom th'haſt ſo in awe, Thy word is a decree, thy beck a law. Thou lead'ſt them on, thy deeds ſerve for commands, They learn their dutie from thy feet and hands. Thou conquer'ſt e're thou fight'ſt, fortune's decree Aſſures thee triumph, 'fore the victorie. Thy helmet lawrel, fights all trophies be, To fight and conquer is all one with thee. Thy mercie ſtrives thy ſword for to reprieve, And when thou ſtrik'ſt thy foe, thy ſelf doth grieve. Though forc'd to fight, to expiate their deed, Thine eyes do weep, faſt as thy foes do bleed. Pardons are thy revenges, whilſt thy ſword Doth wounds diſpence, thy hand doth help afford. Like dreadful lightning to the war thou com'ſt, Conquerour, than conquer'd milder thou return'ſt. To conquer others were too ſmall, but thou A nobler triumph o're thy ſelf doſt ſhow.

Loves Duel, out of Anacreon. CUpid all his arts did prove, To invite my heart to love: But I alwayes did delay, His mild ſummons to obey: Being deaf to all his charms, Strait the god aſſumes his arms. With his bow and quiver, he Takes the field to duel me. Armed like Achilles, I With my ſhield and ſpear defie His bold challenge: as he caſt His golden darts, I as faſt Catch'd his arrows in my ſhield, Till I made him leave the field. Fretting and diſ-armed, then Th'angry god returns agen, All in flames; 'ſtead of a dart, Throws himſelf into my heart, Uſeleſs, I my ſhield require, When the fort is all on fire; I in vain the field did win, Now the enemy's within. Thus betray'd, at laſt I cry, Love! th'haſt got the victory.

With a Letter to Aglaia. Goe happy paper, view thoſe eyes, Where beauties richeſt treaſure lies; The quiver whence he takes his darts, Wherewith he wound's poor mortalis hearts. But yet, fond paper, come not near Thoſe all-conſuming flames, for fear Thou periſh by their cruell art, That have inflam'd thy maſters heart. Yet if thou wil't ſo hardy be, To venture on a batterie, On that preſuming Caſtle, ſay, Wonder not I have found the way; For (faireſt Lady) hereby know, The dart came firſt from your own Bow.

Excuſe for abſence. You need inflict no other baniſhment, The fault it ſelfe's my greateſt puniſhment. Oft would I pardon crave; but ſtill my Muſe Prompts me, foul weather is a fair excuſe. If that will not ſuffice; then let this be, That I have none, my beſt apologie. Convict me of my crime, and as 'tis meet, I'le do you daily Penance in a ſheet. But, prove me abſent firſt, and then, I'le write apologies, or burn my Pen. Planets are where they worke, not where they move, I am not where I live, but where I Love.

With Herberts Poeme. The Poet's now become a Prieſt, and layes His Poem at your feet, expects no Bayes, But your acceptance; kind'le it with your eyes, And make this Offering prove a Sacrifice. The Veſtal fire that's in your breaſt, will burn Up all his droſſe, and make it Incenſe turne; And then your ſmile a ſecond life will give, Hee'l fear no death, if you but bid him live. Pardon this bold ambition, tis his drift, To make the Altar ſanctifie the Gift. Viſit this Temple, at your vacant houres, Twas Herberts Poem once, but now tis Yours.

On the death of M. A. S. Fain would I pay my tribute to thy Herſe, And ſigh thy death, in never dying verſe. But I in vain invoke my Muſe, for ſhe (Alas!) is dead with him for company. Like to thoſe Indian wives who count the thred Of their life ended when their Mate is dead. When ſouls thus linck'd divorce, one cannot part, Without the breaking of the others heart. To vent my ſorrowes yeelds me no relief, He grieves but little that can tell his grief. Let others leſs concern'd this truth approve, And ſtrive to ſhew their Wit, more than their Love My grief confutes the Laws of Numbers, I Whilſt others Write, will Weep thine Elegie. Each line my tears a Colons charge defray, Verſes have Periods, but no Period they. Reader ſince He my better half is gone, My heart is but his Monumentall Stone, On which this Epitaph inſcrib'd ſhall be: I di'd in him, and yet he lives in me.

Laus & votum vitae Beatae. Out of Lipſius. EQuall unto the Gods is he, And much above what Mortalls be, Who the uncertain day of fate, Nor wiſheth nor repineth at: T'whom impotent Ambition, nor The hope of gaine's Solicitor. Whom Princes thundring threats can't move, No, nor the darts of angry Jove. But ſeated in Securitie, Laughs at the vulgars vanitie. Whoſe life's thread's ſpun ſo ev'n, that there Can not be ſeen th' leaſt knot of care. O might I but thus far aſpire, To ſhape my life to my deſire: Nor Offices, nor Wealth I'de crave, Nor with white Stee'ds in triumph brave, To lead along poor Captiv'd Slaves. I in vaſt Solitude ſhould dwell, A neighbour to the Muſes Well: Orchards, and Gardens to frequent, There would I ſeat my ſole content; So that when as full ripened Death, Shall put a period to my breath, Tedious to none, and without ſtrife, Calmely to end my aged life.

On T. Baſtard, and his Epigrams. That thy names Baſtard, friend, is thy hard fate, Thy Births I'm ſure are Legitimate. Well may'ſt a Baſtard be, all Common race To thy diviner wit muſt need give place: No, Jove himſelf begat thee, and thy Birth, Gets in us Wonderment as well as mirth. Momus to Baſtard. The proverb ſayes, Baſtards (remember it) Muſt fling no ſtones; leaſt they their father hi • ▪ Anſwer. Momus ſtand off gald backs will winch, tis true, Here's Salt, or we ſhould never hear of you. Again to Baſtard. Baſtard, that is of beſt wit, ſay the Dutch, Then as thy name is ſo's thy nature ſuch: What if the multitude laugh at thy Name, Know, their diſprayſes do advance thy fame.

To the Reader, Out of Faius. Who will read theſe? None. Why? nor mock, nor jeere. Nor Baudry (wiſhd by many) comes not here, But one or other hap'ly they may finde, Preferring good▪ before Jeſts, he will minde. But if none read, griefe doth not me aſſault, For if none read, then none can find a fault.

Upon His Sacred Majeſties moſt happy Return, on the 29th. of May 1660. AVVake dull Muſe, the Sun appeares, Open thine eyes, and dry thy teares: The clouds diſperſe, and Sable night▪ Reſignes to Charles his conquering light Batts, Owles, and Night-birds flie away, Chac'd by the beames of this bright day. A day deſign'd by Deſtinie, Famous to all Poſteritie. Firſt for the birth of Charles, and now 'Tis His Three Kingdoms Birth-day too. VVee mov'd before, but knew not how, We could not ſay we liv'd, till now. Like Flies in VVinter, ſo lay we, In a dull, ſenceleſs Lethargie. Toucht by his healing beames, we live, His Preſence a new life doth give. Each loyall heart ſtrook by his Rayes, Is fill'd with gratitude and praiſe. Thoſe Phaëtons who had got the Raine, And needs would guide great Charles his Waine; Have found their Folly in their Fate; And Phoebus now aſſumes his State. The Trees who choſe a woodden King, To be their ſhade and covering: Whilſt they injuriouſly decline The fruitfull Olive and the Vine Conſuming fire from the Bramble came; They read their Folly by the Flame. True Emblems of our giddy age, Not rul'd by Reaſon, but by Rage: The tayle would quarrell with the Head, And no longer would be Led: Th' inferiour Members ſoon give way, And the Tayle muſt bear the ſway, Blind as it was▪ ('to ur miſery) With many a Sting, but never an Eye. Then were we drag'd through mire & ſtones, Which bruiſd our fleſh, and brake our bones, Our Feet and Legs foundred and lame, We ſaw our Folly in our Shame. We praid, but no releif could find, The Tayle was Deaf, as well as Blind: Drums, Trumpets, Pulpits with their ſound, All our intreaties did confound; Till pittying Heaven heard our cry, And God vouchſafes, what men deny. After a twelve years ſuffering, Juſt Heaven Proclaims Great Charles our King: Free (like Uliſſes) from the harms Of Forreign Syrens tempting charmes. And now our Joyfull Land doth ring, With • ö Paean's to our King: All England ſeemd One bonfire, Night Seem'd to contend with Day for light. For Bells our Kingdome hath been fam'd, And the Ringing-Iſland nam'd: More truly now, when every Bell Aloud the joyful news doth tell. That Charles is landed once again, With Peace, and Plenty, in his Train. No more ſhall brother brother kill, Nor ſonnes the blood of fathers ſpill: No more ſhall Mars & Madneſs rage, Peace ſhall bring back the Golden-age. No more ſhall Loyalty be Treaſon, Errour truth, and non-ſence reaſon; Nor will we ſell our Liberty, For a too-dear bought Slavery. No more ſhall Sacriledge invade The Church, nor Faction make a trade Of Holy things; nor Goſpel be Loſt in a law-leſs liberty. No more hope we to ſee the time When to be innocent's a crime. No more, no more ſhall armed might Though Wrong'd, o'recome the weaker Right. Now ſhall all jar • ing diſcords be Drown'd in the pleaſing Harmony Of peacefull lawes, whoſe ſtiller voice Shall charme the Drum & Trumpets noiſe, The Church ſhall be Triumphant, more Than it was Militant before. The withered Lawrell, and the Bayes Revive to crown our happy dayes Theſe, and all other bleſſings we Great and Good Charles, Expect from thee▪ VVhoſe Vertues were enough alone, To give Thee Title to the Crown. You Conquerd without Arms, Your Words VVin hearts, better than others Swords. Pardons are Your revenges, we Jov in Your Boundleſs Victory. What others uſe to do with blowes, You by Forgiving kill your foes: Your mercy doth your Sword reprieve, And for their faults, You moſt do grieve. Your Martyr'd Fathers charity (His laſt and greateſt Legacy) You moſt do prize. Could we but tread That pace of virtue which you lead, How quickly ſhould we all agree, To live in Love and Loyalty! VVhilſt others their rich Preſents bring, All I can give's, GOD SAVE THE KING.

FINIS.

Errata.

In the Panegyrric.

Page 9▪ Line •• Read infortunately, In the firſt Elegy on K. C. • . p, • • ▪ • • , moving • 11▪ •• , his,

In Apothegms p, 40 • , 20 r, Lord Stanhop, p, 49 l, penul • , r, the contrary, p, 50 l, 12 r, one, p, 50 l, 2 r, deadly, p 64 l, 17▪ r, neighbours with carriages.

In the Letters. p, 4 l, laſt r, lame, it may appear, p▪ 3 l, 9 r, to the p, 24 • , clew, p, 44 l, 15 r, your, p, 54 l, 17 r or, l, 23 r▪ grate, p, 55 l, 11 r, bene, p, • 7 l 10 r, jucundum, p, 69 l, 21 dele thee, p, 82 l, 12 dele full, p. 90 l, 13 r, elſe, p, 94 l, 19 dele Negro, p, 102 l, 11 r▪ beaſt, p, 111 l, 18 r, live, p, 115 l, 31 r, Terence, p, 130 l, 12 r, perdidit, p, 130 l, 14 r, Comici Cogito, p, 154 l, 12 r, in his p, 155 l, • r, than to, p, 156 l 13 r, rather a, p, 156 l. 28 r, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 .

In Loves Labyrinth, on the title, for feſtina r, feſtiva, in the first coppy of verſes, after out-let r, there, p, 3 l, 4 r, ready in▪ p▪ 3 l • r, volleys l, 18 r, drops, p, 8 l, 30 r, thou now p, 10 l, 9 r, thou thus, l 15 r, wronged, p, 11, l, 1 r, raſhneſs, l, the laſt, r, mine, p, 23 l, 12 r, be my, p, 26 l, 20 r, too much, p, 40 l 4 r, ſhine, p, 32 l, 27 r, grown, p, 33 l, 9 r, can a, p▪ 36 l, 9 r, her neck, p, 48 l, laſt r, empty, p, 54 l, 9 r, ſcornes, p, 55, l, • 2 r, and, • 56 l, 16 r, King.